Aussies Go US

[Lord Popgun]

Cormanus,

I love reading this. It makes me feel like I was there!

But you had to give Bubba my name? I hope you didn't tell him where I live...

That Nigerian prince hasn't sent my money back yet. He said he sent it to help out Greece. Hmmm.

Two movies really scared people about deep South. Easy Rider made everyone with long or just not short hair thnk they were going to get shotgunned off their bikes. And, Deliverance made everyone afraid to go in the deep woods. No one wants to squeal like a pig!

[Cormanus]

Day 8—Going Solo

31 May

[url=https://www.google.com/maps/d/edit?mid=z5L5SB6CRw2M.khCcuTCmhafE&usp=sharing]
This map was very irritating to draw. Google Maps has a mind of its own and obviously doesn’t ride a motorcycle. It keeps wanting to take you the way it thinks is best—usually the most direct—and it was not at all keen for me to show the Blue Ridge Parkway.

There were some vacancies in the bike park when I got up in the morning. The Ferret and his north-bound compadres had cleared out as had other riders making a dash for home. Ride4now had again, I suspect, been up all night restoring his bike to showroom condition. Breakfast was a quieter affair, but there was a bit of an air of urgency as Pterodactyl and I had decided to ride some of the way up the Blue Ridge Parkway with SanPete who was headed north to rejoin his family. He had a long day ahead of him and we’d agreed to try to get going early.

Breakfast was a slightly subdued affair, as these things can be after a good event. Ride4Now, SanPete, Pterodactyl, Razor, Oldguy59, SCCBrider and me as I recall all feeling slightly saddened by imminent departures.

Pterodactyl and I had decided to stay on at IHML for another two nights. We were enjoying the riding a great deal and there were other roads to be ridden. We also wanted to have another crack at the Dragon. That would leave us a day or two to ride some roads in northern Georgia that had been strongly recommended to us by Eddie, the helpful EagleRider chap.

Perhaps a bit later than we hoped, we set out east on 28 and 74 before joining 19 and riding it to it’s junction with the BRP. That meant we missed the starting part of the road, but it saved SanPete some time and there was still some lovely riding to be had.


Heading east from IHML

I see, reviewing this photo, that we were doing ‘the wave’ US style. One of the great advantages of riding on the right hand side of the road is that your left hand is nearest people travelling the other way. That means you can easily do ‘the wave’—taking your left hand off the bars and holding it diagonally downwards. When I first saw SanPete doing it, I thought he was trying to point something out to me. I caught on eventually. It’s a bit trickier doing it when you drive on the left. If you did the US style wave, the other rider wouldn’t see you. If you did it with your right hand and didn’t have cruise control, you’d keep coming to a grinding halt. We have to nod or do a more enthusiastic wave raising the left hand. Most people on bikes in the US waved. For the record, a great many of them were riding Harleys.

There were a couple of adjustment stops and Pterodactyl confessed to being a bit out of sorts. He would, he said, bring up the rear. That’s a bit unusual; he normally rides a bit more quickly than I do on this sort of road and I expected him to do the same. Later it was to become clear he’d done such a job on his rear tyre that good sense required him to be a bit careful.

Last fuel stop with SanPete. You can see his CB in the background








I wrote earlier about how disorienting it was inside the tunnels. I took this photo inside one of them. It sort of captures some of the sensation of riding through one!

It was as enjoyable on the BRP after the Richland Balsam look out and we rode to Asheville where we headed into town to find a cup of coffee. There we said our farewells to SanPete—with whom we’d ridden every day bar one since we set out from Marietta and our last contact with the rally—and came face to face with the awful truth that we were going to have to fly solo from here.

I had a TomTom US app on my phone but I decided not to put it to work as our route seemed reasonably easy. I was a bit apprehensive about it anyway as I had no way of mounting the phone of the handlebars—my LifeProof mount would not wrap itself around the ST’s non-round bars. I wondered how I would go not being able to see the information the GPS displays. When I did get around to using it, I found the whole business eerie—there would be silence for very long periods and then suddenly I’d hear a voice. I’m reasonable sure it was the GPS app; I haven’t heard any since I turned it off.

Courageously we set off south on one of those large and busy American highways. Occasionally it rained and we got a bit wet, but it wasn’t quite bad enough to stop and put on the wet gear. After a bit we turned off and headed west along 280. This was not, but nor did we expect it to be, a particularly exciting road. It lead us, though to 276 which would take us north, back over the BRP and on to Waynesville. It was a thoroughly enjoyable and pretty ride with more than enough twisty bits to be good fun. And more glorious North Carolina scenery.






At Waynesville we rejoined 19 and headed west again through Maggie Valley. I saw a sign announcing the Wheels Through Time Museum, but completely failed to find the turn off so we kept going. I also missed the road back onto the BRP which we had thought to re-join at the point we’d joined it in the morning and ride back to Cherokee. I stopped to confer with Pterodactyl and turn around, but he was getting low on petrol and wanted to push on to Cherokee.


We filled up with petrol and watched a large group of riders gearing up for a shower. Figuring it would be prudent to do the same, we rolled our bikes away from the bowsers and dug out the wet weather gear. Just in time. Even before we'd finished putting it on we were huddling in a doorway trying to stay dry.

The moments before the rain set in

It rained properly nearly all the way back to the Iron Horse and I learned 2 things: the ST is a more agreeable bike to ride in serious rain given the protection afforded by the fairing and the windscreen; and secondly my wet weather pants are as much use on a motor bike as an ashtray. Elsewhere I’ve told the story of a ride through the rain on the way to the 2014 MotoGP and my boots filling up with water. I now understand how it happened. The water runs down the tank, through the dodgy seam in your crotch, down your legs and into your boots.

I was glad of a shower and a beer!

[Razor]

Cormanus, can't thank you enough for taking the time to document the trip. Brings back great memories!

[Lord Popgun]

So did you get a tattoo? Don't say they weren't open, I see the sign.

[redbirds_imp]

This post makes me regret not staying a few more days. Thanks Cormanus for the excellent posts.

[Cormanus]

Day 9—The Dragon Again

1 June

[url=https://www.google.com/maps/d/viewer?mid=z5L5SB6CRw2M.kPUB4Tl6rTXA]

I can’t recall now whether the slightly lethargic start was due a faint despondency or occasional showers of rain. Whatever. It was not a rapid start on Day 9. I recall it was helped by the delightful woman who served our breakfast every day who quickly grasped my need for multiple cups of hot tea.



Morning on Day 9 at the Iron Horse Motorcycle Lodge

We decided to tackle the Dragon again—Pterodactyl was particularly keen; maybe it appealed to his racing spirit or it could have been he just wanted some GoPro footage for the Mad … Whoops! I wasn’t supposed to mention that. Never mind. The day was to be spent riding some fine roads, stopping and starting, and moving the GoPro from one mounting point to another so we could take and then re-take critical footage.

The ride from the Iron Horse along 28 to Deal’s Gap was probably better the second time. We stopped at Deals Gap for photo opportunities and coffee.









There is no happier sight than a line of enthusiastic squid


The jaws of the Dragon

The Dragon was fun again. I recall I rode it with a GoPro stuck to the rear pannier and pursued by the Pterodactyl. At one point we pulled over to allow the squid to pass. They thundered past with the splendid roar of expensive machinery and the smug and cheery wave of people who know they’re kings of the road.

Moments later, shortly before Killboy corner damme if there wasn’t a squid in the ditch. We stopped on a pull out around the corner and I went back to make sure he was OK. He and his mate didn’t want to know me, although when I wasn’t heading off without an answer they assured me he was OK. Actually, both he and the bike were a little dented—in pride and bodywork respectively—but they were soon on their way.

Pterodactyl awaits a report


Killboy corner

We rode on and found some of North Carolina’s finest admiring the view at the end of the road.


Being a bit keen to try the River’s End Restaurant that Ferret and others had recommended, we returned along 128 pausing just after failing to catch site of Richard Kimble to make a technical adjustment to the GoPro.

As we tinkered beside the road, we heard the roar of a racing motorcycle in the distance. Moments later, a bike hove briefly into view. On this gentlest of corners he had the knee down and must easily have been making 100 mph or better. After passing us, he dropped a couple of cogs in short order, pulled out to the centre of the road and took the corner at the bottom of the hill magnificently. We heard him howling towards Deals Gap. As luck would have it my camera was turned on.


After a couple of stops for filming purposes (one at Wheelers Cycle Shop which will feature again in our story) we found our way to the Rivers End Restaurant where we had a most excellent lunch while the rain thundered down outside. I didn’t realise until I was writing this that Appalachian Trail passes over the bridge at the front door of the restaurant. I noted the general store and beer shop immediately over the road, but didn’t realise it was the go to place until EmptySea mentioned it [url=http://cb1100forum.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=6327&pid=97739#pid97739]here.









On the way to Rivers End

The rain obligingly stopped as we turned around and rode back alongside the Nantahala River before turning west-south-west on 1310, an obscure looking road I’d discovered on a map. It was a pretty road that took us through lovely hill country.



After the lunch time rain

Pterodactyl seemed to have developed a sudden penchant for gentle riding. I can’t tell you what an unusual state of affairs that was and is. I’m not being modest; he rides more quickly than I do and is generally sets the pace while I play catch up. Anyway, I pulled up at the junction of 1310 and 1442 to figure out exactly which way to turn and to make sure he was OK. Turned out the FJR was extremely low on petrol and he was getting so worried about making it to the next petrol station that he’d rolled all the way down the hill in neutral. We had this conversation in the forecourt of the abandoned Loafer’s Glory Big D where abandoned petrol bowsers seemed to laugh at us. Would we make the 5 or so miles to Franklin?



On the way across 1310

We did make it to Franklin where we found petrol, coffee and an Ingles supermarket where we replenished the red wine supply before setting out north along 28.

I was leading; riding carefully as many of the corners were wet from the day’s showers and I wasn’t sure how greasy they were. I don’t like wet roads much and I suspect I’m over cautious. Pterodactyl, however, seemed to be travelling more slowly than usual. The showers continued and we alternated between being wet and drying out. But there wasn’t much traffic and I enjoyed the trip back to the Iron Horse.

I was back in the cabin before Pterodactyl. He arrived and announced that his rear tyre was, in the vernacular … er, no, I won’t use the vernacular … the tyre was no longer in good condition. Indeed, it’s slickness would have been an ornament to any race track. Clearly beer, food and good red wine would be required to solve the conundrum of what to do.

We set about the task with the sort of diligence I hope you’ve come to expect of us and, showing the benefits of experience and practice, reached the bottom of the bottle and a conclusion simultaneously.

[the Ferret]

Delicious...

[ride4now_imp]

One more time... great stuff. Thank you.

[emptysea]

The area around where the AT crosses the Nantahala River is one of my favorite spots in the area. We only stopped there because we wanted some beer for the evening and it was on our way to a hiking trail not too far from there. It was a very pleasant stop. Too bad you had rain, but so glad you found such a beautiful place to wait it out.

[Cormanus]

Day 10—Back to Georgia

2 June

[url=https://www.google.com/maps/d/edit?mid=z5L5SB6CRw2M.kJ-ojXu5UeQU&usp=sharing]

Wishing I could find a bonnet of the sort affected by washerwomen of Huck Finn’s time, I gathered up an armful of dirty Aussie kit and went to do battle with the enormous, industrial strength washing machine at the Iron Horse. While it worked its magic, I retreated to the cabin and read the forum or a book or something until it was time to transfer the load to the even more enormous drier. It reminded me of living in London many years ago when it was said one of the homeless chaps who wandered the streets near my flat slept in the drier at the laundromat. He would at least have been warm in the London winter.

At breakfast the kind woman kept me properly infused with tea. On the basis of my experience in Georgia, Tennessee and North Carolina, I have to conclude Americans (other than the Ferret of course) don’t get the whole tea thing. The conversation often went something like:

“May I have a cup of tea, please?”

“It’s over there,” pointing politely.

“Er, no, I’d like hot tea, please.”

“You want heart tea?”

“Er, not heart tea, hot tea.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said, heart tea.”

“Oh, right, I see. Yes please. Hot tea. Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome.” Accompanied by a slightly perplexed look as if foreigners were a sheep short in the top paddock.

Ferret had, in an act of great generosity, left me with a sufficient supply of tea bags to get me around the world at least a couple of times and they were to come in handy.

We tarried over breakfast as we needed to hang about until 0930 for WOW Motorcycles to open. The decision made the previous evening was that Pterodactyl would call EagleRider (based in the WOW dealer in Marietta) about the sad state of his rear tyre.

He did so and has already told the story with his usual wit [url=http://cb1100forum.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=6157]here:

Turning up at a CB rally with an FJR is like turning up at a party with, well.... errrr .... ahhh .... ummm. Methinks that it is best left to your own imagination. You will note that in the group photos at the rally the FJR, and Cormanus’ ST, were quietly pushed aside. Bit like the mad aunts at a family gathering. However that is not the point. On taking delivery of the FJR at Eaglerider Marietta I did a walk around with the store manager. One of the things I did note was the condition of the tyres (tires?). Well, they were good, looked on the right side of half-life with good grooving all the way to the centre (center?). Please note that I am endeavouring to become familiar with the North American spelling conventions, just so we are all on the same page, so to speak.

A day later, under the guidance of ride4now, I was gradually getting the “wrong side of the road” under control and by the time we had wended our way up to Neels Gap I had a reasonable appreciation of the FJR. Not as nimble as a VFR750, or quite as torquey as the CB, but agile enough and with more than adequate power. Keep the revs up and the power coming on when established in the corners and it was a lot of fun.

So three days later I had had a lot of fun. Just under a 1000miles added to the FJR. On the Sunday, Cormanus and I followed SanPete up the Blue Ridge Parkway. I was feeling a little slow. My 70 year old brain and body, despite a lifetime of almost puritanically healthy living and total devotion to asceticism, was becoming a little weary. But that was not my main concern. I felt, when nicely established in those wonderful BRP sweepers, that if I tightened up the line with any vigour (vigor?) the back end seemed to slide a little. Nothing serious but just more than necessary.

After saying goodbye to SanPete we made our way back to Stechoah. At one stage we encountered some heavy rain. A passing thunder storm. Cormanus was leading and for one reason or another came to a halt, a red light maybe. I applied brakes and noted that deceleration was not quite as effective as expected and that the ABS was operating. My line was to his left side so I wasn’t going to rear end him but I did stop about a half wheel length alongside him. This was not real good. Unnerving in fact.
On reaching the Iron Horse I took a shufti at the rear tyre (tire?) and guess what?



After another couple of hundred miles on Monday, including the Dragon, the rear end was becoming quite active. On Tuesday we checked out of the Iron Horse and I had the rear changed at Wheelers in Robinsville when it looked like this:



As an aside this tyre (tire?) is a ContiMotion. Continental make some beaut products however the ContiMotion is described, by Continental, as a “Sport Touring radial for the price conscious rider”. Get what you pay for I guess.

Both Eddie at Eaglerider and Ken Wheeler couldn’t do enough to help. They were fantastic. I rolled into Wheelers and around thirty minutes later I saw this, a Bridgestone Battlax.



I scrubbed the Battlax in on 129 south out of Robinsville. At our first stop Cormanus commented, “Got your dancing shoes on again?” Yes, I had.


Cheers

I’ll just add that Eddie at WOW/EagleRider is the man. It took a quick phone call, an emailed copy of a photo of the tyre and it was replaced with no fuss at all.

Eventually, with clean gear, a slight feeling of sadness, a US129 badge for me and a helmet decal of the Dragon for Pterodactyl, we left the Iron Horse Motorcycle Lodge for the final time and found our way to Ken Wheeler’s excellent motorcycle emporium.


Ken’s a great bloke and had the FJR up on the hoist with the back wheel off in a matter of moments making me realise what a wonderful thing a single swinging arm is. He quickly detected we were not locals and confessed he wasn’t either, telling how long it takes in this part of the world for an out of stater to be regarded with anything but suspicion. I was, I confess, worried about him as, every time he did something even slightly strenuous, he had to pause to make a technical adjustment to his hernia. It looked damned uncomfortable to me, but he did it with great aplomb and good humour.

It was after 1200 before we were back on our way through Robbinsville, from where we followed 28 south to Franklin, riding the previous afternoon’s route the other way. Pterodactyl was a new man—whipping into the corners and setting a cracking pace. It seemed an even better road on the new day.






We stopped at an information centre/coffee shop in Franklin where an octogenarian woman who looked fitter than either of us provided an OK cappuccino and a muffin. She was also very kind about suggesting some interesting routes south. There was a remarkable serendipity about the way they aligned with the plan we’d concocted based on the advice of our CB1100 colleagues.

We set off into a cloudy afternoon promising showers and made our way south on 28/64 to Highlands and then to Pine Mountain. It was immediately obvious why the route, running alongside the Cullasaja River had been recommended to us. It was not only a great ride but also beautiful with its steep mountains and pretty river. We stopped twice to admire waterfalls and take photographs.










Of course, we planned to do the famous Bridal Veil Falls photo shoot, but caught sight of them only out of the corner of our eyes and decided not to stop. It was a lovely road and we enjoyed it until it was time to turn off onto the pretty enough Warwoman Rd which took us to Clayton where we joined 2 and ran north to Hiawassee where we checked ourselves into the Lake Chatuge Lodge.



The young lady at reception told us the Lodge was in a dry county and they couldn’t sell alcohol. Luckily we had spied an Ingles on the way through town and rode back down there and discovered, slightly to my amazement, that they sold beer which we drank companionably on the deck outside our room while musing over the day’s ride and pondering the morrow. While we hadn’t covered a great distance, it had been a pleasing ride and Pterodactyl was again really enjoying the FJR.

As we drank our beer, I wondered again about the whole dry county thing. It’s inconvenient for an old soak like me. At the same time, I acknowledge it’s none of my business and if people want dry counties, good for them. What I don’t get is why the Lodge was not allowed to sell alcohol but we could buy it at the supermarket, we saw a good many signs for a place selling wine and we could also buy it at the Chophouse of Hiawassee where we dined. I came to the conclusion it must have been a selectively dry county.

We wandered 150 metres or so down the hill to the Chophouse of Hiawassee where (as noted) we could have a drink and did. We both decided on the signature beef rib and a glass or two of red wine. The rib was excellent; one of the better meals I had in the US. I’m glad I didn’t ask for a rare one! In a perverse kind of way I also enjoyed the service. The young waiter was polite and attentive but completely disengaged while delivering his prepared patter at such a mighty pace it was hard to understand him.