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.