Aussies go US — Day 12

Leaving town

Pterodactyl had the first flight out at about 1300; mine did not leave until 2200. There was a long day ahead.

At breakfast, there was a choice of cereals and porridge. Passing on the Fruit Loops, I elected the oats and keenly watched Pterodactyl as he cooked his in the microwave. I’ve never been a microwave fan—my wife and I haven’t owned one for 15 years—and had only one experience of cooking porridge in one. It was at least 25 years ago when I used to cook porridge for my three young sons. On the stove, in a saucepan. One day we had some oats with instructions for cooking them in a microwave and I thought I’d try. I recall the boys thought I should get with the technology and encouraged me. Carefully I followed the instructions, placing the oats in a bowl with a little water and covering the bowl with cling film.

The boys — all quite young — sat lined up at the kitchen bench watching (as did I) the microwave as it turned round and around and around. Suddenly there was the most almighty PFFFFT so, quickly, I stopped the infernal machine and opened the door. Stalactites of porridge hung from the roof, gobs of the stuff were all over the walls and the window. The boys, blast them, laughed and laughed at my incompetence and for months told the story to anyone who’d listen.

There was no such calamity this time. Apparently you have to watch it like a hawk and, as soon as it starts boiling, open the door and stir it a little. Repeat.

We got to the airport late in the morning and enjoyed a final cup of coffee together reflecting on the trip before Pterodactyl went off to do battle with American airport security and I went to find a quiet spot to read until I could check in. I sat down, hauled out my reading contraption, connected to the free WiFi and couldn’t find my reading glasses. I turned out my back pack and grovelled through my suitcase all to no avail. It was not the greatest of calamities as I can read with normal glasses on, but it’s not as nearly as comfortable. I rang the Days Inn to learn that, yes my spectacles were there.

“Can you post them to me in Australia?”

“Oh, no, sir, we can’t do that.”

“Could we get a taxi to pick them up and bring them to me at the airport?”

“Oh, no, sir, we can’t do that.”

“Right. Thanks for your help. I’ll see what I can come up with.”

Ah, well, what else did I have to do really? It was a long, long wait for check in, let alone the flight. So I hailed an Uber and was collected by the delightful Marsha who drove me from Hartsfield-Jackson to Marietta and back again and entertained me with conversation and information about Atlanta and life in the US for a bit more than an hour. I still had plenty of time to read and eat and drink tea and coffee before the earliest possible check in. I used the time to look at some of the photos taken by the Dragon photographers and recalled a few very happy days riding in a new place.

That was it, really. My flight left on time and late the next morning local time I was in London telling my wife tales of George and the Dragon.

Postscript

It’s been lots of fun culling the photos, drawing the maps and reliving the rally while I wrote this account. I’d not been to the US before and it was a great experience. I hope to get back there to see more of it some day. I enjoyed the roads; I was blown away by the beauty of northern Georgia, North Carolina and the little bits of Tennessee I saw. The hospitality was generous and the members of the forum even more agreeable in person than they are on the inter webs. I enjoyed looking at all your bikes and I’m quietly relieved you didn’t get to see my far less beautifully detailed, but equally loved, steed.

TylerSC, when you proposed the meet up, I doubt you expected quite so many to turn up in your absence. We missed you, but your ‘excuse’ was one of the best possible. I wish you and your wife the joy of your son.

Guth, when you set up this forum, I bet you didn’t expect people to travel half way round the world to attend a rally which came about only because of the forum’s existence. I certainly didn’t expect, when I joined, that I’d become so active or make so many virtual (and real) friends. I’m sorry you weren’t able to be there so we could say g’day. I can say it was the camaraderie, the ride reports and the photos of your lovely country on this forum that first made me want to ride there.

ride4now, thanks again for meeting Pterodactyl and me as we picked up the bikes and inducting us into the US road system. And for having us to stay.

SanPete, wherever you are at the moment, thanks for being a great riding buddy on the way to and from and during the rally.

Pterodactyl, who’s not only a great riding companion but who never let me off the hook from the moment I suggested we attend the rally, thanks for holding me to it.

Thanks to my long-suffering wife for encouraging me to have this adventure and allowing me to spend our money to do it.

Heartfelt thanks to everyone else for making it such a memorable few days. There was some great riding, some good laughs, and some memories I’ll always have.

© Killboy

Aussies go US — Day 11

And back to base

At the time we’d collected the bikes from EagleRider, the redoubtable Eddie had said us that, while we’d sure enjoy the Dragon, there were some good roads in the north of Georgia too. He drew a figure 8 on a map he gave us and suggested we have a look if we had a chance. In part that’s why we stopped in Hiawassee: to get on the circuit.

It was another late start partly because I figured how to use the coffee maker and Ferret’s tea bags to lubricate my morning reading. By the time we’d got packed and downstairs we’d missed breakfast. Ah, well, we’d find some.

Packing up

Our plan was to ride the figure-8 proposed by Eddie and then see where we were and how we were feeling. The bikes had to be back in Marietta the following morning by 1000 at the latest, so we’d have to make sure we weren’t too far away.

We set out westward on 76 intending to head north on 69. Feeling over confident, I didn’t use the GPS only to be tricked by the signage. When I hit Blairsville I pulled over to consult the map and realised we were way off target, so we turned around and headed back to Young Harris where we turned north on 66.

Chatuge Lake

66 northbound led us onto Old Highway 64, which turned out to be an excellent ride; probably better than 69 to 64 and west. As it was we joined 64 not long before Murphy where we soon again found ourselves on 129 heading south.

All too soon we were back in Blairsville, just up the road from where we’d stopped earlier and turned around. We stopped at the local Subway for food and coffee. A somewhat later breakfast than planned.

Soon we were off south again riding the other way along the excellent section of 129 ride4now had led us up past Neels Gap.

Just short of Cleveland we turned north again on 75A up the lower right-hand side of the 8.

What could you do with so many inflatable pink rubber tubes?

Heading north on 75, I had an acute moment of homesickness. We were stopped for roadworks and eventually allowed though. I suddenly found myself riding on what for me is the normal side of the road and wondered if I’d been teleported.

We soon turned onto 180 for what was a good, quick ride west to 129 again. Riding figure-8s is a good way quickly to get to know some bits of road well. We were not on 129 long before we again turned west on 180 for what could have been a wonderful ride—fantastic scenery, windy road—except for a truck that simply refused to get out of the way.

Lake Winfield Scott Dam

The small part of America we rode on this trip has a great many more substantial lakes than Australia and I found them very attractive. I like the way houses are built near to the water, but in the forest so they retain considerable privacy. I suspect they are often the preserve of the well off but they are, none the less appealing. Paddling on one of these lakes in the morning and riding in afternoon the would be a pleasant enough way to spend time.

At around 2.15 we came to Suches and the Wolf Pen Gap Store where we bought fuel and, although I didn’t know it at the time, I took my final photo of the trip.

I made the mistake of laughing at this sign until I walked inside and saw the semi-automatic rifle hanging above the counter.

We pushed the bikes away from the bowsers and sat down to drink a bottle of water. The rain started. Gently. Soon it looked serious so we dragged on our wet weathers and, suited up, headed north along 60. It’s a great road and I’d love to ride it again on a dry day.

Reaching 76, we turned south and settled in for the highway run through the pouring rain back to Marietta. Luckily, as got further south the rain eased and by the time we reached the Days Inn at Marietta we’d pretty much dried out again. EagleRider was just across the road and we realised we had half an hour before they closed so I rang and they said it was plenty of time to take the bikes back. So we did. It was a slightly sad moment, but there would be no riding in the morning and it would make the whole business of packing a good deal easier. They kindly ran us and our luggage back to the motel. I walked across the street for beer and Pterodactyl settled down to the business of repacking his suitcase. I probably sat and stared into space.

Realising we had a bottle of red wine which needed sorting before we moved on, we sent out for pizza. Somewhat reluctantly, we chose Dominos. I say reluctantly because the Dominos chain is well established Down Under and its the not sort of place that would generally rank high on the list of places to buy a pizza. Our cynicism was misplaced: we had two really excellent pizzas and a glass or two of red and didn’t have to leave the hotel to do it.

Aussies go US — Day 10

Back to Georgia

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 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.

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 we both decided on the recommended 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.

Aussies go US — Day 9

The Dragon Again

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 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.