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
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Guy
Boutin's Motorcycle Touring and Travel Pages
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Day 16 I was up before the sun, loading the RT and getting ready for the ride south. Cathy and David were about to leave with the kids. Megan was tugging on my neck and holding my hand, not wanting to let me go. She moaned over and over. "When will you back? Will you call me? Why can't you stay?" She was breaking my heart. "Baby, I promise I will be back soon, but you can come see Debbie and me anytime you want." Everyone came out to wave as I threw my leg over the RT and hit the starter. Megan ran to me one more time for a last hug, just before I plunked down into gear. I left the driveway into the neighborhood and out to Silverbrook Road. I made a quick detour to top off the tank then followed local roads to CR 7100, the connecting expressway to I-66. This gem of a road allows a Long Rider to escape the suburbs without having to ride back into the District and battle the Beltway. It was sunny and cool, good riding weather. A few miles later the long, flowing ramp of I-66 appeared and I veered off to head south. This ride to Gatlinburg is old hat. I've done it 5-6 times. I could ride the interstates for 700 miles and make it home today if I wanted. Instead, I always choose to break it up into 2 days, riding back roads. I took a glance over my shoulder to check traffic and to time my merge into the flow. I found a spot between a SUV and pick up, and timed it out just right. Traffic was light going west, but east was starting to build. What a beautiful morning I thought. I'm back in familiar lands after a 5,000 mile tour, and that felt good. Eastern Canada and the Maritimes are in the book. From Nova Scotia, to Prince Edward, to the Gaspe Penisula, I've seen it all. One of the few goals I have remaining is ALL the Canadian Provinces. I'm missing the Territories, New Foundland, Labrador, and the Yukon. When I'll get them I don't know. None are easy to get to. New Foundland means a long ferry ride over and back. At least 3 days. The Yukon needs a dual purpose bike. I can't afford to trash either of my bikes on the hundreds of miles of unpaved roads to get to those places out west. I can see buying a used dual purpose to make the trip, but that's a ride for another time, I wanted to make the most of TODAY's ride. I don't count Northern Virginia as southern territory till I get to Manassas. I rejoiced at the relaxed riding. Cars were no longer buzzing by me at crazy speeds, and the Virginia scenery was good. I-66 ends at I-81 and I went south. From here to Salem is over 200 miles. I planned a break before that. State troopers were everywhere. I set the cruise control on the RT, placed the screen in a spot to give me nothing but quiet, and relaxed. The wind management on the RT is like nothing short of amazing. I can raise the screen an inch or 2 and place myself in a virtual biosphere. On I-81 you don't think about going fast. The state is ruthless when it comes to giving out tickets. We once had 2 guys, coming back from the fire academy in Emmitsburg, get a ticket in a fire department vehicle for doing 75. I brought the screen up, and enjoyed the ride. All you can do when they hold all the cards. I motored on south past the radar traps and trucks, it is here I begin to feel I'm back in the south. Rolling hills, silent pastures, old barns, and fields of flowers. The highway slices between the mountains as it follows the Shenandoah Valley to Tennessee. As far as interstates go, not bad riding, and today the truck traffic is less than years past. All kinds of billboards advertise the area's caverns. I saw signs for Launray, Endless, and Shenandoah Caverns. "Stop and visit, greatest thing since slice bread!" These places almost always disappoint. Fields of brown corn came and went, a sure sign fall was not fall off. I sang songs and enjoyed the ride till I felt hungry. A couple hours after leaving Lorton I arrived in New Market for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. A con store across the street from the Mickey D's I stopped last year, served as host. I was leaning on the RT people watching, when a sliver 350Z convertible, with North Carolina plates, pulled to the pumps. An attractive, smartly dressed lady, got out and cleaned the windshield while she pumped gas. I spoke to her when she came out of the store-
"Nice ride" "Thanks, so is yours. That's a beautiful motorcycle, the Germans have a way with rides, they just seem different than everything else." "I see you know about such things.' "Not really, but I use to have a Z3 Roadster." "you going north or south baby?" "south" "So how'd you get past all those radar traps? And how come you ain't got the top down?" "I come through here couple times a month, you DON'T speed in Virginia, and on the highway, wind noise is too great." I'll go on a limb, and say the RT has better wind management than most convertibles. "You have a safe ride back to Alabama." "I will, you do the same." I was smiling when I took out a handful of Twizzlers to finish my snack, thinking about the lady I just met. Her taste in clothes and car, definitely made her high maintenance. I bet her husband robbed banks and stays in a jerk to keep her happy. The day was warming up nicely, and I got back on the interstate. I planned my next stop in Salem, eating lunch at the Favolis I always stop when coming through. What can I say? I like pasta. The next hundred miles were just riding, and enjoying the RT. I love the riding position on this great all around touring bike. I had all the options set for touring-cruise, windscreen, suspension, all dialed in for comfort. Before I knew it I was passing through Roanoke and looking for the Salem exit, having knocked down 125 miles since New Market, and over 245 since leaving Lorton. On the way to the restaurant I stopped to top the tank off. I toggled through the computer readouts. Since leaving Lorton I'd averaged 71 mph, and 51.6 mpg, Not too bad. I knew from past trips where to find Wal Mart and went in to pick another bag of Twizzlers, and a can of gel shaving cream. I was waiting out a red light when a man in the car next to me looked me over and said, "nice bike." At Favolis I ordered pasta and meatballs. It was good. I made a few phone calls, and noticed 2 Virginia State Troopers at a booth by the window. I figured now would be a good time to get on the road with 2 less cruisers on I-81 to worry about. This was the 5th time I've used this route to come south. Its fun, a good mix of scenery and challenge. From Salem I knew it was 80-90 miles to SR 91, getting there from here is the longest part of the ride. But today, it went by quickly, the weather was good, the bike hummed along, and I was near the end of challenging and demanding tour. This trip up the east coast, is probably going to go down as the most difficult of my career. Western tours are more relaxed, more open, and take more impromptu twists, and turns, both literally and figuratively. Battling the Northeast Corridor exacts a price. I was tired mentally and stale when I arrived in Lorton, but today feelings of freshness have returned. Everything is good and I was happy to be riding free. I left I-81 for Damascus on SR 91, and began what I knew would be a great ride into the Tennessee Mountains. Counting back to day 13, I'd just put down over 800 consecutive miles of slab. Ugh. But all that was behind me now as I shifted the ESA from comfort to sport, and began leaning the BMW through the hills. The screen came down to give me a better view of the curves coming at me, but more importantly the low screen allows me to feel the wind, and to touch the environment that make motorcycle travel so unique, and thanks to the RT's excellent aerodynamics, it does that with very little noise. How it allows a nice wind flow without noise, I don't know.
The RT seemed to float over the road, rising up and over the undulations and small valley hills. Tree shade over the road seemed to turn the sunlight off and on. It was days like this, on a road like SR 91, that made me forget the hectic riding of the last few days. Vermont had some great roads, but traffic was always a problem, but here in these hills, I was the only one out.
The same old stop sign still greets me in Damascus and I made a few turns through the small town looking for my next route. A few stores and a service station were active, but everything else looked to be in slow motion.
I peeled off on CR 133, went past the baseball field and home made football stadium, and worked the gears on my way to Tennessee, when I passed a man sitting on a chair in front of a white framed house. I turned and went back to him for a chat. The RT came to a stop under his shade tree. The Stars and Stripes hung from his porch. A 60ish man, with a gravely voice, sat on a chair peeling green apples, dropping the peelings in a bucket. A warm wind rustled the branches of the tree, and a neighbor's dog yelped in the distance,- "So how ya doin?" I said in a friendly voice. "pretty good, do I know ya?" "no, I was just passing through, thought you might like some company." "That'd be nice." It always amazes me how quickly people can open up to a complete stranger. I've worked over the years to approach people in a non threatening manner, I'm sure my middle age has something to do with it. Not many folks are afraid of being mugged by a gray haired man on a motorcycle. "So ya retired takin life easy?" I remarked with a grin. He stood up and looked at me, then his eyes went off in the distance where 133 disappears into Tennessee. "I lost my job when I injured my shoulder. I was no longer able to lift and carry, and after 30 years that let me go. I was 2 years away from a retirement check, now I have nothing." He fought back tears, "I worked for 40 years, and to suddenly have it taken from me hurts. I was a good maintenance man, I could fix anything, I kept that place running." "Did they not have some kind of light duty job for ya to do for 2 years?" "They said if it was just a few months they could do it, but not 2-3 years, so they gave me severance pay and sent me on my way. I made 15 dollars a hour." He said in a prideful tone. "Now I spend my time peeling apples." I failed to ask him how he hurt his shoulder, but apparently it was off the job. "So how long ya lived here?" "In this house 40 years, and before that I lived near the mill for 22." "Well good luck, I best be on my way," I punched the starter of the RT, the rumble idle of the boxer twin filling the yard. He went back to his seat, the sadness in his heart so heavy he had to sit back down. All he wanted to do was work, it gave him meaning. "You might not think it was much of a job, but it was MINE." Now ya can say you met the apple peeler." He never told me his name.
CR 91 out of Damascus is a nice motorcycle road. Snaking along a creek through the Cherokee National Forest, the curves are good. The foliage was thick and the woods seemed artificial. I met a few north bound sport bikes and waved. I guess I wasn't the only joker that knew about this road.
In Tennessee the road surface turned extra smooth, and the riding was fun. I banked the RT through the woods for 20 miles before ending up at the U.S. 421 crossroads. Several motorcycles were parked in front of the store, so I came off the road to see what was going on. A few riders were seated on the porch, and the RT caused a commotion when I parked it. A small crowd gathered around it. I went inside for something to drink, and while I was paying up, a lady with an apron and a broom came in and told the cashier girl, "There's a red bike outside that will make you wanna ride if you see it." I didn't say anything about it being MY bike, I just went outside and sat down at a table. If nothing else, the RT is good for your ego. While drinking Mountain Dew I fielded questions about my trip and the RT from the other riders. "I'm on the way home from Prince Edward Island, gonna spend the night in Gatlinburg." As many times as I'd been through here, I never ventured off my route, but today the other riders encouraged me to try 421. "Good road, you won't be disappointed." "Thanks I think I will."
I left the store on U.S. 421 heading toward Boone, North Carolina. What a great find. The highway quickly goes up in elevation and the leaning is the best of the entire trip, in fact some of the best on the East Coast. It was great. Over and over the RT flicked from side to side. The road was smooth and clean. I took the downhill portions really well. I followed the road for 15 miles before turning around. I had to get to Gatlinburg, and the road was just as much fun running it the opposite way. I'm going to have to return one day to sample the entire length.
Back at the crossroads, I went left on 91 for more great curves. The leaning was not as good as 421 because the surface was rough, and dusty. Still, I had a good time.
SR 91 came out of the hills at Elizabethon and I went over to U.S. 321, I knew from past experience the ride from here to Greenville was nothing special, but much better than any interstate offered. In Johnson City I sat through 3 cycles of a traffic light before I made it. Just too many cars and too short a timer. U.S. 321 turned 4 lane divided, and my pace picked up. The afternoon was warm and sunny, a great day for a ride. When I saw the sign for Davy Crockett State Park and birthplace I decided to check it out. I wanted to last year, but couldn't work it in. I'd forgotten all about it till I saw the sign. The signs directed me a few miles down a quiet local road. I moved slow past the crops and barns, with the Smoky Mountains in the background. It was nice.
At the park entrance a small sign pointed the way to the museum and old home place. It was late afternoon and all the guides had gone home. Outside of a few campers, I was the only guy on the scene. Davy Crockett was born in a 1 room cabin by a quiet creek. How he left here to become a legend is an American classic. His memorial has something from every state in the Union. He was a frontiersmen, congressman, explorer, and soldier. Unlike most of today's kids, I waited in line to see John Wayne play Davy Crockett in the "Alamo." I had heroes to look up to, and thrived on legends like his. I knew then if you didn't stand for something, you'd fall for anything. I mean, how does a boy watch the Alamo and NOT get fired up?
Having seen his birthplace I guess it only fitting I ride to the Alamo, to see where they put it on the line, to help Texas break away from Santa Anna. So I'll plan a Texas ride next spring to the Hill Country, Big Bend National Park, Dallas (Dealy Plaza) and of course, The Alamo. I took some pictures and loaded back up, and returned to 321. I came to stop at a traffic light in Greenville, a car was on my right. For the 3rd time today the BMW was praised. I went to neutral and was waiting out the light, when I saw the male passenger in the car next to me straining to look past his girl friend/driver to check out the RT. When he got a good look he gave me the thumbs up. The route out of Greenville is good. The landscape is scenic, and the road bends around farms and nice Tennessee homes. Traffic increased and I passed a few slow moving pick ups and cars. A man was cutting grass on a small riding mower, throwing clippings on the highway. When he saw me coming he stopped to let me by. I caught a whiff of his fresh cut lawn. North of Newport I took a break at a old time store with a picnic table out front. Various signs hawking beer and cigarettes greeted customers when they stepped in. A spinning ceiling fan made me dizzy, because the blades were bent. I found that rare commodity; a small bottle Coke. "Where's ya opener baby?" "Right here," as the young clerk handed it over. It was late afternoon and I judged I would make Gatlinburg right at dark. I sipped my Coke slowly. I don't care what anyone says, I've been drinking diet whatever for over a year, and it does NOT compare to the real thing. I'll never get use to it, so when I sample the real stuff on a rare occasion I fear I might overload. A fast moving train held me up in the center of Newport. That thing came right through the middle of town at 70 mph. It yanked shop doors open, and tore clothes off people from the suction. The last 30 miles were quiet into the city. It was dusk, and I feared deer were moving. Because it was post Labor Day, most of the tourists traps and motels on the Gatlinburg perimeter were closed. Near Crosby, a pee wee football team was practicing in the waning light. I stopped to look them over, "what a great place to practice, in the presence of the Smoky Mountains," I murmured to myself.
At last I was in Gatlinburg after a 561 mile day. My first order of business was a bank ATM. My reserve light was on but I ignored it. I was ready to call it a day. I went through town and found the Smoky Mountain Inn. The motel looked mostly empty so I thought I might negotiate a good price. I stayed here in 2003 for 45 a night, but this time it was 49. I told the young clerk I'd take it. My room was ground floor and I quickly unloaded and cleaned up the RT, grabbed a shower and wandered back down to Main Street. I love Gatlinburg, for all its tackiness and tourist traps there is something about the city that draws me. The candy shops, eateries, goofy golf, and T shirt rooms have no effect on me. Debbie and I returned here last December celebrating our 28th anniversary (we honeymooned here) and it felt odd to be here without her. l recalled walking the cold streets back then, thinking about what to do. I was on leave pending a hernia operation and liked not having to go to work every 3rd day. While on that trip I decided to retire. I thought about that on this warm, late summer night. The city was jammed full of folks on the high side of 65. They were everywhere. Tour busses of all kinds were jammed with senior citizens. Signs on motels welcomed them. I guess some kind of convention was taking place. It was my last night on the road, so I wanted to do something special. Debbie and I love the Texas Roadhouse Steakhouse, we ate there last December, it seemed fitting to eat my last meal there. After strolling the streets I went in for supper. A line of senior citizens had overwhelmed the staff, so I by passed them and went to the bar area. The ballgame was on, and I ate well. I called Debbie and spent most of the meal with her. When it was over I looked over all my pictures from the tour. "A great tour and ride, saw alot of neat stuff, and got in some good riding, met some great folks." What else could I add? I wanted a steak but had the chicken instead, but that was ok. It was a great meal and I looked forward to the last 300 miles the next day. Strolling back to the motel I saw the Gatlinburg Fire Department ambulance working on a elderly patient that had apparently slipped in a construction zone. The lady looked to be ok. Every time I see red lights, or hear a siren, I think about my years in the job I truly loved. I kept walking the streets past the Ripley's Believe it or Not that has been there forever, the Space Needle, the chair lift up the mountain, and last but not least the candy shop. In December 1976 the city was a ghost town, as my lovely new bride and I walked the same streets taking pictures. We were just kids, and had our whole life in front of us. I wouldn't change a thing baby. Always the philosophical one, I recall eating pizza for lunch that day and wondering what my life would be like in 25 years, it was a natural thought, after all, I'd just married 2 days ago. I can say now, better than I ever imagined. The young lady tried to talk me into Ripley's. But I'm not a young father trying to keep everyone happy, making for a easy target. "Baby, I know ya just doin you're job, but do you really think I look fool enough to pay 12 dollars to walk in there?"
It was kind of late when I made it back to the room. I enjoyed my walk through town, it brought back many good memories. When I was on my honeymoon, I dreaded returning home and to the pickle plant, now I have no such thoughts, I was just looking forward to riding. I crawled in bed and hit the lights about 12am. Next- back home again
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