Aussies go US — Day 8

Going Solo

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 were, 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!

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!

Aussies go US — Day 7

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.

In a tunnel.

More photos at the Richland Balsam look out.

Now the Ferret has put it about that he repeatedly lost 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 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 quality of the company.

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.

Aussies go US — Day 6

The Dragon and more

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.

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), 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 this media release, dUh! made the story public. My so-called friend, popgun, immediately leaped to the conclusion that it was my fault—see here and 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 here) seeking popgun’s help with bail money. He flat out refused and left me — gleefully I may add, see the huge smiley in 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. The record will show I did as I was told.

🏍 🏍 🏍 🏍 🏍

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.