The weather was gorgeous last weekend, so I packed a bag and set out Friday morning, a little before sunrise, heading westward. When I exited the first roundabout there was an 18-wheeler in front of me, but he immediately pulled onto the shoulder to let me pass. Exiting the second roundabout, a sewage truck did the same thing, waving me on. The conspicuous goodwill, smooth-running bike, lovely weather, and the prospect of hitting the hills was all very uplifting.
As I neared the Nice bridge, I realized that I had forgotten my ezpass transponder. Oh well, I figured the bill will find me anyway. In addition to being named the Nice bridge, the 301 bridge over the Potomac really is nice now that it is two lanes each direction. It used to be a traffic chokepoint.
I took the back roads to Fredericksburg, VA. Got stuck behind the cheese wagon for a few minutes, but generally enjoyed the ride on 218. I stopped for a break in the Fredericksburg old town and had two croissants and a cup of coffee at a tiny bakery.
Continuing west, I took a route to Orange that is more suited for motorcycles but adds very little time. I parked for a few minutes in town to stretch my legs in a small memorial park. The church bells across the street chimed 10 o'clock and played a lovely hymn.
I continued west past Montpelier and parked in the shade of a large maple in Charlottesville to remove my fleece layer and pack it away. I continued westward. Somehow, a navigation error took me off 250 onto 29 south, so I rerouted to join the Blue Ridge Parkway around mile 27 instead of 0, stopping along the way for an orange cream coke in Montebello.
I enjoyed the great views and light traffic on the Blue Ridge Parkway, stopping occasionally for a break, a photo, or water. I took the time to walk across the James River footbridge and check out an old canal lock built in 1848.
Leaving the Parkway around mile 91 where it was closed for construction, I rode into Buchanan. I stretched my legs on another footbridge. This one moved in waves as I walked across, like a large version of the wavy playground bridges.
I rode on through towns with names like Eagle Rock, Iron Gate, and Clifton Forge, where trains still roll through town with large loads of coal. I made another navigation error which caused me to backtrack, but still made it to Clifton Forge by 5:30 as I hoped. After checking into the hotel, I had to laugh when I saw how crooked the bathroom door frame was. It reminded me of a very old house I once lived in where the windows and door frames were like that.
After a shower and change, I walked three blocks down the street and enjoyed a smoked sausage and sauerkraut dinner at a pub/brewery. Two delicious kolsch beers as well. The previous time I rode in the Appalachians, I had said no to the deep fried oreos, but this time I said yes, and I didn't regret it. It was a good day.
The next morning, I had breakfast at the hotel and got a later start, around 8:30. After wiping the dew off the bike, I headed north on the roads that generally parallel the ridges, through forests and fields. I stopped at three shops but couldn't find a cup of coffee in McDowell, so I pressed on.
The morning warmed gradually, and I felt myself improving in the curves. My speed control felt more positive than the previous day, and I was able to match my speed to the curves pretty well. It felt right. Road conditions were pretty good.
I stopped at the general store in Brandywine, recognizing it from a previous trip in which I had approached it from the other direction. I poured my coffee and the old lady at the cash register asked about my bike. She had recently given up her Sportster for a Honda 500 Rebel because her left hand was no longer strong enough for the Sportster, she said. I sipped the coffee outside while chatting with a couple young off-road riders whose dirt bikes were laden with camping gear.
I bid them a good weekend and headed across the ridge on 33. I crossed the ridge just as a life flight helicopter was taking off, apparently having picked someone up. I let a BMW rider pass me at the top, but I kept pace with him on the way down. The road was gorgeous.
I rode around the north side of Harrisonburg and through New Market. I stopped at Cooters for lunch. My burger and onion rings order seem to take forever, which gave me plenty of time to talk with a guy who was interested in the CB1100, and everything else related to motorcycles. He had a W900 and INT650, and at one time he had worked at the Fredericksburg motorsports store.
I returned by a series of country roads which would avoid Fredericksburg to the south, and which would take me by Hornes in Port Royal. I stopped at Hornes for dinner, which was a strawberry malt and a glass of ice water. Hornes is the last remaining restaurant from a chain which is now long extinct.
I headed north and, as I neared the Nice bridge, I noticed too late an opportunity to get a photo of the bike with a power plant in the background, across the Potomac. After crossing the bridge, I found a suitable place to pull over and get the photo. That photo will go on the other thread, of course.
I arrived home a little after dark and rolled into the garage. Another good day. It was 648 miles over two days, exactly half on each day. It was my first long ride on the bike I bought in July. The bike ran beautifully and was a joy to ride. My butt held up okay on the stock seat. My riding improved, just a little. I finished wanting to do more. It will be tempting to do another ride in the hills next month when the foliage is in color.
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Northern Blue Ridge Parkway and VA Shenandoah
