Aussies Go US

[Cormanus]

Day 6—The Dragon and more

29 May



From various places around Robbinsville CB1100s and their riders found their way to the forecourt of the Iron Horse Motorcycle Lodge. The Ferret had said they had to be there by 0900, and by golly they were! The plan was a meet and greet, a photo or two and then the Ferret would lead us on an assault of the fabled Dragon. Afterwards he would take us to the Cherohala Skyway—a road he and many others preferred.

Many photos were taken and many have already been posted, but, what the heck, here’s a couple more of the 15 CB1100s that gathered that morning.






Other photos of the rally can be found in [url=http://s787.photobucket.com/user/Cormanus/library/20150528-CB1100_Rally]this album.

Photos were taken and introductions made. Seeing 15 gleaming CB1100s all lined up made me a little wistful about my black and silver CB1100 sitting all forlorn under its cover 14,000 kilometres away. There were red 2013s, black and red 2014s, a blue one, the model year of which I can’t remember, and I couldn’t help feeling the presence of a red 2010 model and a black 2011 model would have added something. But, enough of this sentiment, I told myself; we’re here to ride. So we climbed aboard our bikes and followed the Ferret out the gate.









In search of the Dragon


The much photographed Tree of Shame

I enjoyed the ride to the Dragon lots. Ferret rook us out of IHML along 28 to Deal’s Gap. There we stopped to regroup, inspect the Tree of Shame and, with a little ceremony, hang dUh!’s generous tribute to OldF7Guy on the tree. This was very different to the other mementos of shame on the tree: this shame was that Eric could not be with us on his CB1100 as he had wanted.

A different kind of shame: OldF7Guy’s memorial is attached to the tree
The conditions in this part of North Carolina are truly wonderful for motorcycle riding. The roads are well made and the surfaces good; the scenery is magnificent, if you like mountains, streams and lush forest (I obviously do); and the riding is one great bit of road after the next. There’s something for everyone: sweepers here, a bit of a straight there, the tight twists of the Dragon over there. Having travelled a fair old distance to be here, what more could a bloke want?

We rode the Dragon out and back. It was a blast and not quite as intimidating as I’d expected. Indeed, it exceeded my expectations. I had been told there were other equally good or better roads in the area; I confess, at that stage, I didn’t appreciate it.

Perhaps the good news is that I was hanging on tight all the way along and back the Dragon and took no photos.





At the end of the Dragon

We passed through Deals Gap, pressing on south on 128 until we came to the Cherohala Skyway (143). We stopped to refuel and then turned east. Not long after we started we were confronted by a police roadblock. I’d just learned we’d ridden past the dam from which Dr Richard Kimble had leaped while being cruelly pursued by Sam Gerard and I wondered whether they thought he was still in the area hiding out on a CB1100. Possible I guess; but not, as it turned out, the case. I can’t say why we were pulled over en masse, but I can reveal that I was asked by the nice policeman if he could look at my license. I handed it to him expecting to be questioned about where it came from. He looked at it for a long time, turned it over, looked at the back and then turned it over again. After another long look, he handed it back without a word and moved on to the next person.

I’m telling this story because a certain amount of mischief was made in the aftermath and, in my view, my good name was impugned. In [URL=https://cb1100forum.net/threads/62810/]this media release, dUh! made the story public. My so-called friend, popgun, immediately leaped to the conclusion that it was my fault—see [url=http://cb1100forum.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=5972&pid=91661#pid91661]here and [url=http://cb1100forum.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=5972&pid=91695#pid91695]here. The second of those posts shows the extent of his mischief making: I hate HUBRIS Omnigrade Motorcycle Oil. It remains to be seen whether it has cost me an engine, but that’s another story.

Anyway, to play along with the humour of it all, I got a grip, contained my hurt, and made a post (see [url=http://cb1100forum.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=5972&pid=91728#pid91728]here) seeking popgun’s help with bail money. He flat out refused and left me—gleefully I may add, see the huge smiley in [url=http://cb1100forum.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=5972&pid=91776#pid91776]this post—to the mercy of his mate Bubba. I assume the said Bubba was not only enormous and hideously muscled but also wanted to engage, with or without my consent, in acts of a kind which cannot be discussed here. Luckily I never had to find out because, Rboe—typifying the generosity I met elsewhere in the US—immediately forwarded a cheque. His post was a bit cryptic and I wondered whether he expected it to bounce. It didn't. Thanks Rboe. I appreciate it and I hope I never have to do the same for you.

As it happened, later in my travels while in an ice-cream parlour, I met a very large man with many a colourful tattoo who told me his name was Bubba.

“Really?” I asked, “Do you by any chance know my internet pen pal, popgun?”

“Poppy?” he said slowly, “do you really know poppy?” I swear there was a tear in his eye.

“Yes, I do,” I said, “I think he was hoping I might meet you in prison.”

He fixed me with a steely eye, “Now, buddy, next time you’re on that there Internet, you tell Poppy to come on home. You tell him Bubba misses him. You got that?”

He took his ice-cream and left. [url=http://cb1100forum.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=5972&pid=92305#pid92305]The record will show I did as I was told.

:biker: :biker: :biker:

Cherohala Skyway

I liked the Cherohala Skyway too. Great surface, long, sweeping corners and fabulous scenery. A great road. Even so, I was pleased when we stopped for lunch at Tellico Kat’s Deli.

At Tellico Kat’s Deli

As we were gearing up after lunch an unidentified CB1100 and another bike roared past heading west. Was that a rare sighting of a CB in the wild? Time produced a couple of solutions to the mystery. At first it was thought to belong to a chap called Mike—not actually a member of the Forum but who happened to be in the area and joined us for dinner the following night. But that was wrong. Turned out it was Ole and his son.

The way home offered a detour to the beautiful Bald River Falls and yet another photo opportunity. I was beginning to feel like a politician. Of note, though, the Ferret had vanished. He claimed later to have mislaid one of his charges; the general consensus is that it was a ruse and he simply seized an opportunity to tear up the Skyway on his own. Ferret, in fact, travels very fast. He may get extraordinary fuel economy and not ride much above 60 or 70 mph, but he shows little need to slow down for anything much other than the sharpest corners, traffic lights and semi-trailers. Unlike most of the rest of us who must be a drag for him. Claiming to have mislaid one of his flock is Ferret for “I’m going for a proper ride!”

The road to Bald River Falls















There was one final stop at the Turkey Creek Lookout. The Ferret reappeared.







Turkey Creek Lookout


This is not actually a photo of redbirds. However, redbirds was pretty impressed that this scarlet tanager sat still long enough for an Aussie to take its photo.

Pre dinner drinks were taken again on the Aussie deck and we reflected on a great day riding with people we’d just met but who seemed like old friends. It was, in the vernacular, a blast, to see so many CB100s together. They seemed to enjoy it too.

In our later evening conversation over a cleansing ale on the deck, Pterodactyl and I agreed that both 2014 models were more impressive in life than photographs would have had us believe. For me, the deluxe model is just beautiful and I’d have a real struggle not buying one if they were available in Australia. The symmetry of the four into two pipes and the beauty of the chrome headers—not just the chrome, but the way they fall—is stunning.

There was more to come.

 

[Rocky_imp]

Wow, what a great ride and ride report

 

[the Ferret]

Having a spot of breakfast tea and having a great read.... Great job Cormanus

 

[ride4now_imp]

Breakfast coffee for me and +1 with Ferret!!! I'm living this rally all over again.

 

[redbirds_imp]

+1 to what others have said. Enjoying this over my second cup of coffee.

 

[Cormanus]

Day 7—The Blue Ridge Parkway

30 May



This was the day of the ‘official’ photo op. It was a glorious morning and 12 CB1100s were lined up. The owner of IHML got out a drone, attached a camera and sent it skyward, a ladder was erected and the shutters went berserk. Many photos have been posted, even some from the drone, although I recall they may only have been photos of photos. Anyway, here’s a couple of mine, some of which were taken by Mrs redbirds. Thanks Sparky; I’m in your debt.








A few of our number cleared out early, so there were only 12 CBs for the shoot, but, hey, that’s all right, isn’t it?

Just for the record, here’s Sparky’s ride.


There was to be one small delay before taking to the road. Mrs Pterodactyl was demanding evidence of her man with his bike. In his rally T-shirt aboard the FJR 1300, he cut a fine figure on the bridge at IHML.



Another good man suffering CB separation anxiety, and riding a bike I don’t think he enjoyed as much as Pterodactyl enjoyed the FJR1300 and I enjoyed the ST1300, was Chapomis on a Ducati.


Then it was ‘follow the Ferret’ again as he led some of us to Newfound Gap on the NC-Tenessee border overlooking Cherokee.







Boys on bikes. CB1100s specifically. The last one is, I believe, a rare image of the Ferret taken by another rider using a technique learned from the Ferret. I’m not sure whether that’s what’s called being hoist on your own petard.
Of course there was the obligatory photo opportunity on the way.


It was a great ride up the hill and well worth it for the magnificent views back over Cherokee.










And then we turned around and went almost all the way back down.



I think this is the road I enjoyed the most—the Blue Ridge Parkway. It was, I admit, a glorious day, but more importantly, the road surface was good, the road well made, the corners a delight and seemingly never ending, and the scenery something really special, even by the local standards. Perhaps this is the wrong thing to say to a forum predominantly made of Americans, but I’ll say it anyway: if you haven’t ridden it and you like twisties, go do it. If you’re not an American member and, like me, you get a chance to visit the USA and ride a bike in North Carolina, yeah, do the Dragon, but don’t miss the Blue Ridge Parkway between Cherokee and the lookout at Richland Balsam, the highest point on the Parkway.

Just beware the tunnels.


They look fantastic, but I found the contrast between daylight and the low level of light in the tunnel, combined with what I suspect may have been a poor headlight on the ST1300 more than a little disorienting. Pterodactyl reported a similar experience.
More photos at the Richland Balsam look out.
















Now the Ferret has put it about that he repeatedly one or more of the sheep he was allegedly shepherding. On the way from the Richland Balsam stop to Cherokee I rode at the back of the line with a forum member who wanted to take it very easy. The Ferret, Pterodactyl (who was intent on murdering his rear tyre, see [URL=https://cb1100forum.net/threads/62952/]here for that story, redbirds and others simply took off like rockets. Or would ‘like arrows from a bow string’ be a better simile in this case? Anyway clear out at high speed they did and us more sedate chaps rode along behind. It is true that they went so fast that, having reached their destination and waited for us for a bit, the Ferret came back to search for us. It is also true they’d changed the luncheon destination. We were never lost.

I can report that I broke a cardinal rule of group riding. I didn’t stop at an exit where there was possible confusion about which way to go. I think my companion may have hesitated because I stopped and waited for a bit and eventually went back to find him. After I passed him, it took me a while to turn around and I had to get a bit of a move on to catch up. The BRP is a great road to on which to get a move on.

Lunch in Cherokee comprised a chicken burger of sorts. Frankly, and with great respect, it rates as by far the worst meal I ate in the USA. Mercifully the quality of the food, however, was offset by the camaraderie.

After lunch we headed to IHML. Pterodactyl and I parted company with the follow-the-Ferret team at the junction of 19 and 1190. They took to 74 and we went on along 19 to Bryson City to re-fortify ourselves with beer and red wine for the evening ahead. There were no mishaps this time.

The rain threatened as we rode the final miles home


This barn comes into a view after a particularly tight corner on the road into the IHML. The verge had been mowed and, after rain, the grass on the corner made it even more treacherous

There have been other reports of the Rally dinner. It was a great opportunity to catch up with a couple of members I hadn’t talked to over the weekend and with the others I had. I was touched, as I think was Pterodactyl, to receive a custom t-shirt. Thanks Chapomis, Ferret, EmptySea and any others who contributed to the plan. Chapomis, it is fair to say, displayed a significant capacity for intrigue having, at exactly the time he was concocting the plan for the Australian t-shirts, consulted me about a custom shirt for the Ferret.









After the dinner, which was much better than my lunch, a smaller group gathered on the deck in front of Pterodactyl’s and my room and drank a cleansing ale or two before pronouncing the rally a most excellent event and heading off to bed.

 

[kennyw]

Cormanus Wrote:. We made our way through Neel Gap where we stopped for coffee. Well, sort of coffee. I found it hard to get coffee in the style we drink it in Australia. We drink plenty of espresso-based coffee. It’s hard to imagine a modern Australian café without an enormous espresso machine—and not simply one where you just press a button. These are big things with dials and levers and spouts that blast vicious gouts of steam about the place. Many Australian homes have small espresso machines. The Bunn-style coffee maker is becoming a rarity, except in hotel dining rooms and conference centres. And, in my humble opinion, that’s a good thing. Stewed, faintly burned coffee is not for me.
You were on the wrong coast for good coffee. I can't go a mile down the road without passing a dozen espresso stands.

 

[emptysea]

Seems like there was a lot of bald at Bald River Falls.

Not sure which route you took to get liquor, but there's a pretty cool little general store across from the Nantahala Outdoor Center which has local brews and wine. That's were we stocked up. Bryson City is further up the road, but then again, going further up the road in that area is not a bad thing at all.

I love revisiting this amazing part of our country through a visitor's eyes.

 

[the Ferret]

Hope there is more, never get tired of looking at your pics and reading your narrative Cormanus.

 

[Ole]

Keep up the good prose.
It was sure nice meeting you guys

 

[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


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



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=https://cb1100forum.net/posts/807905/]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



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=https://cb1100forum.net/threads/62952/]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.