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

My watched beeped at 6:30am, and I went for it on the first sound.  Except for the first 100 miles, the ride home today will be over familiar roads and highways.  Although I’ve been in the area several times the last few years, I never made it to SR 73 or Gatlinburg.  I was glad I was able to this tour.


The ST parked outside the Rocky Top Motel.  Poised and
ready for the final run home.  Gatlinburg, Tenn.

The weather was partly cloudy, it was good to see some sun and blue sky.

By 7am I was in the motel lobby, turning in the key.  I left the parking lot, and coasted to the next light and turned left onto SR 73. This route will take me out of the city, and into the Smoky Mountain National Park.  One of the country's busiest.

From time to time I make recommendations to my brother Long Riders.  Places that treated me well, and were motorcycle friendly.  Add the Rocky Top Motel to the list.  The owner promises good rates, towels to wipe your bike, covered, and secured bike parking if you want it.  Nothing fancy, so if you need mints on your pillow, this is not the place.

SR 73 is a great ride, and despite the fact it had been almost 20 years since my last ride on it, I still remembered how sweet she is.  The black ribbon follows the banks of the Pigeon River, as it bends its way through the mountains.  My pupils constrict and expand as the road skirts sunlight and shadows.  The tourists are still asleep and I have the road to myself.  Most tourists are not early risers, a fact Long Riders love.  The road is peaceful, and I enjoy being alone with my thoughts, as I put the finishing touches on what has been a mixed bag tour.

I tried to practice my lines and polish my sport riding, but I’m too lazy.  Riding in such a manner requires concentration, and I don’t feel like it, so I just ride. I didn’t worry about how I looked, or if I drifted off line.  It was a great morning.

  
SR 73 was a curvy, twisting road through the Smoky Mountains.
It was a  great ride, on a peaceful Tennessee morning.

Outside the park, SR 73 turns to US 321.  With the fun over, the highway turns 4 lane, and I resign myself to the fact it will be this way all the way home.  There are no good back roads in this area I haven’t already sampled, so time to just get on the slab and head for home.

I couldn’t help but notice how much this area has grown since my last visit.

In Lenoir City I went to my old friend, I-75. It seems I am ALWAYS on this interstate.  My butt feels stiff, and I make up my mind to avail myself to the ever popular Athen’s exit for a break.

The electronic signs warning of the fog this area is famous for, are quiet.  The morning is warm and sunny, no chance of it today.  This was the scene of a brutal chain reaction crash in the 80s.  Fifteen people were killed, when 70 vehicles crashed in a thick fog bank.  This particular section of 75 is highly vulnerable to fog, something about the topography, and a nearby papermill.

It was a relative quiet ride to Athens.  Little traffic, no troopers, and nice weather.

I pulled into a gas mart on the west side of Athens and bought a Mountain Dew and Moon Pie.  Yes, I’m back home for all practical purposes.

What is life without Moon Pies or Mountain Dew?  Break
time in Athens, Tenn.  About 300 miles from home.

Sitting outside against the wall a man in a 4 door, state owned looking sedan stopped for a chat.  He was from North Georgia and said he rode a new 1800 Gold Wing.  He had just returned from a trip to the Ozarks. He said-

" I love the bike, but damn it roaches tires. My last rear was slick in 3,000 miles"

"might oughta try a different brand brother"

I handed him my card and he dejectedly got back in his car, I’m sure he wished he was on his bike.  It was that kind of day.

With my butt loose I continued south to Chattanooga.  On I-75 I can go on auto pilot.  I know the ride home from here very well. The interstates of Chattanooga have been under construction since I was teenager, but the situation seems to have improved the last 2 years.

I enter the suburbs of the city by late morning, and start picking my way through the construction barrels, and work gates.

I love riding when everyone else is working.  The traffic in Chattanooga was on the low side, and I calmly followed the signs to the routes needed.  Down along the Tennessee River, and past Lookout Mountain to I-57, I motor home. A few miles later, I was shooting across the Northeast corner of Georgia, back into Alabama around 11am.

Riding in the bright sun of a hot Alabama day, I took a few miles to look back at the trip soon to be completed.  Not as memorable as past rides, but still better then working.  The rain, tight schedule, and traffic put a damper on things.  But, for every rainy incident, or traffic jam, I had a fun ride in the hills, or a quiet ride in the country, so no complaints.

Long Riders have a unique feeling at the end of a long tour.   Feelings of accomplishment, and contentment.  This tour brings to me a quiet satisfaction.  I can say I conquered, and lived my life as need. I alone said where I was going, and how I was going to get there.  I depended on myself to get me through the tough miles, and now it was time to bask in the glory.  One of the great things about my touring experiences, is that not only do I have this moment today, but I have it from now on. The great feeling I have now, I can have again, whenever I recall this trip in my mind.  It is there whenever I need it, and can never be taken away.

Feeling kind of hungry, I exited at Fort Payne, and pulled in the Waffle House for a hamburger steak.  This time, no talkative patrons chased me out early, but some joker's car alarm went off, and it blared incessantly for 5 minutes.  The hamburger steak was typical Waffle House- pretty good.

After lunch I went next door to a Chevron station, and filled up.

It was time to head for home and put this trip in the books, so I fell in behind a fast moving 18 wheeler willingly to lead the way.  With a BIG rabbit in front, we traveled south at 85 mph.  The scenery blew by quickly.  The interstate passes over the US 11 canyon by means of a long downhill left sweep, followed by a long bridge, then a hard uphill right hander, before leveling out.  It signals Gadsden is not far off.  I always thought it was kind of neat how the engineers solved the problem of this small canyon, and US 11.

I shoot by the Gadsden exits hoping my sister never finds out I slipped by without stopping.  "NOooooooo I came home I-65, no where near Gadsden." My story and sticking to it. 

The 50 miles between Gadsden and Birmingham, were pretty much a blur.  The only thing worth noting was a 18 wheeler hauling chickens, spewing feathers everywhere.

In Birmingham I went to I-459, then to I-65 south.  In the homestretch I twist the throttle up, and enter Autauga County an hour later.  The county line lies about 20 miles from the Prattville City limit.

I took exit #186 and got on US 31 South.  I slowed down and flipped my shield up.  Good to be home.  Five miles later, I turned off the highway, into my peaceful neighborhood.  The garage was open, but no one was home, my wife was still at work.

I dropped the stand at 2:33pm having covered 385 miles for the day, and 4, 035 for the trip.