La Blavita Tames The Dragon (August, 2007)
In July I served as tour guide for our three Spanish friends, Natalia, Delfina, and Gelen. We spent a jammed packed two weeks doing and seeing lots of things: Provincetown, a concert by Lura, a cabin in Maine, camping in Vermont, exploring New York. After a job well done, I was mightily hankering for a long ride on the Harley Dyna Superglide (a.k.a. La Blavita). Blanca and I did a “trial run” for several days camping in Vermont, testing out the equipment and getting our heads right. Now for the real thing. The idea was to get down to Virginia as quickly as possible and then start south on the Skyline Drive (about 100 miles), which would take us to the Blue Ridge Parkway as far as its southern end in Cherokee, N.C. (466 miles). Then we’d do some of the well known bike roads (the Smokey Mountains, the Cherahola Skyway, and, most importantly, the infamous “Tail of the Dragon,” the 11 mile stretch of road near Robbinsville North Carolina and the Tennessee border that features 318 curves. In the event, things worked out pretty much according to plan. The 2680 mile, 11 day trip was an absolute delight.
Monday, 30 July. We left West Island at 11:00, i.e., much later than we’d planned. I had hoped to get to Front Royal that night. We did manage to do about 400 miles before we got hit with a horrendous thunderstorm while on I-81 near Pine Grove, Pa. The pelting sheets of rain allowed me about 3 meters of visibility, and the crackling lightning flashes were pretty intimidating. Many cars pulled over and stopped on the shoulder, but I didn’t want to risk getting hit. So I tucked in behind a car with its warning blinkers on which I slowly followed off an exit ramp to a nearby gas station. As luck would have it, we were right in front of a Hampton Inn, whose outrageous $120 per night I was happy to shell out. Everything we had was soaked and had to be spread out to dry. One lesson learned: always put things in plastic bags!
Tuesday, 31 July. We did about 150 miles to Front Royal, where we picked up the Skyline Drive. The first few miles brought back many vivid memories, as the original Old Dominion 100 Mile course crossed over the Drive at 3 miles and at 97 miles. I remember the exhilaration of getting to the top of a long climb up from Browntown and knowing there were only three miles of steep downhill left. About 40 miles into the Drive we stopped at Skyland, a beautiful complex where we got a room with a fine view over the valley into Luray ($72). At about 7:00 we repaired to the taproom, where there was to be “entertainment”: a group of 8 local women folk dancers. They looked like they were randomly selected from a pool of Walmart cashiers and several were, well, severely obese. They delighted the company with reels, jigs, rounds, and other country steps. The heavier ladies immediately began to perspire profusely and apparently to have difficulty breathing. I feared they would collapse from the effort and the heat, but everything turned out O.K. The show ended with an ex tempore demonstration of patriotism, and people sang “I’m Proud to be An American.” This perplexed the wait staff, who was all from Bali! What an absolutely beautiful place! The views of the Blue Ridge Mountains and the Shenandoah National Park are spectacular. I am frustrated by very beautiful places. Just to see them is not enough. I want somehow to possess them, to eat them, or somehow make them part of me.
Wednesday, 1 August. It was a picture perfect day. We left Skyland at about 11:00, after a breakfast of muffins and coffee. Not long after we encountered a family of deer crossing just in front of us. A bit further on a black bear—a big fellow with a fine sleek coat—was eating by the side of the road. I gave him a wide birth. (I figure that black bears are still seeking revenge for the poor specimen that I stupidly shot 40 years ago.) We segued onto the Blue Ridge Parkway and passed several hours gliding through the bright green forest. We stopped for lunch at Otter Creek and then continued to Peaks of Otter (mile 86), where we found an attractive rustic room overlooking a lake ($108). We drank a bottle of Chardonnay at the bar and then returned to enjoy the view from our terrace. A spectacular day. Doing the Parkway on the bike has nothing to do with doing it in a “cage.” I’m astounded by the lack of traffic. We passed perhaps 20 cars in 100 miles.
Thursday, 2 August. We were on the road at about 9:00. We made about 200 miles to Sparta, N.C. There we found a Spanish restaurant run by a pair of Gallegos. Blanca enjoyed talking with the owners, who had just opened the place that week. We pressed on to Linville (about 300) and stayed at the Pineola Motel ($40). Right next door was a Mexican restaurant with a very pleasant young waiter from Guadalajara, who was eager to learn all about us and our trip. He made us some good margaritas. Blanca had seen a large number of deer the night before. Just before pulling off for the night, she claims to have seen a buffalo! The Parkway is a delight!
Friday, 3 August. The drive through the rest of the Parkway was an idyll, with mile after mile of serene beauty. We emerged near Cherokee, N.C. and ate fresh trout in a restaurant right next door to a recreational trout-fishing pond. Continuing to Rt 19 along a river filled with rafters to Rt 129, we passed Robbinsville and arrived at Deals Gap Motorcycle Resort, located at the beginning of the Tail of the Dragon (318 curves in 11 miles). We chose a tent site ($12) near a creek beside the hill that leads up the monster. It was like having a front-row seat at the Indy 500. The “resort” has a motel, a restaurant, camping sites, and a gas station, all “motorcycle only.” The parking lot is filled with bikes and some pretty crazy looking people, some riding Japanese sport bikes and dressed in full leather racing suits. The whole scene didn’t look much like a rational man’s cup of tea, and I began to imagine what the 11 miles of hairpin turns would be like with hordes of testosterone crazed gear heads taking them at 175 miles an hour. I pitched the tent and made camp. We were lucky to score a picnic table where I could organize our stuff, much of which was still wet. I rode to the Tampoco Lodge, 3 miles back, and bought several bottles of wine. From the entrance of the complex an almost endless stream of riders takes off--like a line of paratroopers jumping one after another out of an airplane--up the hill to begin the Dragon. The high-pitched whirr of the Japanese crotch-rockets blended with the deep-throated rumble of the Harleys, a symphony of small, gas-powered, explosions, ricocheting off the otherwise silent mountains.
Saturday, 4 August. After a pancake breakfast, we headed south to the start of the Cherahola Skyway (55 miles), which was just magnificent. From there we worked back to 129 and did the Tail of the Dragon downhill, to the Resort. The Dragon is not all that horrendous; what makes it dangerous is the antics of a lot of crazy speed freaks who think they are in the Isle of Mann Rally. Luckily, there was big police presence. Back at Deals Gap, we had delicious trout sandwiches and several bottles of Pinot Grigio. We hit the sleeping bags early, but a late night party woke me up. No matter, since the music was good. There was a very pleasant couple camped nearby, who offered us food. Everyone we ran into was super friendly.
Sunday, 5 August. Today was Blanca’s santo. We got a late start out of Deals Gap. We went up the Dragon again, and then on to the Foothills Parkway, which took us into the Great Smokey Mountain National Park. The area is quite beautiful, but much more crowded than anything we’d encountered before. The Gatlinburg-Cherokee corridor is filled with people going to visit Dolly Pardon’s “Dollywood” and other similar cultural icons and is to be avoided at all cost. We got back on the Blue Ridge Parkway, and everything was going just swimmingly until it started to downpour. We pulled over and struggled to get into our raingear. A car pulled up beside us and the occupants—faces filled with pity--offered Blanca a ride, which I think she would have accepted had she understood the proposal. We headed back out into the downpour with the idea of making it to Mt. Pisgah, where I knew there was lodging. When we got there, however, the place was full. We pressed on to Ashville, but couldn’t find a reasonable looking motel. I got back on the interstate and found us a decent room off the first exit. Nearby was a Mexican restaurant, which was just closing. I successfully pleaded with the owner to give us food and margaritas. The waitress was a young girl from El Salvador, who had never met a Spaniard before and was overjoyed with the exotic experience.
Monday, 6 August. We got another late start. We rode the parkway to Laurel Springs, N.C., where we took a room ($103) in The Bluffs Lodge, an incredible place with superb views over fields and mountains. Blanca met a Spanish couple from the Canaries who were traveling cross country in a rented car. The ride today was especially wonderful. I was in a semi-hypnotic state, rapidly being funneled down a seemingly endless bright green chute. It reminded me of the long days floating down the Amazon’s narrow corridor with its interminable green walls. But the mesmerizing bamboleo of the Brazilian hammock was replaced by the steady purr of the Harley effortlessly gliding along in 4th gear. From time to time the green opened out onto rocky mountain clearings, with views that seemed to stretch for hundreds of miles, others shrouded in deep mist.
Tuesday, 7 August. The first stop of the day was the Blue Ridge Music Center, which memorializes the heritage of bluegrass and country music. There are some interesting displays and an amphitheater. We then got back on the Parkway and headed south to Galax, Virginia, where the 72nd Old Fiddlers’ Convention was in full swing. It is evidently one of the premier events of the year in the world of bluegrass. We paid an entrance fee and went into the large field in which the main concert stage was located. The place was filled with campers and Winnebagoes, a number of which were flying confederate flags. But it was quite early in the day—about 11:00—and nothing much was doing yet musically. At least we got a taste of the Redneck Riviera. Next trip down here we’ll do the “Crooked Road,” a 253 mile route that weaves through southern Virginia and is based on a number of spots important to the history of country music. There’s a Ralph Stanley Museum and the Carter Family Fold. After a stretch on the Interstate, we got back on the Parkway and made it to Big Meadows, where we found a very pleasant room ($77) and a huge southern dinner (turkey, chicken, gravy)[$50]. They even had decent pinot grigio. At 9:00 we went down to the tap room, where there was a very talented woman singing. Her repertoire included everything from Patsy Cline to disco. At one point, a young Italian exchange student got up and sung several songs a la Janice Joplin. I tried to buy her a Southern Comfort, but the waiter said she was too young. She had to settle for something that looked like a milk shake.
Wednesday, 8 August. We left Big Meadows and got on I-81 near New Market, heading north. The interstate was filled with trucks and numerous jerks who insisted on driving in the left lane. And it was beastly hot. We decided to turn off at Tamaqua, PA and call it a day. We had a good Italian meal and enjoyed the tranquility of the ratty roadside motel. After the beauty of the parkways, it was hard to accept the boring chaos of the interstate. Cool mountain temperatures sure beat torrid hot air filled with truck exhaust.
Thursday, 9 August. We spent a good deal of the remaining return trip in traffic and got home about 4:30. I tried to catch the last of Dario’s show, but it didn’t seem to be on. This was an exceptional trip. The beauty and serenity of the places where we’d been made me think that we’ll do it again, and often. I had been on this route before, but doing it on the bike was a whole different story. Cruising smoothly around long sweeping curves and tight “twisties,” with half a ton of steel between your thighs and the pine scented breeze in your face, is a heady experience. Yes, I know: cliché, cliché. But I’ll take it anyway.
Monday, 30 July. We left West Island at 11:00, i.e., much later than we’d planned. I had hoped to get to Front Royal that night. We did manage to do about 400 miles before we got hit with a horrendous thunderstorm while on I-81 near Pine Grove, Pa. The pelting sheets of rain allowed me about 3 meters of visibility, and the crackling lightning flashes were pretty intimidating. Many cars pulled over and stopped on the shoulder, but I didn’t want to risk getting hit. So I tucked in behind a car with its warning blinkers on which I slowly followed off an exit ramp to a nearby gas station. As luck would have it, we were right in front of a Hampton Inn, whose outrageous $120 per night I was happy to shell out. Everything we had was soaked and had to be spread out to dry. One lesson learned: always put things in plastic bags!
Tuesday, 31 July. We did about 150 miles to Front Royal, where we picked up the Skyline Drive. The first few miles brought back many vivid memories, as the original Old Dominion 100 Mile course crossed over the Drive at 3 miles and at 97 miles. I remember the exhilaration of getting to the top of a long climb up from Browntown and knowing there were only three miles of steep downhill left. About 40 miles into the Drive we stopped at Skyland, a beautiful complex where we got a room with a fine view over the valley into Luray ($72). At about 7:00 we repaired to the taproom, where there was to be “entertainment”: a group of 8 local women folk dancers. They looked like they were randomly selected from a pool of Walmart cashiers and several were, well, severely obese. They delighted the company with reels, jigs, rounds, and other country steps. The heavier ladies immediately began to perspire profusely and apparently to have difficulty breathing. I feared they would collapse from the effort and the heat, but everything turned out O.K. The show ended with an ex tempore demonstration of patriotism, and people sang “I’m Proud to be An American.” This perplexed the wait staff, who was all from Bali! What an absolutely beautiful place! The views of the Blue Ridge Mountains and the Shenandoah National Park are spectacular. I am frustrated by very beautiful places. Just to see them is not enough. I want somehow to possess them, to eat them, or somehow make them part of me.
Wednesday, 1 August. It was a picture perfect day. We left Skyland at about 11:00, after a breakfast of muffins and coffee. Not long after we encountered a family of deer crossing just in front of us. A bit further on a black bear—a big fellow with a fine sleek coat—was eating by the side of the road. I gave him a wide birth. (I figure that black bears are still seeking revenge for the poor specimen that I stupidly shot 40 years ago.) We segued onto the Blue Ridge Parkway and passed several hours gliding through the bright green forest. We stopped for lunch at Otter Creek and then continued to Peaks of Otter (mile 86), where we found an attractive rustic room overlooking a lake ($108). We drank a bottle of Chardonnay at the bar and then returned to enjoy the view from our terrace. A spectacular day. Doing the Parkway on the bike has nothing to do with doing it in a “cage.” I’m astounded by the lack of traffic. We passed perhaps 20 cars in 100 miles.
Thursday, 2 August. We were on the road at about 9:00. We made about 200 miles to Sparta, N.C. There we found a Spanish restaurant run by a pair of Gallegos. Blanca enjoyed talking with the owners, who had just opened the place that week. We pressed on to Linville (about 300) and stayed at the Pineola Motel ($40). Right next door was a Mexican restaurant with a very pleasant young waiter from Guadalajara, who was eager to learn all about us and our trip. He made us some good margaritas. Blanca had seen a large number of deer the night before. Just before pulling off for the night, she claims to have seen a buffalo! The Parkway is a delight!
Friday, 3 August. The drive through the rest of the Parkway was an idyll, with mile after mile of serene beauty. We emerged near Cherokee, N.C. and ate fresh trout in a restaurant right next door to a recreational trout-fishing pond. Continuing to Rt 19 along a river filled with rafters to Rt 129, we passed Robbinsville and arrived at Deals Gap Motorcycle Resort, located at the beginning of the Tail of the Dragon (318 curves in 11 miles). We chose a tent site ($12) near a creek beside the hill that leads up the monster. It was like having a front-row seat at the Indy 500. The “resort” has a motel, a restaurant, camping sites, and a gas station, all “motorcycle only.” The parking lot is filled with bikes and some pretty crazy looking people, some riding Japanese sport bikes and dressed in full leather racing suits. The whole scene didn’t look much like a rational man’s cup of tea, and I began to imagine what the 11 miles of hairpin turns would be like with hordes of testosterone crazed gear heads taking them at 175 miles an hour. I pitched the tent and made camp. We were lucky to score a picnic table where I could organize our stuff, much of which was still wet. I rode to the Tampoco Lodge, 3 miles back, and bought several bottles of wine. From the entrance of the complex an almost endless stream of riders takes off--like a line of paratroopers jumping one after another out of an airplane--up the hill to begin the Dragon. The high-pitched whirr of the Japanese crotch-rockets blended with the deep-throated rumble of the Harleys, a symphony of small, gas-powered, explosions, ricocheting off the otherwise silent mountains.
Saturday, 4 August. After a pancake breakfast, we headed south to the start of the Cherahola Skyway (55 miles), which was just magnificent. From there we worked back to 129 and did the Tail of the Dragon downhill, to the Resort. The Dragon is not all that horrendous; what makes it dangerous is the antics of a lot of crazy speed freaks who think they are in the Isle of Mann Rally. Luckily, there was big police presence. Back at Deals Gap, we had delicious trout sandwiches and several bottles of Pinot Grigio. We hit the sleeping bags early, but a late night party woke me up. No matter, since the music was good. There was a very pleasant couple camped nearby, who offered us food. Everyone we ran into was super friendly.
Sunday, 5 August. Today was Blanca’s santo. We got a late start out of Deals Gap. We went up the Dragon again, and then on to the Foothills Parkway, which took us into the Great Smokey Mountain National Park. The area is quite beautiful, but much more crowded than anything we’d encountered before. The Gatlinburg-Cherokee corridor is filled with people going to visit Dolly Pardon’s “Dollywood” and other similar cultural icons and is to be avoided at all cost. We got back on the Blue Ridge Parkway, and everything was going just swimmingly until it started to downpour. We pulled over and struggled to get into our raingear. A car pulled up beside us and the occupants—faces filled with pity--offered Blanca a ride, which I think she would have accepted had she understood the proposal. We headed back out into the downpour with the idea of making it to Mt. Pisgah, where I knew there was lodging. When we got there, however, the place was full. We pressed on to Ashville, but couldn’t find a reasonable looking motel. I got back on the interstate and found us a decent room off the first exit. Nearby was a Mexican restaurant, which was just closing. I successfully pleaded with the owner to give us food and margaritas. The waitress was a young girl from El Salvador, who had never met a Spaniard before and was overjoyed with the exotic experience.
Monday, 6 August. We got another late start. We rode the parkway to Laurel Springs, N.C., where we took a room ($103) in The Bluffs Lodge, an incredible place with superb views over fields and mountains. Blanca met a Spanish couple from the Canaries who were traveling cross country in a rented car. The ride today was especially wonderful. I was in a semi-hypnotic state, rapidly being funneled down a seemingly endless bright green chute. It reminded me of the long days floating down the Amazon’s narrow corridor with its interminable green walls. But the mesmerizing bamboleo of the Brazilian hammock was replaced by the steady purr of the Harley effortlessly gliding along in 4th gear. From time to time the green opened out onto rocky mountain clearings, with views that seemed to stretch for hundreds of miles, others shrouded in deep mist.
Tuesday, 7 August. The first stop of the day was the Blue Ridge Music Center, which memorializes the heritage of bluegrass and country music. There are some interesting displays and an amphitheater. We then got back on the Parkway and headed south to Galax, Virginia, where the 72nd Old Fiddlers’ Convention was in full swing. It is evidently one of the premier events of the year in the world of bluegrass. We paid an entrance fee and went into the large field in which the main concert stage was located. The place was filled with campers and Winnebagoes, a number of which were flying confederate flags. But it was quite early in the day—about 11:00—and nothing much was doing yet musically. At least we got a taste of the Redneck Riviera. Next trip down here we’ll do the “Crooked Road,” a 253 mile route that weaves through southern Virginia and is based on a number of spots important to the history of country music. There’s a Ralph Stanley Museum and the Carter Family Fold. After a stretch on the Interstate, we got back on the Parkway and made it to Big Meadows, where we found a very pleasant room ($77) and a huge southern dinner (turkey, chicken, gravy)[$50]. They even had decent pinot grigio. At 9:00 we went down to the tap room, where there was a very talented woman singing. Her repertoire included everything from Patsy Cline to disco. At one point, a young Italian exchange student got up and sung several songs a la Janice Joplin. I tried to buy her a Southern Comfort, but the waiter said she was too young. She had to settle for something that looked like a milk shake.
Wednesday, 8 August. We left Big Meadows and got on I-81 near New Market, heading north. The interstate was filled with trucks and numerous jerks who insisted on driving in the left lane. And it was beastly hot. We decided to turn off at Tamaqua, PA and call it a day. We had a good Italian meal and enjoyed the tranquility of the ratty roadside motel. After the beauty of the parkways, it was hard to accept the boring chaos of the interstate. Cool mountain temperatures sure beat torrid hot air filled with truck exhaust.
Thursday, 9 August. We spent a good deal of the remaining return trip in traffic and got home about 4:30. I tried to catch the last of Dario’s show, but it didn’t seem to be on. This was an exceptional trip. The beauty and serenity of the places where we’d been made me think that we’ll do it again, and often. I had been on this route before, but doing it on the bike was a whole different story. Cruising smoothly around long sweeping curves and tight “twisties,” with half a ton of steel between your thighs and the pine scented breeze in your face, is a heady experience. Yes, I know: cliché, cliché. But I’ll take it anyway.
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