Guy Boutin's Motorcycle Touring and Travel Pages

Adventures in Sport Touring with the Honda ST 1100, 1300 and the BMW 1200RT

Exploring North America...One Road at a Time

Day 12
October 12th, 2001
In the Blue Ridge Mountains
Near Roanoke, Virginia

It took Phil to get me out of bed this morning.  My watch sounded off but for some reason I rolled over and pulled my sleeping bag up to my chin. " Hey get up! We gotta get on the road."  Indeed so.  We are scheduled to be in Cruso by this afternoon, almost 300 miles south down the Parkway.

The weather is dark and cloudy, and a fine mist is falling.  The breeze is out of the south, and warm  which means rain.  We get loaded, and head back to the Parkway and turn south.  We cover 5 miles and it starts to drizzle.  We perch up straight and tall, eyes peeled for deer.  I think to myself  "man this is gonna be a loooong day".

I love the Blue Ridge Parkway, it is on my favorite road list, but not today.  The weather is bad and getting worse.  The smooth black ribbon of the Parkway is wet, the awesome scenery that surrounds this great road, shrouded in fog and mist.  Visibility can't be better then a quarter mile.

I ride behind Phil, watching his brake light.  We crawl at 25 mph on the wet, curvy road.  I can't decide what to to with my helmet shield.  Up, the rain spots my glasses, and now, if I flip it down, I have two eye covers with rain drops on them.  I keep it down, because I don't feel like being pelted with rain drops.

Traffic is nil.  I guess we are the only guys crazy enough to be out on a morning like this.

We begin to rise in elevation and the thickens.  We cross into North Carolina after what seems like hours.  In North Carolina the fog socks in.  It is thick.  There are times we can't see more then a few feet.  It is so bad, I can't even see PHIL, even with those high viz bags, and I know he is no more then 20 feet ahead of me.  Visibility on the peaks can only be measured in inches. We stop at a scenic overlook, and hell I can barely see Phil, standing next to me, never mind anything out in the valley. 

      
                              Fog in the Blue Ridge
                                                                          photo Phil Derryberry

The mile markers seem to take hours to appear.  Mile Marker 243???  Wasn't mile marker 242 an hour ago?  That's as far we rode in a hour??

A couple of times Phil just disappears.  The milky cloud just swallows him.  As if he went behind a curtain.  It was the thickest fog I've ever been in.  We keep creeping south, slow but steady.  A few times we descend into valleys and get a respite from the fog.  We can see a whole half mile. 

The Blue Ridge is alive with color, but still a week away from peaking. 

Up ahead, the highest peaks in the east lie.  Most people fail to realize, the highest peaks in the east in are North Carolina.  Mount Mitchell is over 7,000 feet, and the Parkway will go right by it.  If its this foggy here, what might Mount Mitchell be like?  I know how foggy it gets at Mount Mitchell, I have skied it many times.

We see a sign in the fog announcing food and rest at Doughton.  It is along here I decide the Parkway is not for me.  I am not having fun.  I can't see anything, and I want out.  The final kicker is when we pull into the Doughton parking lot, and we can't see the restaurant.  No kidding, from the parking lot, the fog was so thick, we couldn't see the buildings.  I noticed a beautiful red 1995 BMW K1100RS in the parking lot.  Florida tags.  The owner comes over, and we have a nice chat.  This guy is a real rider, having already ridden the west coast this year, and on schedule to ride 25,000 miles for the year.  He is on his way to see family in Charlotte.  He advises the fog is no better in the south.  We took a guess and started walking toward what we thought was the restaurant, and found out it was the ranger office.  It was that FOGGY.

Inside I get pancakes and ham. Over breakfast I tell Phil-

"brother I'm for gettin off the parkway"

"I understand if you need to go, but I am going on"

"what's the point?  You can't see anything and its dangerous"

"probably, but you know how it is"

Indeed I did.  He didn't say so, but it was important to Phil to ride the Blue Ridge end to end.  I do to, but I will come back to it on a better day, when I can enjoy it.

I wrote my escape plan on the back side of a order ticket the waitress tore off for me.  I slide it in my map pocket and stick it down on my left sleeve.

We walk back out to the foggy parking lot.

"I can't talk you out of this?"

"nope, but don't worry I will be ok"

"well ok, I will see ya at the campground."

We pulled out and headed south.  

A few miles later I peel off on SR 18, and watch Phil disappear in the fog and misty rain.

SR 18 drops me down out of the mountains, and within a few miles I am out of the fog, and the rain stops.  The air feels warmer and I flip my shield.  It feels good to get back up to highway speed after so many miles of mountain crawling.

I make a wrong turn in Wilkesboro due to a poorly marked intersection.   Annoying. I can't recall how many times that has happened to me. Sometimes they put up signs thinking everyone who uses the highway lives nearby.  Usually, if you see NO sign at the intersection, you go straight.  Usually- but in small town America DON'T count on it.  My sixth sense quickly tells me I am going west instead of south, and I turn around and get straightened out.

I follow SR 18 south to Lenoir.  The city is preparing for the Friday night football game.  It is lunch time but I keep riding.  I am looking forward to the campground and a shower.  I KNOW the rally site has a shower. 

I pick up I-40 in Morganton, and ride west to Asheville.  I-40 is busy, but I find a good position in the cars and trucks and zoom in on Asheville.  I stop for gas at a Exxon station.  I use my card but have to go in to  sign a ticket.  I can't remember when the last time I was called to perform that act.

Riding through Asheville I look to the mountains, and see cloudy peaks.  I hope Phil is ok.

I exit at Canton to ride the last miles to the campground.  It is still cloudy, but I have not had any rain since I left the mountains.

In Canton, I notice 3 bikes pulled in a gas station and stop.  Having skipped lunch I was feeling hungry.  I parked the ST and acknowledged the other riders.  I went inside and picked up the Phil Derryberry snack.  Peanuts and a Mountain Dew.  I walked back outside and struck up a conversation with the 3 riders.  They were riding 2 softails and a Kawasaki Voyager.  They were from Chicago on their way to Bikefest in Daytona.  The Kaw rider was riding 2 up.  The 2 HD riders were on their first long distance ride, and I could tell the Kaw rider was showing them the ropes.  We spoke about bikes and touring for a few minutes and then wished each other luck.  I was glad to see some guys do RIDE into Daytona.

I left Canton on SR 215.  I was in the valley, and the road was at last dry.  I got in a few leans on 215 and had a great ride to US 276.  I was back in Western North Carolina, home to some of the best riding in the country.

I turned left on 275 and rode the last few miles to the campground.  I grimaced when I came to the curve Sal crashed on last spring.  Dang.

I crossed the little bridge into the campground and saw STs scattered around.       I paid my camping fee and proceeded to my favorite site.  I was embarrassed at my broken right mirror and scuffed saddlebag.  "Dang they are gonna think I crashed back on Sal's curve."

I rode 322 miles today, but it didn't seem like it.

I pulled into my spot and Ron Epperly from Orlando came right over.  I met Ron last spring and we immediately hit it off and have become good freinds.  He asks-

"where's Phil?"

"out on the Parkway, "so how long has it been rainin here?"

"off and on all day, but yesterday it rained all day"

I told Ron my story while we pitched my tent.  When I finished with that, I could not wait to go get a shower.

I was beginning to worry a little about Phil.  He was not in yet, and he should have been a hour ago.  Ron and I find Sal and we get reacquainted.  Sal is a Lieutenant in the training division for the City of Miami Fire Department, so we have more in common then just STs.  Sal suggests a search party to go back on the Parkway and hunt him down.  I say-

"hold on just awhile, I bet that joker is sittin at Pigsah eatin steak right now"

"well ok"

It was then we formed up to ride down to the "Juke Box Junction" for supper later on.  A local place popular with ST riders when in the area.

A short time later brother Phil rides in.  He WAS at Pigsah eating steak.  We congratulate him on his end to end Parkway ride, and help him unload.

It is dark when the 4 of us join up for the supper run to Juke Box Junction.  We had a great, but too brief ride down to the cafe.  We come in near closing time, but we are politely served.  I had the hamburger and fries, and it was pretty good.  We flirt with the young waitress, and leave her a nice tip for putting up with us.

We ride back to the campground with Phil in front.  It was good to see my friends again.  I love the social aspect of riding. 

Back at the campground, we sit around the community campfire and swap stories.  We are still waiting for Michael to ride in from Toronto.  In my mind Michael is, and will forever be, Maxpower.  If Max had to deal with the same front we had, it might be the next day before he arrives.  He is rooming with Sal in one of the cabins.

With predictions of more rain, the next day, I went to bed.  I fell asleep thinking about all the great roads I will miss  if it rains tomorrow.