The sun was just beginning to peek over Lookout Mountain when I headed out for the designated rendezvous point in Tellico Plains, by-God-Tennessee. I always love to leave early like this, as the clouds are just beginning to break over the mountains and the mist/humidity rising from the valleys paints the mountains pale blue; the added bonus is most of the time it’s empty highway so the riding is really good. Figuring in the time zone shift, a fuel stop and the distance I had at least 45 minutes to spare since I was 15 minutes late getting out the gate; that’s still time enough to chew the fat with Mike and the un-met Willthethrill grab a cup of coffee and just hang and enjoy the morning. The first leg of the trip was uneventful slab riding, up I-59 to I-24 around Moccasin bend at the foot of Lookout Mountain and east through Chattanooga, then up and over Missionary Ridge past Chickamauga and on to Cleveland..
Once I got to Cleveland (the home of ArsenalTim) my plan was to get off the oh-so-boring I-75, take the US 64 loop half way around Cleveland and hit US 411 for some early morning scenery. Okay, so maybe my usual taking pencil notes from Google Maps on a Post-It was sub-par. Maybe the guy on the bicycle with the weird box full of toggle switches and the aluminum trailer distracted me. Maybe the friendly guy on the 1995 KZ-1000 Police bike that wanted to know if the America was a TR-6 got my attention when it was time to turn. I found myself at an intersection with I-75, some three miles north of where I had just exited for a nice scenic lap around Cleveland. Realizing I had 15 minutes of my time pad and any useful directions I might have written down it was back onto I-75, for north was where my rendezvous point lay. Some 20-25 miles later I exited just south of Athens on TN 30 and pulled into a handy BP station. My plan, fuel first and then ask directions and hope the attendant would have a clue. This older guy was leaning against the building having his morning smoke, puff, hack, puff, hack, puff, hack. When he finally enough wind to talk he started in on what now has become a mantra “You like that Triumph? How old is it? Sure is purty, did you them (inset accessory here) on yerself?†After acknowledging the youth of the bike and admitting yes to the rest I explained that while I knew where I was supposed to be going I was mostly lost. Two sentences later he had given me perfect directions and off I rode to join Mike and the gang. I missed the turn onto TN 39 in Etowah because I was staring at a lovely British racing Green Trophy sporting a For Sale sign, I would go back later for a closer look. 39 made for a good warm up for the upcoming ride, lots of tight twisty whoop-de-doos and a couple of tailgaters to get the antennae up and working.
I found Mike and Will waiting at the Cherohala Market along with Rob (Mrt202), his dad and his uncle both of whom were antsy and ready to ride. Moments later Mark (b717doc) and John (Big Poppy) pulled up and the group was assembled. The howdys and wassups took too long and Rob’s gang left ahead of us, understandable since they were itching to go and didn’t relish the idea of sitting around waiting for us. Following potty breaks and stretching Mike gave us a quick briefing on the ride and we were off, destination Robbinsville, NC and some real NC Bar-B-Que.
What a glorious road, nice sweeping turns, excellent climbs and few tight twists just to keep your attention focused. Mike is an impressive rider, fluid, graceful, one with the bike and makes quite a good leader so the 50 plus miles just melted away. I could have stopped at every single turnout but, after all, we were there to ride, not gawk. Still, the leader took care that we got a couple of nice stops including the Santeetlah summit and I got a couple of representative snaps to share.
We also saw a veritable plethora of Milwaukee Iron, the obligatory groups of Wingers and a few BMWs, all of who were enjoying the great riding conditions. Even the “chip and seal†mile at the end of the Skyway (which we call tar and gravel ‘round here) didn’t dampen my enthusiasm, although I’ll admit my spine tightened up when the rear wheel started squirming around. I’ll say its too bad NC doesn’t apply the same nice roadbed standards that TN does to the Skyway, the difference was that obvious.
Once in Robbinsville we headed directly to Mike’s BBQ spot, and, it was shuttered with a couple of tattered For Lease signs hanging on the chains blocking the parking lot! We regrouped at the local mini mart and got directions to another local joint, The Sweetwater Smokehouse. One thing’s for sure, if you’re in NC BBQ can’t be very far away and never hard to find and this spot was 300 yards from Mike’s old haunt.
After lunching and munching we headed for Hwy 129 and the legendary Deal’s Gap. My original plan had been to part ways with Mike and the group at this point and retrace the Skyway because I just didn’t want to brave the Memorial Day throng. However, my confidence was up and I gladly followed along like the sheep I am, right along to the Deal’s Gap Resort, into that mass of Milwaukee Iron, into the parking lot full of riders with questionable skills, and right into the store to buy Mrs. T a Dragon tee shirt. Then pictures of the Tree of Shame, aimless photos of a gazillion HDs strewn in the most disorganized fashion in the parking lot, and a quick snap of my riding buddies. ...
…which is where I noticed that John still had his jacket on. Bless his heart, the man is a rider, not a parker and he was ready to go. I think I held him up every single time the group was ready to go…
Mike led us out onto 129 where we got stuck behind a group of slow, oh-so-very-slow HD’s. Some cat on a Springer Softail was riding drag for them and I swear he put his foot down a dozen times in the turns heading up to the summit, I actually though he was going over one time. Later I realized he was guarding his group and it was the group in shorts and tee shirts in front of him that lacked the skills. No matter, for that first half of the parade we only lacked a caddy Convertible and beauty queen. We broke off in the parking zone at the top and sat for 6 or 7 minutes until there was a sufficient gap in the traffic (and I got some more snaps) and then on we plowed, this time at a better speed.
It was at this point that I think I may have actually seen 30 mph on the speedo but truthfully I was really concentrating on the road and watching Mike lead so that’s likely just braggin’ on my part. Watching Mike ride from behind has a slightly mesmerizing effect as he’s just so darn smooth and fluid, so who knows? Still, it’s my story and I’m sticking to it. I did manage to grind the kickstand one time, not because I was trying but because I got into a corner too hot. The turns are just that tight.
Once out of the turns we cruised along side Chilhowee lake on US 129, miles of great gentle sweepers and fine riding. A left turn at the biker’s hangouts in Wellsville put us on TN 336 and a fast track to US 411 where we would part company. There Mike and Will headed north toward Knoxville and Mark, John and I headed south toward Atlanta.
After stopping for fuel in Etowah we split up, I was headed back to look at that Trophy and John and Mark were headed home. The Trophy was in pretty good shape appearance wise (who knows mechanically) with 12k miles and an attractive price. I got the phone number and headed south on US 411.
Now you remember the part where I wrote the directions on a Post-It? Yep, that’s right, they were worthless at this point so the return trip evolved into an “it’s not the destination, it’s the journey†trip. South I rode, past Athens, past Cleveland and out of By-God-Tennessee into Georgia. Clueless I was but I knew eventually I’d find a westward road that would ring a bell, hopefully before I got to Adairsville, which would put me well south of were I’d like to turn west. South of Chattsworth I saw a sign for GA 136 to Resaca and turned west. GA 136 runs up Lookout Mountain to Cloudland and over to LaFayette and I knew I could work my way home from there. And what luck, GA 136 between Resaca and Naomi has got to be one of the great undocumented rides in this neck of the woods, coming off the mountain above LaFayette was the “icing on a the cake†for a day of unrepentant riding.
The rest of the ride would have been uneventful, but who knew that Murphy Oil in Triana, GA has pumps that work even though the card reader doesn’t read your card? Yes, that’s right, I drove off after filling up, all the while cursing the lack of a receipt, only to find my mirrors filled with blue lights in Summerville, GA. Fortunately, Summerville police office Steve Bates is a bike owner and quickly came to the realization that geezer-me wasn’t trying to steal Wal-Mart’s gas. Unfortunately, I had to wait 20 minutes for a county Sheriff’s Deputy to escort me back to Triana to pay the poor kid working the Murphy cash register. My life as a fugitive was short lived.
The sun was beginning to set away, way over behind the western hills of Alabama when I finally topped Lookout Mountain in Mentone, AL heading down into the valley and to my home at the base of Sand Mountain. Not a bad ride, just over 430 miles and memories to last for months. Thanks Mike. And, thanks to Will, Mark and John for sharing the road with me.
