Ohio River Near Carrollton KY 

TN Lunch Run - Part III

The Falls Creek Park Restaurant puts on a great buffet. I can’t decide whether I preferred the BBQ or the banana pie. The restaurant provides a great view of a lake and there is a big lobby with a fireplace just down the hall. Plenty of comfortable furniture to try out while warming up or waiting for the weather to break.

I’m not the most sociable rider in the world but everybody I met was worth meeting. That “Illusionblue” guy is pretty scary until you get to know him. Everybody who showed up had a unique experience to remember.

A nice ride on a sunny spring day is fun but a challenging weather situation makes for an adventure. Several riders from Florida got to break trail through some freshly fallen snow on the way over. Most of the attendees from out west hit sleet. Everybody got try out his or her rain gear.

I was in a hurry to plant a travel bug (geocaching) before heading back to Michigan, and took off on my own right after lunch. I later found out I missed meeting several riders who arrived late. My loss. I understand some of them rode twice as far in half the time than I did to get to Falls Creek and back home.

I also have been informed the picture I posted of a waterfall is really Cane Creek Falls. According to “Hydor” the park’s namesake falls is elsewhere and spectacular. Good reason to come back for another visit.

I headed west on 30, planning to ride out from under the rain and then turn north. When I hit 111, I headed north to Sparta in search of a hidden geocache. I followed my handheld GPS through town at exactly 25 mph, followed by a city police officer. When the GPS indicated straight to my right I parked and set off on foot in a straight line that took me up a steep hill and through some soggy red mud. I located the stash under the roots of a big tree and placed the traveling mini-Mini Cooper in its new home. I also noticed the paved road that led to within a few feet of the cache. Looking down at my muddy boots and pant legs, I made a mental note to be more circumspect in the future.

With the thick clouds heading east and rain down to a light drizzle, I headed north again. It didn’t take long to realize I was making better time than the clouds. At I-40 I vowed to continue with Plan One – head west until dry. Next stop Nashville for gas.

Late afternoon on my second day on the road and my visor was finally clear. I figured at this point I could make a run for home by midnight. I headed north on I-65. One tank later I was on the outskirts of Louisville and it was getting fairly cool out. Wind was taking its toll as well. I started off into the blackness looking for I-71. It was reassuring to get visual bearings from the lighted dome as I approached downtown. I had forgotten about the diagonal metal strips in the sharp curves as you get closer to the river. If anyone was watching closely, I put on a little show as I skipped around the corner. At that point I started thinking maybe my enjoyment of all-night rides was approaching an end.

For the first time I can remember, I threw in the towel with my goal in range, a mere 4 to 5 hours away. I stopped along the freeway near Carrollton KY for the night. Some pizza, beer, and a good warm night’s sleep awaited.

Homeward Bound

The weather report was right. Sunday was clear, cool and windy. I asked directions to the Ohio River at the front desk. After consulting my map, I headed the opposite way and found myself on the riverbank a few minutes later. Since I had opted for another day on the road, I figured I might as well take the back roads home.

Carrollton turned out to be kind of an unremarkable little town. Route 36 led west to the towns of Milton and over the bridge to Madison Indiana. Before getting that far, I found Route 55 to the south, then 559, which led off into the woods and up a hill. It looked like it might be interesting and it was. What a great little ride. The sun was shining, the close hills and thick trees kept the wind at bay, and my XM radio never missed a beat. The winding country lane led to the top of a ridgeline then zigzagged along the spine toward the south until hugging the contours back down to the intersection with 55.

Well, time to start making tracks. I returned to Milton, crossed the bridge and spent about half an hour trying to find “scenic route 7.” With the clock ticking and the wind speed building, I found a line pointing up on the map and headed for Greensburg Indiana and another tank of gas.

Along the way, I enjoyed looking at the classic architecture of small towns like Madison, Rexville, and Napoleon. Having grown up in Alaska where few structures predate 1945, I always am impressed with the neighborhoods in the Midwest that look so much like sets from Leave it to Beaver or My Three Sons. As a kid, I thought those scenes were made up of plywood and paper mache to fit some writer’s ideal of a utopian society.

On the other hand, I am totally unimpressed by the miles of flat straight roads where nothing changes except the color of the cars for sale in the driveways. The only respite form the boredom is dodging sailcats and the occasional flat opossum. Sunday also had the added ingredient of high winds from the west. I swear I beveled off the left side of both tires compensating for the pressure.

The rest of the trip was uneventful. I snuck around the outskirts of Muncie and angled toward the northeast. I put away the GPS and paper map and alternately turned right and left until connecting with I-475 near Maumee Ohio. From there it was a quick trip up US23 to home and my beautiful wife. To celebrate, we pulled out her Magna and rode the bikes over to Hooters in Taylor, MI for some hot wings. What a great wife!

When I checked in with my favorite bulletin Board, GL1800riders.com, I found out I had been nominated to receive the grand door prize from the Tennessee Lunch Run. There was some kind of mysterious modified selection system in place since the expected hat-drawing didn’t occur. The instigator, I mean organizer, had been stopped from attending due to snow in Tennessee in April.

Thanks to Closet Chef of Chrisco Accessories, Honda DirectLine, and Metzler Tires for a brand new set of skins. With any luck, I’ll be using them to get to next year’s buffet!

Rapids below Cane Creek Falls

Cane Creek Falls (Not Falls Creek Falls)

Cane Creek Falls

Falls Creek Restaurant View 

Tennessee Lunch Run 2005-Part II

Friday had ended much as it had started - with electrical problems. Luckily, nothing that couldn't be handled on the road. My home-made accessory wiring had survived many miles in the rain but last night's deluge seems to have overcome my best efforts.

It was a new day. Saturday I woke to improved weather and an improved outlook on my "Big Adventure." There was a buffet meal with my name on it somewhere to the southwest, in a park called Falls Creek Falls.

The first order of business was to reconnect the battery and check to see if my LED lights had "fixed themselves" overnight. No. I left the LEDs disconnected and loaded the bike. I dropped the motel key in the drop box and headed for the nearest gas station for fuel and a GPS check. I was in unknown territory but knew a cross-country route had to be better than the freeway.

According to my map and Etrex, my destination was about 150 miles away in the direction of Mexico. The rain was down to a manageble level and at 6:30, the darkness was being replaced by heavy overcast skies. The temp on my dash read 40 degrees. Good start I figured. It was bound to get warmer as the day wore on.

About a mile down the two lane road I found a turn off marked 116. It was narrower and looked less traveled than the one I was on, and more interesting. I crossed the tracks and left the semi-developed area behind.

Route 116 started with some gentle curves, and low hills (pronounced heels in Tennessee). The road was paved and wet. In short order it became steeper, and followed the contours of the hillside (heelside). I have experienced this type of road in Alaska but there they are called Jeep trails and are not paved.

180 degree switchbacks

If you visit the area, this is not to be missed. The pavement is smooth and I have a lot of respect for the workmen who put it down. There are twists and turns that would make the inventor of the Slinky proud. Some of the turns were so tight I could almost read my own license plate. I actually had to gear down to 1st on at least one corner to maintain low enough speed and high enough rpms. This is one of those roads that requires maneuvers usually seen at air shows.

As I traveled farther into the terrain dwellings became fewer. I expected to hear dueling banjos at any minute. The scenery was a tribute to every southern movie producer. There were the requisite appliances and furniture stored on front porches. Parted out Camaros and various pickups decorated many of the yards. Wherever there was a wide spot in the road, the steep banks below were covered with refuse and the hulks of cars and machinery.

In spite of the signs of human presence, the area was beautiful. Almost every corner held a stream and usually a waterfall. Rock outcroppings appeared in the forest among the bare trees. The twisting, sometimes rollercoaster road demanded full attention. Some corners were littered with gravel. All of it was wet with rain and sleet in the higher elevations. The altitude arrived stealthily, causing pressure in my ears on several occasions as I climbed, then descended one hill after another. The low areas all contained rushing brown creeks, threatening to overflow the banks.

Eventually, the road arrived at a small valley containing the Brushy Mountain Prison. I thought about stopping for a photo op, but with the current security situation and guards present, I didn't feel like taking the time to explain I was harmless.

I lost track of the time it took to traverse this section of the trip. It was worth the trip from Michigan by itself. The road may be more suited to a trials bike than a Gold Wing, but whatever you ride don't miss it if you get close to Lake City.

Once out of the woods, so to speak, the roads opened up a little and required less attention and allowed more sightseeing. More swollen creeks, small ranches complete with newborn colts, calves, and various other critters and all the accompanying smells.

As I approached Dayton, the ride became downright boring. That would soon change. The road from Dayton to Pikeville was built for touring bikes. As I approached the highest elevation the sun broke through for about 100 yards. That was immediately followed by big thick snowflakes. The snowflakes were quickly replaced by more light rain. On the other side of the mountain, the road dropped down into a wide valley, again following the contours of the hillside.

I stopped at the gas station/hardware/grocery/feedstore to get fuel. I had to pay inside and was immediately accosted by an ancient local Harley owner. He grilled me about riding in this weather, and when he found out I came from the Detroit area the day before, he announced to everyone in the place that touring on a motorcycle was all that made life worthwhile. Not suprisingly, I kind of felt he was on the right track.

The clerks and other patrons offered directions and other advice on what to see in the area. I promised to follow up on all leads and escaped into the rain. I rode in 77 degree weather today in Michigan but it was no warmer than my reception in Pikesville. These are the folks people are talking about when they use the term "salt of the earth."

Next stop: Falls Creek Falls. I found the entrance just as it was described by the locals. Carved signs led to the restaurant where GL1800 riders from various parts of the country were to meet for some lunch, tire kicking and perhaps a little ride in the country.

All through the park I watched for GoldWings at campsites and parking lots. As I came down the hill to the restaurant, I started wondering if I was the only one dumb enough to ride in these conditions. Nope. There, by the dumpster, was parked a yellow and a red Wing.

Being ever optimistic, I circled the building and found a dry space under the facility and parked. I was greeted by James and Dolphus(?) Armor, brothers who had come about 250 miles that morning through the blizzard from west Tennessee. We waited in the lobby discussing how we would divide up the door prizes since obviously no one in their right mind (besides us) would venture out in this mess.

As lunchtime approached, others started to arrive, one or two at a time, until 10 participants made it in. We all congratulated each other on surviving the "Blizzard of 'o5" when we got word our host, Closet Chef, had phoned it in. Furthermore, it was reported CC had made certain disparaging remarks about BB posters who had backed out of the run. Apparently the Chef had mentioned publicly that people who got bluffed out by the weather reports would be considered "Girly-men" by hardier souls who endured a little pain for the comraderie of like-minded bikers.

Naturally, the topic of Girly-men and who deserved the title replaced the usual MC conversation at lunch. The upshot is something about a dress being provided for our resident Girly-man at next year's Lunch Run.

Its late and Letterman will be on soon. More of the trip will follow.

Tennessee Lunch Run 2005

Tennessee Route 116

As a motorcyclist living in Michigan, I look forward to the first clear roads of every spring. This winter has been lingering far too long. To pass the time, I have been following the adventures and plans of riders to the south.

see: http://gl1800riders.com

Among the many posts was one promising a meeting with other riders, a fantastic buffet lunch, beautiful scenery, and best of all it would be in Tennessee...far from the frozen north. A perfect way to break out of the winter doldrums.

If you follow the saga of the GL1800 GoldWing you may have heard of a recall to check the aluminum frames for weakness and possible re-welding. I got the dreaded letter of recall and dropped the bike off in mid-March. Time dragged and I finally got the call. The welds passed inspection and the 2nd annual Tennessee Lunch run was meeting in two days. It was Providence. I had to go!

That afternoon I posted on the BB I was in. A quick glance at the map indicated I could make it down near the event in about 10 hours. The weather report said rain, clearing by Friday afternoon. Giddyup.

Friday morning arrived with a couple of items that needed attention (unrelated to riding). Then it was time to pack a bag and hit the road. Since it was a bit cool and the sky looked pretty overcast, I put on an extra layer of clothes, leathers, chaps and went to the garage. I flipped the key to "on" and nothing appeared on the dash. Bad news. The battery was completely dead. I hooked up the battery charger, waited about 5 minutes, and click, click, click. News getting worse.

About that time, I retreated to the house and noticed my lower trim on the back of the right saddlebag was dangling about an inch below its intended location. Now I'm starting to become a little anxious about making it to Tennessee. I'm also having bad thoughts about the dealer.
Back in the house, a call to the dealer. I asked if he had thoughts about my dead battery and what may have caused the trim to be flapping in the breeze. He had no idea. Imagine my suprise.

Well, I told the guys onthe board I'd be there so I figured "what the hay," a push start might get me on the road. Luckily, the charger had worked its magic and the three year old battery had just enough oomph left to fire up the Honda. Things were looking up. I disconnected the charger and tossed it in the corner. I stuck the side cover back on and backed out into the driveway, being careful not to kill the engine. I figured the flapping trim issue could be remedied by some well placed duct tape until I could find a Honda dealer along the route and buy the needed hardware. "Improvise and overcome."

It was about 11:00 a.m. when I pulled into a honda shop in Maumee, Ohio. It's a miracle! They had the fasteners I needed in stock! A few minutes of laying on the parking lot and it looks almost like new. The only permanent damage was the scuff marks on the bag itself where something scraped down the back and took the trim loose to begin with. Oh well, its not even lunch time and I'm almost 50 miles closer the buffet. Plus the battery was holding a charge and was stronger than ever.

By the time I stopped for the first tank of gas, it was time to put on a sweatshirt. The next tank, it was time for another layer but I already was wearing everything I'd brought except my back up undies and spare socks. Onward and southward!

Cincinatti came and went, along with the last of the dry weather. Time for the Frogg Toggs. No more looking cool. The rain was light at first but gradually increased until it started getting interesting.

Even in the steady downpour, my raingear kept me dry and it was great to be on the first long ride of the year. It was great right up until both lanes of I-75 came to a halt. Now the rain that had been blowing over and around the fairing and windshield came straight down, and occasionally from one side or the other as the wind shifted.

Thanks to a late start and some on-the-road maintenance it was getting late and dark. With my less than perfect night vision, rain and darkness are a bad combination. On the upside, when I hit the traffic jam my gas tank was almost full and my bladder was almost empty. It was a good thing (as Martha would say) since it took about two hours to travel the next 10 miles.

The traffic crawled, when it moved at all, at less than idle speed. This is always awkward on a big touring bike but I made a good show as I passed and was passed by the same cars a few dozen times. I started to become familiar with several families who looked at me with pity as they sat with their heaters on and munched snacks. Every time we would creep to the crest of a hill, you could sense the disappointment as everyone saw the brake lights marking the route ahead until they dissappeared over the next crest or into the fog.

Well, I was still fairly dry except for my face and hands. My ski gloves had absorbed all the water they cold hold and were providing a wet barricade against the weather. I decided this was about as bad as it was going to get, barring a drastic drop in temperature. After all, I have been through worse...boot camp comes to mind. Shoot, I could stand on my head in peanut butter til the next exit!

Then the fog rolled in. Thick. You could watch it coming closer, from the depths of the cuts and hollows. The fog was cold on my face and now I knew Mother Nature had thrown everything she had at me and I hadn't cracked. She heard me thinking! Lightning. Not just a little lightning - spectacular flashes. Some were close enough that I could feel the jarring effect. My mind started wandering to thoughts of a direct helmet strike. I wondered if there was any chance of survival. I wondered if the little boys in the mini van would laugh or cry if I were to be suddenly transformed into a cinder.

About the time I started looking for a place to cross to the northbound lanes there was a sign. It said "Begin Merging - Right lane closed 4 miles ahead." I calculated at 1 mph we should reach the bottleneck in about 4 hours. I underestimated our speed. We reached the one lane point in slightly less than 1 hour. I was making much better speed than I thought! In the interest of good car/motorcycle relations, I resisted the urge to split lanes or ride down the shoulder to the front. Not everyone was so disciplined. Several drivers sped past the merging vehicles to a chorus of honking horns and I'm sure many unheard expletives.

Finally we arrived at the construction area that held back several thousand Florida-bound spring breakers for so long. At last sitting in the downpour would be over. At least I'd be moving forward. After each driver slowly examined the road improvements they sped off into the monsoons. It was raining so hard I could only occasionally see the lines on the road. I assumed everyone else could see better so I estimated where I should be and it seemed to work. I'm just glad I didn't encounter any road kill or tire parts along the way.

Finally an exit and just in time. I could see traffic ahead backing up from yet another construction site, accident, whatever. I had had it. I headed for motel row along with half the population of Wisconsin. There was no room at the inn. There were no covered areas. There were no hollow logs in sight. There was no recourse but to get back on the freeway. The next exit I came to was Lake City. Again motel row was full. No more freeway. I headed away from I-75 and stumbled across a Mom and Pop motel with a vacancy! Salvation. I must have looked (and smelled) like a big wet gorilla. The proprietor, sensing my desperation, charged 3 1/2 star prices for a room with two beds and pubic hair in the sink. Home at last.

The adventure wasn't over. My XM Commander model radio had absorbed enough water to wash out the digital display. Thats okay, I just left it on the '60s channel and boogied into the night. A bigger concern was some cool LED lights I had put on last year. When I turned the bike off, they didn't. I pulled the machine under the narrow eave outside my room. This kept most of the rain from falling directly on the bike. The runoff, however, was perfectly centered on the back of my neck as I looked for the short. I took a shortcut and disconnected the lights and turned in for the night.

The next day was the Tennessee lunch run and I was finally going to meet the famous Closet Chef in person. Only about 100 miles to go. I could hardly sleep! NOT!