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 4 The campground was a hive of activity in the pre dawn darkness. All around me I could hear guys breaking down their tents and striking camp. "Man its still dark outside, yet guys are moving, guess I better get going." So I broke out of the tent before my alarm. Before crawling out I went to the Iphone to check the temp-a chilly 38 degrees, but past experience has taught me the day will warm quickly, especially once I leave the hills and ride south. It was still dark when I began the process. I have a system for this, and a good one after all these years and miles. I work from the inside out. Roll and pack my sleeping gear, then the Moto Fizz, ok now put that stuff away on the table. Next break down the tent, and place it on the table. I don't use the tent bag, I just roll the tent and flap, and place them in the right pannier, along with any other stuff I don't mind getting dirty, like rags, plexus, tire kit, anything that is not going to be bothered by a little wet, and grass. Everybody was busy, so not much conversation could be heard. When I finish that I strap the MotoFizz and my bedroll on the luggage rack and seat. I decide what gloves to wear (the lined Joe Rockets) and pull them from the left pannier. The left side carries all my cold weather gear, stuff like liners, sweaters, gloves, and my atlas. The last thing I do is put on the Roadcrafter. I was ready to ride in 30 minutes. The sun was coming up and visibility was good, but the hills kept the campground in the shadows. I booted up the GPS, so it could lock a signal before I rode out. Before mounting up, I said goodbye to the riders around me. Big Ron was still in his tent, he is usually the last joker to ride out. He is not a morning person. "I'll email or call him later." I fired the RT up, it's unique rumble in contrast to the high tech whine of the 1300s. Each year fewer and fewer ST 1100s are at the rally, as the bike has now been out of production almost 10 years, and each passing year a few more bite the dust, and the number dwindles. The cockpit displays all lit up on cue when I twisted the key. I reset trip meter B, and tabbed the church location on the Zumo. St. Margaret's is in the favorites folder, because I knew a few years ago, I'd more then likely be returning. I toed down to first, and eased out the drive to the local road that would take me back to the highway. I flipped the heated seat and grips to high. I left with the sense I had no real idea when I might return, only that I probably would at sometime or another. The bumpy road took me through the woods, past the post office, over the railroad tracks, and down the hill to the U.S. 19. After the stop sign you have a merge lane into the northbound flow, but no one actually makes a full stop before getting in a merge lane, so I rolled in, rolled out, head checked the oncoming lanes, came over, and took off north. Entering Waynesville, I was tempted to take a side trip through the quaint business and church district, for one last visit, but after checking the clock thought the better of it, and followed the GPS on to Maggie Valley. The warm seat and grips of the RT felt good in the chilly wind. Just like last year I misread the GPS on the confusing campus of St. Margaret's. After truing in you're faced with 3 choices of driveways that go up the hill to the church, the purple line on the GPS has the correct one painted, but in the real word they are so close together you won't know you're on the right one, till you travel up a few feet. I choose the left and went up to the church using the exit-AGAIN. It was no matter, I was early, and not many folks were about. I parked the RT near the front, and placed my coat over the cockpit. I removed the GPS from the cradle but left it on battery power so not have to power back up when it came time to leave. I put it away not because I distrusted my fellow Catholics, but you never know who might sift their way through the parking lot while everyone is inside. I was taught to be at Mass when you're suppose to, if not, better have a good excuse, and being on a trip is not one when a church is but 10 miles away. I don't want to be the guy hearing, "How come you failed to go to church that day in NC?" "Well I was on a trip and the church was 10 miles plus I needed to get on the road early." "And that tour was 1,000 miles?" "Yes sir." "So 10 miles was just too far or what?" "Well,,," "Nevermind, I see what kind of priority I was in your life, back of the line." I firmly believe He's going to put YOU, wherever you put Him.
A couple of HDs pulled in a few minutes later, but parked across the lot from me. St. Margaret's is a beautiful little church situated on top of a hill in the woods. The south and west walls are floor length glass and afford a stunning view of the Smoky Mountains now in Fall colors. On the inside I placed my coat and helmet in the lobby and found a pew about halfway up. Walking out the doors when the service was over, I felt a tap on my shoulder, I turned to see a little old lady that asked, "you were here last year?" "yes m'am I was, my friends and I gather up here every Fall to ride and hang out." "I see, we enjoy having you." "Thank you, I'm flattered you remember me." "Those blue pants are hard to forget." "I hope y'all don't mind my attending in riding gear." "No not at all, in fact it's uplifting to see someone go through the trouble to not miss Mass." "Well if my presence helps someone, I'm more then happy," as I stopped at the RT to gear up. The ladies continued on to their cars. I plugged the Iphone in the charger, and zipped it in the MotoFizz side pouch. "It'll be good by the time I stop for lunch." I fired the RT up and made my way out of Maggie Valley to the Blue Ridge Parkway. The route home will be the same as the last few years. It's a good ride, and I look forward to it each year. The Fall color was the best I had ever seen on this side of the mountains. The Smoky Mountains are usually a couple of weeks behind the Blue Ridge, but not this year.
The Parkway seemed to embrace me as I rode on to Cherokee. Colorful tree tunnels hung over me, and the cool air on my face perked my senses. I love Fall, and these mountains rival the season found anywhere else. Great people, great roads, and lots of options for stuff to do when not riding.
I stopped often for pics on my brief ride on the Parkway. In Cherokee I went to U.S. 411 to traverse the mountains into Tennessee. Smoky Mountain National Park is only a short distance from the Parkway, and soon I was leaning the RT up the hills to New Found Gap, and like in years past, most of the traffic was in the opposite direction. Smoky Mountain National Park is one of the busiest in the country, and Fall is one of their peak periods. To get anywhere this time of year in the park you have to have a early start. On this morning I had very little traffic all the way to the gap. The curves on 411 are nothing like the Parkway, but not bad. Color at the higher elevations was excellent, but I already had pictures from the New Found Gap vista so saw no point in turning out to get in the crowd there. I usually get bogged down on the descent from New Found Gap to Gatlinburg, but I ran unencumbered more then halfway before I came up behind a sedan, which in the long run was not a problem as he ran 10+ over the speed limit till we came across a accident a few miles from Gatlinburg. The wreck had the north bound lane closed and boxed traffic up for a couple of miles, it was awful. "Glad I'm not over there today."
The temps were warm on the Tennessee side, so I switched off the heated seat and grips. At the visitor center I left 411 for SR 73. The roadbed follows the Little Pigeon through the woods and hills out of the Park. I've ridden it many times the last 35 years. Including a 1981 trip on my GL, and 4 years later on a sport bike. Neither of those bikes are as much fun as the 2 bikes I currently own. Again I have pics from almost every turnout,
so I only stopped one time. I parked the RT and went down the sloped hill
where few tourists venture to go. I strolled among the rocks and banks of
the Little Pigeon for 30 minutes. I just wanted to absorb the time and
place I was in.
Away from the crowds, the woods fell quiet. Drifting leaves coasted through the air, and birds sung songs all around me. I've been to so many places over the years, and witnessed many beautiful scenes, but I never tire of it, and was glad I got to spend sometime up close and personal with the Smoky Mountains.
Traffic was growing by the mile on my time on 73. The road bent and twisted best it could trying to keep up with the river. It crosses over it a couple of times before a guy gets to Maryville and the end of the line at U.S. 321. The fun was over, time now to just head on home and put this trip in the books.
Before doing that, I took a break at a store at the Pigeon Forge road. I bought a diet Mtn. Dew, baked chips and fig newtons, and went outside to enjoy the sun. "This will do me till lunch." When I finished, I called Debbie and gave the report. I sent my son a text, but knew he couldn't respond as he was at morning prayer and then Mass, and would not be free till after lunch. But still I wanted him to know what was going on and I was thinking of him, the text will be there for him when he got back to his room. It was warm now, so I removed my sweatshirt, and went to leather gloves before going back out. "Next stop, Ft. Payne, and the steakhouse I know to be there, about 200 miles." I took my phone off charge an started the RT. U.S. 321 carried me into Maryville and past the Baptist Church that plays host to some kind of Fall carnival this weekend each year. I could see the rides, food booths, games, craft offerings. It must be a big deal, because a long line to get in was already in place when I came by. I yielded to the pedestrians who had parked their rides in the parking lot across the street and had to walk across the busy highway. The ride to I-75 is not fun, because a rider has to deal with the congestion of Maryville and then Lenoir. I've come to learn over the years and miles on the road, to just deal with stuff. The weather and traffic are not things you can control, so just do the best you can, and be smart. The highway took me over the Tellico Dam in Lenoir, "not far to I-75 now," as I went across into the traffic of the city. I know the route so really didn't need the GPS, but I like the feedback it gives. Past the fast food row that is common at most interstate exits I went, over the bridge, and then down the exit ramp for I-75 South and home. I brought the RT up to cruise speed quickly, checked up, merged over and took off. Soon as I was at speed, I set the cruise, moved the ESA to comfort and leaned back on the Motofizz with the screen high to block the wind and give me quiet. "This won't take long." The RT bristled as we motored south down 75. The bike is a mix of old school, and new. A timeless box twin, wrapped in state of the art frame and touring accruements, it does many things well and is joy to ride with its fine balance and handling. The 1200 handled the long drone on 75 just as well as it did the mountains and leanings in the Blue Ridge. The air was warm and flowed around me as I became lost in thought which I sometimes do on rural interstates, and the fact I've been on this portion of 75 so many times only made it more so. I even went back to a cold, early spring ride here in 2001. I had met Uncle Phil and another rider for a day ride on the skyway, foothills, and dragon among others. I was preparing for a across country ride in a few months, and needed to get use to long days in the saddle, I needed to network, and I needed to see if I could do this. That was a 750 mile day, the last two hundred from Pigeon Forge to Gadsden, in the dark and cold on this highway. "Come along way since that ride." I motored past the Athen's exit ( I usually stop there) and dispatched the 60 or so miles to Chattanooga rather quickly. Entering the north suburbs of the city, I pushed the svelte RT past lumbering trucks and other traffic on the long uphills. I filtered in and around SUVS, pickups, sedans and lines of cruiser bikes. My prowess as a Long Rider on display. I've been riding street bikes since I was 14, and closing in on a million miles, about half it coming in the last 11 or 12 years. All those years and miles, in every condition imaginable, have taught me many things, one of which is when on a busy freeway system, find the far left, pace just above the flow, and stay focused not on the car just in front, but way up the line. The revamped system in Chattanooga is finished, it was a long time coming. It took YEARS for the project to be completed. A line of cruiser bikes, most riding double, were bogged down on the long uphill over the ridge, that once crested drops you down into the city. I went by them at 80 mph, still in 6th gear, and thus the difference in a sport touring bike and a V twin. We all have reasons for riding what we do, and I had just put one of mine on display. Experienced with the city's interstate system, I flawlessly executed the sometimes confusing lane changes to I-24, blasted through downtown, then Lookout Mountain, and south on I-59 into Georgia. I-59 is usually a quiet ride to Birmingham. Rural, less traffic, a long rider could find himself on a less ride without too much trouble. Two 18 wheelers and a RV towing a jeep, boxed me in for a few miles, as all 3 struggled on a long uphill near Rising Fawn. With the reserve light flashing, I went past my usual stop at the Pilot Truck Stop in Rising Fawn, skipping the chance for the cheaper Georgia gas for the convenience of a consolidated lunch/gas stop in Ft. Payne. Time displayed on the RT dash was 1:46, "dang no wonder I'm hungry." The miles seemed slow to Ft. Payne, but I made it and took the exit for the Santa Fe Steakhouse to eat lunch and catch up on the latest NFL scores. The Packers were not playing till tonight, so I wasn't missing THE only game that counts in my book. The lighter RT is easier to back into a parking spot than the ST, which is a real hog in such a maneuver. I secured my equipment and sauntered on inside, asking for a place in the bar section. The hostess sat me at a hightop with a nice view of the big screen. "how bout here?" "looks good sweetie" A young lady came for my drink order, and also left me some peanuts. She came back, "so what ya gonna have?" "Bring me the grilled chicken, baked potato with butter on the side, and the mixed vegetables" I was sitting under a huge room fan, that, and a blowing AC, had me freezing. I went back out for a sweatshirt. The temp was 81 degrees, but you'd never know that in this place. The young lady saw me and asked, "are you cold?" "yeah"-But she offered to do nothing about it, that was ok, I'm use to being the coldest guy in the room. I called Debbie and reported I'd be home around 6, and have the garage door up. A guy at a nearby table asked, "where ya from?" "Prattville" "good football teams" Funny how cities in Alabama are judged by how good their football teams are. Prior to Prattville's extraordinary run of state championships the last 7 or 8 years, most folks up this way didn't exactly know where the city was. Now everyone does. The chicken and potato were good, but the mixed vegetable didn't hit on much, and I left most of them. I also left the young lady a 3 dollar tip, and headed out. A Marathon station was just down the service road so I went there to fill up, and quieted the amber reserve light. "Time to get home." I left Ft. Payne forthwith and rode south. In the sparse traffic it was hard to stay under 80 but I did. About 25 miles later it was back through the lane closure, and again I was stuck behind a 18 wheeler. "Thinking I'm going home the old way, I don't feel like going through Birmingham or anymore interstate droning, too nice a day." That line of thinking had me taking the Rainbow City exit to hit the backroads. I was just a few miles from my sister's but skipped stopping to see her. I wanted to run when I got home and needed to keep riding. I left I-59 and picked up U.S. 411 in Rainbow City, an old friend of a road. The afternoon was waning, and long shadows began to creep across the fields on the way to Asheville. I went left at the courthouse in Asheville, and set my sights on Pell City. The highway between the 2 cities has a few leans, but don't excite me like they did way back in the 70's. "Now I know the definition of a "good" road, and this ain't it." I mean it's ok if this area is all you know, but doesn't belong on anyone's list. It was a busy Sunday afternoon when I picked my way through Pell City. The numerous traffic lights slowed me and cost me time, but when I thought about it there was no reason to worry about it. When the only thing you have to think about when you get home is what time you're going to run, you probably have life under control. These highways are my security blanket. I ride them as often as I can. Living in Central Alabama I don't ride south very often. The geography here is different then down south. More hard woods, trees, and lakes in the north, and more populated. The riding is just better. At Harpersville I went to SR 25 and rode on past the huge steam plant in Wilsonville to SR 145, arguably one of the few roads in Alabama where a guy can ride 26 miles without a red light or stop sign. That is a rare thing in this state. I have been known to take advantage of the straight, long nature of 145 by knocking out the 26 miles at 80 mph. But the last paying ticket I got was on this road, by a Shelby County deputy 4 years ago. As many times I have been on this road, most of it at 80mph as I went by county deputies, I had never been stopped. But on that day, the 35 year streaked ended, and ever since I've been jittery on 145. So today I kept it at 65 in the 55 mph speed limit. Riding through the Alabama countryside on 145, I noticed the sun dipping lower and lower into the earth. "I should be home right at dark", I thought. The smell of a recent grass cutting found its way into my helmet and it stuck in the back of my throat. It was almost a sweet scent. I left 145 at the Clanton-Lay Dam exit to finish off the last 25 miles. I put the RT on 78, locked the cruise, and took care of business. The run on the interstate was quick, and before I knew it I was on U.S. 31 for the last 5 miles home. It was all but dark when I turned on my street and found my house, garage door up as requested. I eased down the driveway and parked in the garage next to the ST ending a 426 mile day, and 1,163 for the trip. Not too bad. Before getting off the bike I said a prayer of thanks for my safe return, not only for this trip, but all the past trips. Debbie came out to meet me and welcomed me home. Again, the ride came in at 420 something. I winced my head at that, "just like always." I was feeling kind of emotional, because this could well prove to be my last Fall Ride for a long time. She asked if I was ok. "Yeah just thinkin" "about?" "when I might get to ride and see the leaves again in the Fall, and be with my friends. I don't know where I'm gonna be next year at this time, I have plans" "I can't say I don't like the thought of you being around here more, but its up to you, but reserve the right to change my mind on that." "I know, you've been beyond understanding about my long riding the last 10 years," "I only want you happy, if long riding made you that way, and I prevented it, you'd be sad, and you're no good to me if you're sad. To hold you against you're will makes you somewhat less, and after 35 years I know these things." As we went inside she asked, "what about your stuff?" "I'll unload the RT tomorrow, nothing in those bags that are critical to anything" I took my gear off and ate applesauce as I caught up my mail, both online and off. Finished that, I ventured out on the dark roads of my neighborhood on a 4 mile run and felt good. I was glad to get my heart pumping. As I ran I thought about the future. I have more cross country rides in me, and will try to take a short spring ride and come June go cross country, and on my return start training. Right now the only casualty of training seems to be the Fall Ride, but it just happens to be my favorite, but so it goes. But this years Fall ride did tell me I still love long riding. I guess I always will.
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