Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Tennessee Lunch Run III


It was a beautiful April morning. The sun was bright in the east, casting long shadows of our bikes as Frank Carpenter and I pulled out onto Michigan Avenue near US23.

With 200 miles to the first planned stop, we settled in to a fairly innocent pace, just faster than the average traffic speed and allowing an occasional local commuter to draw out radar traps.

I saw the first coyote I’ve ever seen in Michigan about 4 miles after we started. He was on the west side of the freeway, squinting into the sun. 196 miles to go.

Our plan was originally to meet up with Polecat on the south side of Dayton and ride down to Lake City Tennessee. Then on to Falls Creek Falls the next morning. The Cat had bowed out due to family responsibilities so it was up to us to carry on. The ride through Ohio was the same as always – boring. There are great roads in Ohio but I-75 isn’t one of them, at least until you hit Cincinnati.

My low gas indicator lit up just north of Dayton and I decided to go for it. We made it to the Waffle House on the south side of town and topped off the tanks at the gas station on the corner. We hung around the WH for a while, kind of hoping Polecat would drop by but no luck. We pressed on, this time heading for the Bushtec facility just north of Lake City. Frank is toying with the idea of adding more storage capacity. He already has a hitch-mounted storage tray in back. He carries enough tools and food to outfit a Dakar run.

The Bushtec factory is hidden back in the foothills east of I-75 and is stocked with lots of trailers, ready to roll. We got the grand tour and I did my best to talk Frank into adding to his collection of rolling stock.

By 4:00 we were checked in at the Day’s Inn so we took a little trip up to Norris Dam. The weather had warmed from the 43 degrees in Michigan to 69 in Tennessee. We took a few photos and headed down to the old Grist Mill, arriving just as they locked the doors to the museum. We got out some rags and washed the motorcycles in the stream that used to provide energy for grinding grist (whatever that is). After removing several ounces of bug guts we headed back to the Cracker Barrel for some catfish, and then turned in.

The next morning we were up early for free coffee in the lobby. We were to meet RonBien and some of his riding buddies at a café in front of the Lamb’s Inn. The problem was the café had been turned into a Mexican restaurant sometime since my last visit. At 7:30 on the nose Ron’s group appeared. They spotted us in the gas station. Greetings all around, filled tanks, and we were off – to the McDonald’s across the street.

We met Iwing, Ronbien, Jay and Steve on 1500s and Don on a HD. Ron’s group had come up from Pigeon Forge where there was a gold wing Spring Fling rally of some kind. Coincidentally, that’s where John from Bushtec was when we stopped at his store.

We headed out with me in the lead looking for Route 116. I failed to mention to the group to expect a few hairpin uphill turns at the beginning of the ride. We hadn’t gone far when I noticed I was alone. RonBien pulled up and reported one of the 1500s had bailed after getting into the tricky parts. We continued at a leisurely pace all the way to Brushy Mountain Prison. The southern part of 116 is the best, new pavement, a variety of corners. Most of the whole route is 2nd through 4th gear stuff. Once in a while you can use 5th.

From Brushy Mountain Ron took over with his GPS leading the way. Thanks to some tips from Wimpy Honda, Ron had programmed in a route going down Highway 62, 298, and some numbers I can’t remember. It was a great mix of roads, light traffic, and an enjoyable pace.

We got to Falls Creek Falls early and I led the pack to Cane Falls where we stopped for pictures. That was when the great debate about what time it was started. After a while, we agreed we were an hour ahead of schedule and had time to loaf around the park like tourists for a while.

We ran into lots of others milling about smartly as if they really did know what time it was. Anyway, after a while we wound up at the actual Falls Creek Waterfall. Very scenic; the kind of place where time stands still. At least until some fellow travelers told us it was really an hour later than we thought. They were positive because they had the same argument yesterday and were assured by somebody who knows… etc, etc. So It was back to the parking lots – double time – and off the buffet.

As our intrepid group of time travelers arrived at the parking lot it was apparent we had been duped by people with less knowledge of the earth’s rotation than we had. There were dozens of gold wing riders hanging around telling stories in the cool morning sunshine. I couldn’t resist one arcing peg-grind as I pulled in. This got the attention of Yellow Wolf who seemed relieved someone else was willing to risk the wrath of less flamboyant riders.

The parking lot was a Who’s Who of GL1800riders.com members. According to Galute there were 74 gold wings in attendance, by actual count. In addition, there was a bunch of different brands ridden in by friends of invitees.

While meeting and greeting and speculating about the whereabouts of Closet Chef, a low murmuring could be detected, having to do with the buffet being open. In the interest of avoiding being fashionably late, I staked out a chair close to the dessert bar. By now the group I rode in with was scattered all over the place and new acquaintances were the standard.

Stop everything here: I’ve been trying to write this up for a week now and keep getting interrupted by things like near death experiences in the family, actual paying work to do, and the demands of a 9 month old Labrador dog. Here’s what I mean: The dog just got done dragging me away from the keyboard for an emergency round of toy throwing in the back yard. All was going well and Maggie was prancing across the yard with her favorite toy in her mouth when suddenly, she remembered she had to pee. She dropped the toy, took a couple more steps and squatted directly over her new Cabela’s Training Dummy. She turned and looked at the mess, looked at me, and returned to me without the toy. Together we returned to the scene of the crime. We looked at the toy and then looked at each other. Next we looked around at the clear skies and considered the odds of rain. Since my wife was not there to decide what to do, we gave up and I returned to work on the blog while Maggie took up stalking robins.

Keep in mind this is only an example of why this is late – not an excuse.

Anyway, the buffet was a great success. The waitresses kept busy refilling glasses, the cooks kept busy re-supplying the buffet, and the rest of us kept busy telling tall stories about what great adventures we had encountered en route to the Lunch.

In the middle of everything, Closet Chef himself showed up. I don’t know if he even got to eat because he was busy greeting everybody and handing out chances to win door prizes, all the while enduring a steady invocation of “Girly-Man” remarks. (For those who don’t know, CC is behind this get-together and last year wussed out because of cold weather).

As the lunch wound down, attendees gradually migrated back out to the parking lot and laid hasty plans about which way to go next. Lots of different groups headed in all directions. Before the meeting broke up, Closet Chef put all the entries in a bag and held a drawing for fabulous prizes.

The Tennessee Lunch Run III was finally over. Everybody there had a great time. There were no injuries and no arrests. Thanks CC!

The end of the lunch get-together was the beginning of another adventure. About 18 of us decided to run down the Cherahola Skyway on the way to Deals Gap, then back to Madisonville for the night. Yellow Wolf and Galute set the pace and showed us the way to our destination. The Cherahola is made for gl1800s. Great curves with lots of Dogwood and Wisteria decorating the course. At one point we came up behind 5 riders on cruisers. They rode very deliberately and seemed consumed by uniformity. The speed never varied. Neither did their relative position. They all wore black helmets, black clothes, and dark expressions. After a few miles it became apparent they either didn’t notice the herd of gold wings behind them or didn’t care, so we made our way around them. I was struck by the contrast between these serious souls and our merry group of bikers on responsive, brightly colored scoots, laughing and waving as we listened to Steppenwolf on our xm radios and enjoyed the ride at a different pace.

Once again, the road became a motorcycle road. Swooping into the corners and powering out the other side, setting up for the next corner and the next. Motorcycling the way it was intended. Along the way we stopped at a turnout and took some pictures. It was here one of our group smoked his rear tire for about 40 feet while waiting for the rest of our group to arrive. The sight of that many touring bikes lined up on the Skyway would make a good ad for Honda.

Back on the road, it didn’t take long for another adventure to occur. This one wasn’t quite as upbeat as the rest of the trip. With Yellow Wolf in the lead, TonyB took up the next position and I fell into the number three slot. Suffice to say those other two can ride. I soon found myself exceeding the suspension limits of my bike. As usual, I was running with my suspension set on soft. I love the smell of grinding engine guards and melting boot sole as much as the next guy but decided discretion was the better part of staying right side up. It turned out to be a good call. My plan called for charging the corners and using lots of brake prior to committing to the curve. This put me about 40 feet behind TonyB when the pavement rose up in a sharp right-hander and pulled him to the ground.

Tony put on a spectacular show. He stayed on the bike all the way to guard rail where the laws of physics required him to launch over the bars and windshield. The steel on the right side of the Honda left a shower of sparks that would make the Gruccis proud. I saw him stand as I stopped downstream of the debris fan. With Tony on his feet, I hurried back to the uphill side of the corner to flag down approaching traffic. Yellow Wolf Was back in seconds and other riders set up traffic control downhill from the wreck and others lent moral support and assistance. Tony’s bike was un-drivable with the engine puking hot oil all over the place. Apparently a highway peg mount made its way into the right side case.

(Safety tip: When those little acorn nuts on the bottoms of the stock pegs are gone along with half of the metal part of the peg itself it might be a good time to replace them so you’ll have some early warning of critical lean angle).

In typical supportive fashion, as soon as it was determined Tony would survive, the bidding started for his I-way GPS. When all the dust settled, the ride went on. Snoppy stayed behind to wait for the tow truck (and police) and the rest of us beat it for Deals Gap.

We got to the store just after it closed. Luckily Yellow Wolf is in cahoots with the owners and conned the proprietor into switching on the pump long enough to gas up the one cruiser that was in our party.

It was dusk as we pulled out onto the Dragon. Yellow Wolf in the lead as usual, and this time it was me in the unlucky #2 position. It took about 3 turns for YW to disappear into the shadows. With Dice Pilot and Galute pushing me, I did the best I could to set a respectable pace on my first run of the famous road. All I can say is we survived and it was a fun ride. (At least for me). Once we came out near the lake I noticed it was getting pretty dark, my fuel gauge was showing about one click above empty and I had no idea which way or how far the nearest town was. I motioned for Dice Pilot to take the lead and felt reassured that we were all getting the same mileage. Then I remembered I had skipped topping off my tank at the last gas stop. Oh well, Galute was still behind me. Until he passed. There were still a dozen or so wings behind us somewhere – unless they took a different route after the Gap.

About half an hour later we could see occasional lights. We were soon pulling up to the pumps of a well-lit gas station on the outskirts of Madisonville Tennessee. From there it was a short ride to our hotel. Except for Dice Pilot. He had a couple hundred more miles to do that night so he could be home in time for an event his son was involved in the next morning.

At the hotel, we took stock of the survivors. Frank Carpenter had bailed out before the Cherahola with a cramped hand and headed straight for the hotel. TonyB we know about. Snoppy was waiting out in the boondocks with Tony. Dice Pilot had beat feet back to his house. So 13 of us loitered around the hotel parking lot spinning yarns about past rides and today’s events. After a while Snoppy arrived on is ’06 with Tony on the back seat. Just to make sure Tony wouldn’t be traumatized by his earlier dismount; Snoppy rode peg to peg through the Gap in the pitch dark to restore his confidence. You know, “Get back on the horse” and all that rot. Riders gradually disappeared into motel rooms without any concrete plans for the next day and that was fine.

Sunday dawned with clouds to the west and reports of potential bad weather on the television. Frank and I conferred with experts and decided to head for the Blue Ridge Parkway via the Tail of the Dragon. We said goodbye to Closet Chef and a bunch of other riders and set out with Snoppy (and Tony), and Yellow Wolf toward Fontana Dam. There had been high winds during the night and the Tail of the Dragon was littered with green leaves, twigs and bits of limbs. Still, riding in daylight was even more fun than the previous night’s experience.

We said goodbye to YW, Snoppy, and TonyB at the Gap Store. After buying the mandatory souvenirs, Frank and I took off down highway 28, an excellent road toward Tellico Plains and Cherokee, North Carolina. The southern entrance to the Blue Ridge Parkway is littered with the detritus of failed entrepreneurs. Blocks of rusty lawn tractors followed by blocks of what appear to be permanent yard sales welcome visitors to the area.

A small town just inside the Cherokee Reservation was littered with faux Indian names on all the businesses. The Wig-Wam motel, the Tomahawk Pawn Shop, The Running Brave Car Wash come to mind. (11,000 years worth of deceased Cherokees must be quietly spinning in their graves). I wish I had the foresight to open the “Medicine Man Tattoo Emporium” since there was some sort of Harley Davidson rally going on. There were about a thousand black motorcycles in attendance, each rider eager to race his engine as Frank and I rode by. I made it a point to smile and nod a lot but got little response form the bleach blond passengers and no eye contact from the riders. I just know these guys were having a ball, but you would never know it from the looks on their faces.

Once we got through the traffic jam, we were only a few minutes from the Parkway. The traffic was sparse and the weather and road were perfect. Each turnout was more spectacular than the last. We stopped briefly and often to look down into the valleys and enjoy the blue skies clear air. Diving into the blackness of the countless tunnels gave the headlights a real test. If it hadn’t been for reflectors on the centerline, navigation would have been real iffy. The time slipped away too quickly and we were soon at Ashville, once again in search of a gas station.

From Asheville we set our sights on a semi-direct route back to Detroit Metro. US-23 was the route. We headed north, again in light traffic, from North Carolina, through Virginia and into southern Ohio. US-23 is built to Interstate standards with 4 lane divided highways, high speed ramps, good signage and for some reason a 55 mph speed limit. Away from the small towns we rarely saw another car. We made good time on the 23 until after a right hand sweeper over a bridge. The bridge was striped with dozens of tar snakes which I barely noticed on my relatively new Metzlers. Frank on the other hand wanted to pull in at the next exit to check his tire pressure. He experienced enough slip to make him think he had a flat. We chalked it up to worn tread and continued on to Portsmouth Ohio for the night.

The ride across Ohio Monday was uneventful and we got home in the early afternoon. All in all, it was another outstanding ride. Something over 1600 miles, much of which was through the best motorcycle roads in the country. Having the company of people who knew the area like Galute, Snoppy, Yellow Wolf, and others made for excellent use of time. Closet Chef started something that has become a real event. It was good seeing so many familiar faces. Be careful out there.

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