May 2019
Continuing the DBMC’s explorations of the Appalachian Mountain Range of the Easter United States, the Boonies rode along the Shenandoah, Blue Ridge and Smokey ranges, touching ten states and covering nearly 2,000 miles.
We boogied south to get into Virginia quickly, intending to jump up on the Shenandoah’s legendary Skyline Drive by early afternoon. On the way, it was important to visit Mt. Weather. This is FEMA’s Emergency Operations Center, that sits atop a ridgeline about 12 miles west of Leesburg VA. Heavily surrounded by rows of security fencing, it’s easy to imagine that more goes on here than monitoring the local rainfall. Nobody pointed guns at us, but no doubt there were cameras in every tree that were following our progress.
Next we detoured through the lovely Fort Valley – a narrow gap between two arms of the Massanutten Range. Legend has it that George Washington saw this naturally fortified valley as a possible last-stand refuge during the later stages of the Revolutionary War. General Cornwallis’s loss at Yorktown made the point moot. There are some very well-kept farms on the valley floor. Judging by the freshly painted fencing, high-rolling software magnates from DC metro have planted their stakes here.
Skyline drive lived up its promise: endless vistas and terrific riding. We bunked in the town of Waynesboro, which doesn’t offer much, although it was prom night and the finely coutured high-schoolers were in evidence around town, brightening up the landscape.
The next morning, we entered the Blue Ridge Parkway (BRP), where we would off-and-on spend the next 400 miles. The road is immaculate, and a rider’s dream of endless sweepers, twisties, grand hilltop views around every bend. It’s one of America’s great byways, and is a must-ride for you motorcycling tourers.
We spent the second night at Fiddler’s Roost Cabins, near Galax VA. This was NOT roughing it. The cabin was spacious, warm, four-posters with down quilts, and front-porch rocking chairs that demanded you light up a corn cob pipe. Our hosts provided us a with a feast of ribs, smoked brisket and all the essential sides, and a delicious breakfast the next morning. We were too early in the year, but a month later the Blue Ridge Music Center swings into gear with rolling bluegrass events. I want to go back.
It’s obvious why they call them the Blue Ridge Mountains. Mountain laurel, rhododendron, azaleas, etc. Even so, they’re blue.
The next day was more BRP, as we made our way down to Asheville. A detour off of the BRP has us tacking back up Route 80 from Lake Tahoma to reconnect with the Parkway.
Rt. 80 is a test! It’s a stair-step series of tight first- and second-gear switchback turns as the road climbs 4,000 feet over 12 miles. After conquering this epic run, we required a break, so we took the side road up to Mount Mitchell – which at 6,684 feet, is the highest peak east of the Mississippi. Great views. Snack shop. Post-card-perfect, so we bought postcards.
Asheville is a city on the upswing. The last few decades have seen an influx of people filling into the area. Some are retirees who dread the thought of Florida. Others are young professionals escaping the big-city madness of Atlanta, New York, DC, etc. With their arrival has come culture, good food, and a general sense of having arrived at your destination. This corner of North Carolina has a lot going for it: The natural beauty of the mountains, cool summer air, not too cold in the winter, hunting, fishing, even skiing. It’s easy to see the attraction. The Vanderbilts figured it out 130 years ago.
On the third day, we kept our bikes pointed down the eastern slope of the Great Smokies, getting off of the BRP about 35 miles southwest of Asheville, dipping into Georgia, before turning north and ending the day in Copperhill TN. More great roads – the best of which may have been Route 215 – a tortured descent that connects the BRP with Route 64. Another night in a cabin, this one near the banks of the Ocoee River. Not far is the Ocoee Whitewater Center, where the 1996 Olympic canoe and kayaking events were held.
Then it was northbound: Back up the the Tennessee side of the range. This included the legendary Cherohala Skyway – another of the Appalachian’s most famous roads. A 43-mile National Scenic Byway, the road is a ripper. Unlike the twisties we covered over the previous few days, the Skyway strings together high-speed sweepers where the hotshots can drag a knee in fifth gear. The road swoops through valleys, over crests and along ridges. Please, cops, don’t be here! No, really, we never busted the speed limit…
After the Skyway, one must stop in the town of Cherokee. No better place to grab a pair of souvenir mocassins or a fringe jacket (made in Vietnam). The tribe is building a casino complex, which may help their balance sheet, but it sure is an eyesore.
That night we landed in Hot Springs, NC. Yes there is a hot springs there, and the Boonies partook. We bedded at the Laughing Heart Lodge, a century old hotel that was once a hostel for ailing Catholic priests there to take the waters. The lodge also provides a camp ground for Appalachian Trail hikers. This is the first big stop for long-haulers to do their laundry, pick up mail, and give the feet a few days break before setting off.
Day six was a 300 mile marathon up through the western half of the Smokies, passing by (but not stopping at) Dollywood, Gatlinburg, along the French Broad River, crossing the New River (one of the oldest rivers in the World) through the little crossroads of Paint Bank VA along Potts Creek (home of the Swinging Bridge Inn) and on to Warm Springs. There, the cozy home-away-from-home Inn at Gristmill Square awaits. Good drink & food. Fly fishing, if you brought your rod. The Jefferson Baths, if they ever re-open.
The final day started with a gentle ride along the pastoral Bullpasture Creek and a ramble through the George Washington and Jefferson National Forest. The day finished with a sprint back to Monkton, MD, with a brief stopover in Harpers Ferry to complete our history lessons.
Summary: Wonderful trip, covering some of America’s most legendary motorcycling roads, criss-crossing the Appalachian Trail countless times, enjoying southern hospitality at every stop, and steeping ourselves in the history and flavors of the region.
