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 6 Another fine morning greeted us as the campground stirred about. A number of Honda STs outside our group arrived yesterday to enjoy the weekend. This weekend use to be the date of the old Fallstoc rally, and some habits die hard. Also several HSTA guys were on the scene. I'm not sure, but our group today numbered about 10 bikes. I learned in the fire department if you have a group, you have to have someone in charge, or nothing gets done, and things go unorganized. Today Peter Menard was in charge. It took a few minutes to talking him into it, but we finally got him to agree.
Andy Purmals had a nail in his rear tire. We would escort him to Wheelers in Robbinsville (same place Peter used) to have it fixed. He was holding air, but needed a more permanent fix before going back to Toronto. His tire was still half new, and he was leaning to a inside patch fix. After throwing a few things in the RT's bag, I fired up and wheeled around to the ext and parked in line. We were heading for the Cherohala Skyway, but I didn't know much after that. By design our plans were kind of loose. Peter led our line over the new bridge, turning right on 276 and Waynesville. Past the construction detour, across the valley, we went looking for something to eat. This weekend also coincided with the city's fall festival and the downtown area was in the process of being blocked off. We made it around, and worked our way through busy weekend traffic to the US 19 crossroads. An area populated by fast food rows and shopping. Our first stop was a Waffle House but we feared our numbers would overwhelm the already busy servers and cooks so we decided to fan out. A number of places were within walking distance. "Y'all spread out, get something quick, and meet back in the centrally located Mcdonalds parking lot." Most choose the Egg Mcmuffin, but all I had to do was pick up a diet Dew. I had a peanut butter and jelly on whole wheat in the saddlebag, that by now I was kidded incessantly about. When we finished eating we loaded up and queued up at a cemetery parking lot. We had some time to spare while waiting for everyone to finish eating and form up. I spent sometime talking to Charlie, who had a conversation with a local about something I had been feeling the last few days. The Blue Ridge Mountains are changing. I've been coming here for 5 years, and before that I sporadically visited to ski and hang out. What was a once a quiet, little known area is now a drawing place for the rich and famous. (Reba Mcintyre just finished a 3 million dollar house here) Charlie said the man told him the tourists are ok, but the rich are building large mansions and developers are buying up land to parcel out. How do they get locals, who do NOT want to sell land that has been in their family for years, to sell? They drive up property taxes, and if you own large tracts of land it makes it way expensive to keep it. Locals own most of the land outright, have for years, and have no intention to sell, but are forced to when hit with large tax bills. Now places like Asheville, Waynesville, and Franklin are growing like crazy. Land prices are going up by the minute. Five years ago you could ride through Waynesville in 3 minutes. The roof tops of high priced homes could be seen in the once timber only mountains. Charlie and I lamented all of that as we waited for a few stragglers. "You know I hope we can still do this in 5 years," I told Charlie, "by then traffic could be so bad in these hills, it would take all the fun out of it." So folks if you've never spent time here, come before it is too late. We left Waynesville on US 74 for a routine ride to Robbinsville. We ran into fog in the usual places but it was nothing special. I was running in the middle of the pack. In Robbinsville we dropped Andy and Charlie off at Wheelers. A motorcycle only tire shop, and a place I recommend to all STers. The shop has the odd size tire the ST calls for on the rack. Not sure what your brand options are, but you will be taken care off. The owner walks with a limp, the result of too many motorcycle crashes from years ago. Charlie was going to wait with Andy together they would catch us at the Dairy Queen snack bar in Tellico at the end of the Skyway. At last we were on the Skyway, and like the Parkway run yesterday, it was perfect. No cold air, haze, or fog, just deep blue sunny skies. You could look across the mountains for miles. I'd never seen it prettier.
Peter set a nice pace on what can be a tricky road. I know the course has several bending radius curves, but I didn't know where. Our group riding technique forces discipline, and intra mural racing was contained, because if you passed the guy in front of you, we were going to ask you to leave. It was a nice ride, the best I ever had on the Skyway. We stopped a few times for pictures, and I recall gazing out across the valleys.
Motorcycle traffic was thick, both directions. I've never seen the Skyway busier. I saw several bicyclists working up the mountains, and I wished for my Trek. Two sport bikes closed on our group and I waved them around. The bright sunlight reflected of the light colored surface of the Skyway, and the rays were intense at this elevation. On and on we carved up the Skyway. Uphill, then down. A lot of fun, I never wanted it too stop. The miles went by too quickly, and soon we were at the Dairy bar in Tellico. On this side of the hills, 2 wheels rule. Cars seemed intimidated, and pretty much stayed out of the way. It was one of the last weekend rides of the season, the weather was better than perfect, so yes, thousands of motorcycles were out. After ordering a small hamburger I grabbed a seat next to my friends on the outside tables in the warm sun. It was great. Andy and Charlie caught up with us about 15 minutes later. Andy had a new inside patch on his tire and was good to go.
When lunch was over we took a short ride down the highway to a Exxon con store to top off the bikes. We left Tellico on a route I'm not sure of. ( Like I said, I don't keep good notes group riding) I do know it was fun and twisty. We eventually took route 411, a nice road that slices through the hills. The road was heavy in shade, making it hard to read the pavement. I followed Peter's taillight from the number 2 position. The curves were very tight, and in just a few miles we separated from the pack. I followed Peter leaning hard in a tight right hander, when all of a sudden we were confronted by some joker walking in the right hand track of our lane. I was in the middle, and had no problem going by, I couldonly hope the guys coming up were not riding over the edge. Peter and I scraped and leaned over 20 miles. We bottomed out at US 74 and turned for Waynesville to keep our appointment for a end of season steak. The best riding was over, time to head for the barn.
At the US 74 and 64 intersection we took a break at a con store. I was standing near the bikes when my phone rang. It was Uncle Phil. "Where y'all at?" "The 64-74 intersection near Murphy." "I know where that is." He knows where everything is. "Yeah, wish you were here, been a good ride, we missed ya." "Yeah I know, but what else was there to do?" "Well, they'll be other rides, get well soon." "Eat some cow for me tonight." I've never really liked US 74 and now I was faced riding it 2 days in a row. Tomorrow I'll be using to go home. I was still in the number 2 position following Peter at 70 mph when he suddenly slowed down. "I don't see anything, what's goin on?" I took a look around and saw nothing out of the ordinary, then there it was. A police cruiser, state trooper, sitting in the median. Peter later told us he just had a feeling, and slowed, and in the process saved several jokers a ticket. Our line tightened up on the four lane divided highway as we put down the last 60 miles of the day. Including that dreadful run through the Nanathala Gorge. The road narrows down as it comes through the canyon, and is strangled by raft busses, pedestrians, RVs and sightseers. That 20 mile stretch can take more than 45 minutes to negotiate. Peter took us off for a short break, just before the Gorge. "Take a quick 5, from here it will be nonstop to Waynesville." The highway breaks down to 2 lane and we crawl along with the rest of the traffic. It was bad, but I've seen worse days here. The campgrounds along the creek seemed to be full, and several rafters were hitch hiking back up stream. We were nearing the end when we met a west bound cruiser motorcycle giving us the slow down signal. I jammed on the brakes, bringing the RT down to the legal 45 mph speed limit just as a police cruiser popped into view. He was working radar at both directions of travel. Without the warning, Peter and I would've been toast. It felt good to break out of the Gorge and speed on to Waynesville over the now divided highway. The afternoon was slipping away, and I computed a early supper before heading back to the campground. We rolled by the flea markets and auto repair shops, looking forward to T bones. It was a nice ride back to Waynesville and I was glad when we pulled into the Sagebrush parking lot ahead of the Saturday night rush. Our hostess put us in the greenhouse area, and I ordered the steak I'd been looking for all these many miles. Not just today's ride, but all the way back to the UK. I joked and laughed with my buddies, but my mind was on the season I'd just finished. I had a great year. The UK, California, the Northwest, Prince Edward Island, New England, and now the Blue Ridge. I put down 18k miles since last May. But more than the miles, it was the people and places. It was a thousand country roads, and at least that many towns and people. I was lucky to see many special places the last few months, and if I got in some once in lifetime riding along the way, so much the better. A group of blue hairs were seated near us, and slowed down the ordering process, but I really didn't mind, I was having a good time. Tonight I ordered a NY strip. Tomorrow at this time I'll be home, and back to normal. Eating well, and training hard. But tonight let me enjoy this special time in the Blue Ridge with my friends, and rejoice I'm able to do all that I do. Sure of a signal I called home. "Yeah baby, home tomorrow, adn the next 5 months, we'll take in that movie ya been wantin to see, and next month the beach for 7 days." "Ok becareful." "You know I will." I raised a toast to the table, "Here's to the cruiser guy back in the Gorge that saved us, ride long brother who ever ya might be." "Here, Here," was the response as guys lifted tea and Coke glasses. A TV was overhead and I took notice of the scores coming. I saw Alabama beat Ole Miss in a close game. Peter was keeping an eye on the Penn State game. When supper came Mark Morris led us in a prayer of thanks for the glorious day we had just enjoyed. I gave a solid AMEN, when he concluded. Darkness was moving on when we left the steakhouse for a Shell con store next door to top off the tanks for tomorrows ride home. Everyone waited for the last man. Nobody said it, but it was important for of us to return as a group. We started out a few days ago together, and only fitting we end that way. Because of the detour around the business district, I was glad to see each turn marked by an ST rider pointing the way. We picked up 276 and motored out across the valley to Cruso. The highway was smooth and quiet, nothing like a couple of years ago when it was covered in dust and rocks. I could see the moon rising above the Blue Ridge just above Peter as he led our line across the run out on the approach to Cold Mountain. At times it looked Peter could raise his arm and grab it. It would have made a inspiring picture, but it was one of the those things you are not prepared for. It was a great scene and one I'll always remember. Yes, this had been a great season. It was almost dark when we arrived back at the campground. I was near the office when Gene Fabzinger said, " We hear a ST went down today, not one of y'all was it?" Thanks to our group ride system I could answer him with confidence, "no everyone with us accounted for." "Good, but I hear this guy was hurt pretty bad." "It might be one of the HSTA guys." A while later Andray confirmed that suspicion. At end of the day we had over 220 fantastic miles. I took the RT to my the tent site and put him to sleep, from there I joined the camp fire, where we spoke about trips, politics, and bikes. I hung around till the fire till it was out, then went to the showers. It was a good campfire. "Suppose to be cold tonight," someone says. I responded, "Oh yeah? How cold?" "Low 30s." "So what else is new, the last night here is always cold." When I left the shower I was sure to tell everyone good bye. We were all leaving at different times, and I wasn't sure I'd get to see everyone. I was near the tent when Peter pointed out a bunch of jokers across the creek drinking and playing music. "I hope they turn that noise off when I go to bed," he told me. As for me sleep came quick. I can't ever recall a better nights sleep. I love my tent and bed, and over the miles and years I've adapted to it well. It is much cleaner than a motel room, and I like being outside. With motel prices now going for 40 bucks, about the only way a guy on a fixed income can stay on the road 3 weeks. I confiscated an extra blanket out of one of the cabins to throw over my sleeping bag just in case. I was toasty warm all night. Moonlight bathed the inside of my tent, but I fell asleep quickly, looking forward to a good ride home. next- Over 420 miles on a great ride home Many thanks to Peter Menard who helped recall the events of the day.
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