August 15, 2002
South Carolina, North Carolina, Blue Ridge, Rain,
No Food and a Ticket
We had decided after our ride in the Georgia Mountains that we
wanted to see more of the area. That evening, we pored over the maps and picked
out a route that had us riding through South Carolina, North Carolina, ending
somewhere at the tip of the Blue Ridge Parkway. We weren't really sure how
we were going to get back to Georgia from there, but decided we would just take
it as it came and figure it out once we got there. There was of
fantastic riding to be had with plenty of back roads and lots of twisties.
Tonya had lived in Sylva, North Carolina
for a while when she was riding with the Hell's Angels and dancing at the 'Blue
Coyote' to cover the bills. We thought it would be fun to head that way
and see what had happened to the old place.
Sylva, North Carolina is a neat 'little' town that isn't nearly so little anymore. Like so many small towns in scenic areas it has grown into something of a hippie haven. All that really means is being able to order a Hummus Burger in the middle of nowhere. Silva was quaint if busy, we parked the bikes and ate an early lunch and walked through the town a little.
After we left Sylva we started making our way up to the Blue Ridge Parkway. We really weren't planning on 'going' anywhere so much as just seeing what there was to see. Let me tell you, there was a LOT to see. Hills and valleys, tight turns and sharp dropoffs - motorcycle heaven. Somewhere around this time the helmet I had been wearing lost one of the screws that held the visor in place. Now, my visor was held on one side and flapping around on the other. As I was thinking what a good idea another helmet might be, we rounded a bend and I noticed big, cool, blue/black clouds hanging pendulously from the sky like mother nature's overfilled breasts. I thought 'get helmet or else take 60mph face bath' and we began seriously looking for a bike shop.
We found a bike shop maybe 1/4 of a mile from an entrance to the Blue Ridge Parkway. For those who don't ride, or those who don't have a clue, Blue Ridge Parkway doesn't mean that much. For the rest of us it a small snake of pavement across the Earth Mother's back. It is an enormous, winding road through some of the most beautiful scenery in America. Rolling mountains, lush greens, waterfalls, it is all there. To be there is to be swept away, and to not have seen it - well is kinda like 'not seeing' anything else.
So, we picked up a helmet with a working visor and headed for the entrance. Prior to embarking, however, we were wise enough to put on our rain gear. The closer we got to the parkway, the deeper blue / black the clouds became. I couldn't have cared less. It could have poured from the heavens and it wouldn't have changed my mind.
Remember those words . . . as I ate them 15 minutes later.
Upon entering Blue Ridge we took a winding, nearly straight up,
path to the first place to stop. Being neophytes, we stopped and took a
picture. This was also where Tonya dropped "Biff,
The
Amazingly Resilient Motorcycle." The pavement was wet and slick and the
front wheel lurched into a little pothole - down went Biff. After letting
loose just about every foul word known to a sailor, Tonya picked up the bike and
we snapped this picture.
We made sure Biff was ok, and then headed back on the parkway. 30 seconds later the skies began emptying ice cold water by the bucketful. It didn't mist, it didn't even rain, it POURED with an intensity that was only endurable because there was very little wind. We found ourselves stuck in traffic as the rain caused pea-soup fog to steam from the pavement. As if this wasn't enough to keep us occupied the helmets fogged up on the inside. Your options were a) Fogged up visor you can't see out of and b) Open visor with rain blasting you in the face at high impact. We pulled over at the next scenic overlook and let the rain die down enough that we didn't have to shout over it and could at least crack the visor.
Another important factor to consider is that Blue Ridge is a mountain range - basically it is the Appalachians. Being a mountain range it is also COLD. Now we were wet and cold - a great combination. You will notice in pictures that I am wearing a rain jacket and jeans. One of the more amusing little facts that I learned relates to the shape of the seat of my bike and my own anatomy. As I sat in the freezing cold rain moving about 10mph cool (cold) water was pooling up into an icy little puddle in my crotch. This icy water snuggled up into my pantalones and then wrapped its cold little claws around my now quite shrunken manliness. When I got tired of having my chestnuts iced down, I sort of rotated my hips a little - not thinking about what would happen next.
What happened next was an abomination. Icy, painfully cold water trickled from my chachkas down the CRACK OF MY ASS! Suddenly, in a spirit fitting the Appalachians, I was squealing like a (startled and not happy) little pig. No matter how I sat the water would collect and then roll on down. I finally ended up sitting on the passenger seat and hoping that I hadn't done irreparable harm to my body or psyche.
Once the rain mellowed and died
down
the view from Blue Ridge was just amazing. The rain had brought with it
these huge rolling carpets of mist, and watching them snake up the mountainside
was really amazing. Here is a shot of the mountains and the mist, but it
really doesn't do justice to the view.
Here
is a shot of Tonya - you'll notice she is smiling. She wasn't smiling
earlier, in fact I think it is safe to assume she called me every foul name she
could think of for dragging her up into a mountain range in the freezing cold
rain. Here also is a picture of me, smiling in soaking wet and ice cold
pants.
We rode through Blue Ridge for a tank of gas and then decided to start looking for a place to pull off and gas up. The exits off the Parkway are few and far between, but eventually we found a beautiful, tree lit little road to take us back to civilization (of sorts). I have mentioned this almost every time I document a trip, and now is no different. The switch between the cold of the mountains and the hot / congested environment of the city really wiped me out. It just fatigues me quicker than anything else. I think I would be OK if I could gradually warm up, but at 60+ mph you transition from 60 degrees to 90 degrees in literally 5 minutes. When we arrived at the foothills of the trail we stopped at what appeared to be another faceless little resort town making its living off of 'tubing adventures' and the like. We gassed up, looked at the maps to figure out where we were, and started making our way back to Georgia.
Our path back took us through Highlands, North Carolina.
Highlands is yet another 'artsy' sort of place that looks kind of hippie-ish
except that no one puling down anything l
ess
than $250k / yr could actually live there. We stopped to look around, find
some food, and generally stretch our legs. One problem, though, was that
there was no food to be found - nothing except ice cream shops, bagel places,
cappuccino houses and the like. There was literally no where to go to get
a simple sandwich and soda. Those places that did exist opened for dinner
and the bidding started somewhere around $22 for a plate of food. I am not
a particularly friendly person on an empty stomach - and I became less and less
friendly the longer we looked for a place to eat.
We finally found a little cappuccino spot serving dry, hard
sandwiches and crumbly cakes.
For $17 Tonya and I managed to quaff some
expensive bottled water, a couple
of
really crappy sandwiches and some cake crumbs all gathered together in plastic
wrap - yum yum. Like I told Tonya at the time, thank god we weren't
explorers stumbling out of the mountains desperate for food and water, we would
have DIED surrounded by expensive
pastries and gourmet coffee.
The ride from Highlands to Clayton was fairly uneventful, in fact, I don't remember one eventful thing that happened. When we got back to Clayton Georgia we went back to our hotel room to clean up and find a 'real' meal. Yet again, fate has a sense of humor, as we were soon to find out.
We had been recommended a place about 30 minutes north of Clayton for dinner. We arrived at around 8:30, only to be told that while they normally closed at 9, it was a slow night and they were already closing and cleaning up. They then proceeded to tell this same story to the next FOUR carloads of people who arrived while Tonya and I were in the parking lot. Geniuses those people are. What is funny is that while I can't remember the name of the place, it is a local landmark and every person you ask once you cross the Florida / Georgia border will say "Don't miss a chance to stop at . . . for dinner." If only I could remember the ". . . " part.
We decided to head back to Clayton to see what we could find for
dinner there.
We
knew that we were rapidly approaching 9pm and that Clayton would be rolling up
the sidewalks shortly. Heading back I saw a policeman skulking about
in the dark on the side of the road. I knew instantly I was done for and
was already slowing down and pulling over by the time Mr. Fife had figured out
where the neat button for his lights was located. He claimed he had
clocked me at 52 in a 40, all I said was "yes sir." I ended up getting off
with a citation for "driving too fast for conditions," those conditions
apparently being in the presence of a tax collector wearing a gun.
Mr. Fife was polite, and assured us that we would be able to find a place to eat after 9pm. He was wrong. Everything, even the KFC was closed by 9pm. What a rotten situation, we finally headed back to "El Guano" for Mexican food.
Just as our food was arriving it began to rain. Apparently the buckets of rain that had visited us earlier in the day had followed us down from the mountain. It poured off and on for about 30 minutes. While that was going on, Tonya and I were amused and a little scared watching a drunk redneck do the tango with some mexican busboy. I am not using metaphors here, they were dancing - it was creepy.
After dinner we rode back to the Hotel. By this time it
was pouring to the point of flooding. Water was almost up to the foot pegs
on my bike and when we went through it at speeds
over
10 mph water would splash almost over our heads. When we got back to the
hotel I put both of the bikes under the stairs and as close to the room as
possible. We were freezing wet, exhausted and at least a little
frustrated.
I am always amazed at how Tonya and I can take bad situations and make the most out of them. We rolled with the punches, enjoyed the good times and didn't let the rain, or the cops, or the crappy food get us down.