Kathy and Trey are wonderful hosts and I thank them for their hospitality, the great rides, the delicious dinners and their warm friendship. It is reassuring to see a couple so comfortable in their love for each other, their faith and sense of community. God bless you both.
It's 8:15 and I'm saddled up and ready to roll. I jump in with the morning commuters speeding down I-75. I connect onto I-275, then I-40 and then it's south on US-129 to Maryville where I fuel up. From there it's Hwy 441 which cuts through The Great Smokey Mountain National Park. This is a glorious ride twisting, then climbing and descending into and through the valleys all the way to Cherokee, North Carolina. Now Cherokee sits on Native American land and is heavily commercialized with T-Shirt shops, gift shops, restaurants and a casino. I stop for lunch at a cafe and have the Alice Cooper wrap. It consists of a tortilla, roast beef, cheese, horseradish, jalapenos, chillies and a long list of other ingredients that escape me now. Anyway it was good and I managed to sidestep any heartburn.
Get this. I'm in the parking lot of the cafe and there is another motorcycle beside me with Massachusetts plates on it. I get to talking with the man and his female partner. He finds I'm from Vancouver and he starts crowing over the Boston Bruins' victory over the Canucks for the Stanley Cup. I'm going yeah, yeah, yeah....and he's giggling like a school girl. I tell him I was expecting some heat over the Canuck's choking but not until I at least got to the Massachusetts state line. Here it is North Carolina and I'm already under fire, taking shots. The guy laughs uproariously. I think this must be the highlight of his vacation. Oh well it's only a flesh wound and I expect to hear lots more when I get to the Boston area.
Cherokee is also the starting or ending point, depending on your direction of travel, for The Blue Ridge Parkway. This magnificent road runs for 460 miles along the top of the Blue Ridge from Cherokee, North Carolina to Staunton, Virginia. The Cherokee end is mile 460 and it counts down from there.The road runs above the other roads and towns much like an elevated railway or freeway system. There are certain points along the Parkway where you can hop off, go down to the town below for fuel, food or lodging. Now I have an IPhone app installed with the entire Parkway on a map. A Map App if you will. It is an exact copy of the one given out by the park personnel. Very handy.
The road is twisty and in very good condition. There are lookouts or as they say Outlook points chiseled out of the mountainside every mile or so. This is a welcomed addition as the views are incredible! You can see for miles and miles over the valleys in over 180 degrees. The Appalachians are truly one of the most beautiful spots in the eastern United States. Riding through these neck of the woods there are many references to Daniel Boone who walked these woods back in the 1770s. Once away from the highways it would all pretty much look the same as it did then.The wild life is an interesting mix of deer, raccoons, skunks and wild turkeys. Other than in a glass I'd never seen a wild turkey before. They peck along the side of the road in the late afternoon and early morning much like the Ruffed Grouse in Canada. Being fairly skittish they quickly scoot off when you approach them.
Oh Dear. What a shame!
That night I stopped at a campground by Linville Falls. The Blue Ridge Parkway is a National Park and as such offers up campgrounds along the way. The one I chose was certainly one of the cleanest campgrounds I've been to. The sites were all raked, the washrooms were very clean and the entire campground had a look of being cared for. That's your tax dollars at work! It was a self-registration site, however; the resident campground host appeared and yakked with me as I filed in the information on the envelope; showing me where to put my name on the line marked "Your Name". I was glad he was there or I wouldn't have made it past "Your address!" Sixteen dollars seemed a pretty good price for a site so I stuffed the bills into the envelope while the host helpfully pointed out where I was to lick the envelope. Yup. Right where it said "Moisten Here" and how to put the envelope into the drop box slot which said "Put your envelope here." I shudder to think how people got by the days the host wasn't there. The entire park must go ruin.
Being fairly tired, I ate early and hit the sack as the day drew to a close. The miner's headlamp helped me read for a while until my eyes started to close and then it was lights out.
Tuesday, August 30th.
Morning came early. Long before the alarm and long before the sun. With no immediate need to get moving I languished in the bag for another hour or so and listened to the sounds of the forest. Chirping, whistling, squeaking were all intermingled into one continual soundtrack. Feeling guilty, I got up and started breaking camp while preparing a light breakfast of oatmeal, fruit and tea. It seems this is what I eat most mornings and must sound mundane, but it's quick and easy and I like it. Enough said. As a side note I had another equipment failure this morning. My "Unbreakable" bowl broke. Plain and simple. It fell on the ground and broke. Oh well. I'll keep an eye out for a Wal-Mart and get it replaced. After loading up I hit the road, first stopping at the Visitor Centre located just down the road. The place was empty save for a young Ranger who was busy yakking on the phone to a friend about her new boyfriend and much, much too busy to deal with any annoying question I might have.
On the way north the fog was thick. So thick I was riding at less than 30 kph with the 4-way flashers on. I saw a sign that recommended not using the parkway when it was foggy or snowing. I could see why, as I couldn't see at all. My Safety Angel showed up and I opted for one of the escape roads off the Parkway and back down to civilization, where coincidentally it was just as foggy. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, I pulled in for a hot tea and soon enough the fog lifted and I was off and running again.
The day is uneventful save for hopping on and off the Blue Ridge Parkway. After a while I tired of the 45 mph speed restriction and once again left the Parkway and opted for Highway 221 which ran in a sort of parallel direction. I did this for a while, got back on the Parkway and eventually left it for good around Roanoke, Virginia. You can go faster in places but the road is narrow and winding so it it not advisable to rip it up too much. I arrive at Harrisonburg, Virginia late in the afternoon and put the horse in the barn for the day. Another day gone by and I'm trashed tired. No camping tonight as I'm in need of a shower and some on-line interaction.
Lights out by 11:00 PM.
Wednesday, August 31st.
It's a late start, around 9:00 AM but I feel rested and raring to go. I-81 was a quick alternative and soon I was in West Virginia. The day is still early enough and I have nothing but time on my hands so I can afford to play tourist for a while. After a few miles I saw a road sign for Harper's Ferry. Now even my rudimentary knowledge of the Civil War knew this was a key battle area where the Union Army was soundly beaten by Stonewall Jackson and his troops.
I roll up to the park office, pull out my Annual Pass with a flourish and it is happily received. Cha-Ching! Another $10.00 saved. My park pass has almost paid for itself. The park is well run and consists of three different locations. There is the main site with the visitor centre, which was where I arrived at. After that they had a shuttle bus running every 10-20 minutes taking you to the town of Harper's Ferry and to the battle field on Bolivar Ridge. I stopped at all of the sites and had a wonderful time looking over the interpretive information that was provided. Down in the town of Harper's Ferry, situated at the fork joining the Shenandoah and Potomac Rivers you could feel the history as you walk around the village. There was a rock outcrop where Thomas Jefferson had delivered a speech.There was the building named John Brown's Fort where John Brown and twenty-one comrades took a stand against slavery. For the rest of the day I was singing The Battle Hymn Of The Republic as I rode along the roads where the Union and Confederate armies had boldly marched one hundred and forty-eight years ago.
I continued on the back roads to Gettysburg which was interesting but the town was in a shambles. Construction crews were ripping up the downtown streets and the town was in no mood to receive visitors. I gassed up, took a cursory look around the National Visitor Centre, sadly the pass was not required, and high-tailed it out of here stopping only long enough to add some Dot-4 fluid to my hydraulic clutch reservoir.
After that it was hard-nose the highway as I beetled out of Pennsylvania and crossed into New Jersey. I knew I was in New Jersey not by the Welcome To New Jersey sign but by the mountain of trash at the roadside rest stops. What a mess. This was not just car littler bags but piles of green garbage bags much like you'd toss out on the curb for the garbage guys to pick up. I can only assume they came from careless RV owners too lazy to stuff them in the dumpsters the State had provided. Now I faced another dilemma. I could call it a day and spend the night in rural New Jersey and tackle the NYC commuter traffic the next morning. On the other hand if I deal with New York now then I'll be going thorough when traffic is at it's lowest ebb and I'll be well and clear the next morning, however; it will make for a late night. I take Door #2 and decide to git 'er done that night git 'er over with. Checking my gas gauge produces a loud DOH! I'm getting down to the dregs and this is not a good thing going into the Big City. The last couple of exits prior to the Holland Tunnel are fast approaching. Quickly I bail off the first ramp I see and where safe pull over and enter "Fuel" in the GPS. As luck should have it there's one within 1 km. I come to a traffic light, take a look around and quickly see I am in the Wrong Neighbourhood. Big Time! Not fooling around I streak back onto the freeway and grab the next exit going to Newark Airport. Once again I enter "Fuel" into the GPS and it responds with some convoluted set of instructions which take me through the Newark Port Authority area, through another sketchy part of town and comes to a stop at this seedy looking gas station, which thankfully is open. A Russian woman comes out to pump the gas while these sinister looking guys watch from the lube bay door. No time for small talk as I pump the gas into the bike's tank under her watchful eye.Time to pay; I pull out my money clip and it is mostly hundreds and a few singles. Not enough small bills to cover the fuel. Being careful not to flash this kind of roll around I tentatively ask the lady if she can break a hundred. "Da. Ees Noo praablam." she replies, snatches my C-Note and disappears into the station. I'm struggling with the side stand on the bike wanting to catch up with her and protect my interests, so to speak. Meanwhile the guys at the lube bay are starting to pay me a little more attention as I run this gauntlet to the station office. Once in the office the lady gives me a big smile, my change, a receipt and tells me to be careful. Now I'm not sure if that means be careful riding, be careful in the neighbourhood or be careful walking past the lube bay guys. Either way I don't take it lightly, wish her a pleasant evening and I'm gone. Out of there!
I cross over into New York, run up the west side of Manhattan and north into the Bronx. Traffic was heavy and snarled in places. I'm chilled out and enjoying the sight and sound of the city. I'm getting some odd looks but that is mostly due to the large load I'm carrying on the bike, Everything is starting to move and in no time I'm speeding along the freeway passing Yonkers, New Rochelle, White Plains and into Connecticut. It's dark, I'm tired and the traffic is heavy and moving fast. Much too fast. They had absolutely no regard for a weary motorcyclist and I must have appeared a pest on the road. I'm doing 130kph in a 55 mph zone but that is just too slow for the New York motorists. I finally get onto I-95 and it is still fast and furious. This is the only time on the entire trip where I have felt somewhat threatened in the traffic. It must have been my fatigue level because usually I am not intimidated in traffic. After all I am a Transit Operator and mix it up with the Bad-Boys on a daily basis!
It's time to start looking for a hotel and of course the more tired you are the less available hotels there are. I find a Best Western just off I-95 in New Haven, good catch as I collect their reward points, and yes they have availability. There is guy checking in in front of me and I overhear the clerk saying the rate was something like $140.00. Ouch! It's way too much but it may be the only game in town and I might have to bite the bullet. My turn and the clerk smiles, sizing me up. I ask the rate for AAA members,. He changes his smile and says I can give you $10.00 off. I feel there are still some chips on the table so I pull out my Coast Mountain Employee card say, now you understand I do work for the Government. Well now he's like family and wanting me to meet his sister. He does some lightning-fast typing and a with a grand flourish tears a piece of paper off the printer for me to sign, proudly showing me the rate of $68.00 plus tax. That's more like it and I nod my satisfaction.
While parking my bike I run into a young woman getting her Honda Sportbike unpacked. We get to talking and she says her name is Jesse and tells me she has come all the way up from North Carolina. We decide to compare notes over a cold refreshing beverage but alas, the Connecticut Fathers had deemed that no one shall have fun after 9:00 pm and that no one may purchase a six-pack after the twilight hours. The place is in lock-down. I'm bagged but we arrange to meet in the morning and ride together as far as Providence.
A few emails and I'm toast...again!
No comments:
Post a Comment