Contrasts
Thursday May 22, 2008
My wrist watch alarm technology continues to improve and not only have I now figured out how to silence it when we don’t want it, but also how to activate it when we do. This morning it sounds at 6:30 AM.
Yesterday, defying all odds, we made our originally planned destination, really without trying. It just happened. Today, well, I’m not so sure: I originally scripted a 370-mile day, all on two-lane or non-Interstate roads, including the last 85 miles on the Blue Ridge Parkway with its 45-mph speed limit. Normally that’s a nice day’s ride on two-lanes, but on the back of a very tiring day with Mickey and a long day yesterday, it might be too much. If it’s a hot day, that might be too many hours in the saddle, even for a super-biker-chick.
Nevertheless, undaunted by reality, by a little after 8:00 AM we roll northward from Vidalia on Rt. 297, a continuation of our two-lane journey through remote areas. We’ve ridden for days now in the same direction, and I’m suddenly struck that there’s a lot of “country” in our country, and it’s filled with incredible variety coast to coast, border to border. No two areas are the same. As well, I’m amazed how we, the human race, have been able to uncover the unique attributes of each area and discover what works, be it gathering seafood, planting crops, harvesting natural resources from above and below the earth, and a host of other ingenious commodities.
Logging, wheat, and peanuts (who are just now poking innocent green shoots through the soil) seem to be the primary industries here.
This day is a gift after the past days of hot weather. We start out at 67F under pristine and cloudless skies, and as we roll northward on Rt. 297 until we intersect US 1 near Swainsboro, the heat never comes into the day. These mostly two-lane roads are just perfect for our mood this morning. Not spectacular in the normal sense, but it just makes us feel good to be on our motorcycle on roads like this, far from the Interstate, mostly far from anyone else, just enjoying the day together. It remains deliciously cool and crisp. We hold US 1 until the town of Wrens, where we pick up Rt. 17.
The elevation here is only 400 feet above sea level, but there’s been a definite change in topography. Gone are the flatlands with their large expansive fields, gone are the pine trees that line the roads. The land here is more rolling and with more hardwoods, and the roads no longer feature miles of straight-line travel. Now, it pays to be sharp for every hilly curve.
We stop in Elberton, the self-proclaimed “Granite Capital of the World.” I wasn’t actually aware that Georgia is one of the world’s premier supplies of very high quality granite. A little research shows that Elberton sits on a layer of granite left by a dome of molten volcanic lava, 35 miles long, 6 miles wide, and estimated at two to three miles deep. That’s enough to fill the Rose Bowl 2 million times. But who’s counting?
I have a secret US tour sketched out: “Centreville, USA”. My goal would simply be to visit at least one town named “Centreville” (spelling does not matter) in every state that contains such a town, and get a picture of the bike with something that identifies the city. So far I’ve got only three. Without checking, I think there might be 34 states that have such a town, Georgia included. So at Elberton, we pick up Rt. 77, as I have added Centerville, Georgia to our itinerary for this trip.
As we near the waypoint, I think, “Wow, this is going to be a small town!” And as we crest the hill and Jill announces “Arriving at Centerville,” we see… nothing but a tin metal shed on the left. There is no Centerville, Georgia! Perhaps in time past there was, but no evidence exists now. As we turn around and retrace our ride, we do see a signpost for “Centerville Road” but it just disappears behind the shed. We concede an ignominious defeat and re-join our regularly scheduled route, already in progress.
Winding northward through Georgia in a complicated route only a GPS could understand or remember (I would never try these two-lane roads without a GPS!), we make our way through Toccoa and finally join US 23 and US 441 northward. By this time the elevation is 1500 feet above sea level and we are definitely in the Smoky Mountain zone. The heavy forests are mostly hardwood, and even the pine trees are different. I don’t have good pine tree technology to know which pines are which, but these pines appear hardier, have thicker trunks, and the branches grow much closer to the ground.
We take a picnic lunch break at Tallulah Point, from which the Tallulah Gorge is visible. This gorge was at one time the premier vacation destination of the Southeast, and was made somewhat famous in 1970 when the high-wire artist Karl Wallenda tightrope-walked the gorge without a net. It’s only 1,000 feet to the bottom. Kitty and I talked about how he dealt with the wind, which is formidable today.
By this time it’s almost 2:30 PM and prior to this stop, we’ve ridden about 220 miles and been off the bike for a total of 35 minutes (the GPS keeps track of these things). “It’s about 150 miles to Asheville,” I tell Kitty. “And remember, the last 85 miles is on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Do you want to bail out and stop now, or skip the Blue Ridge Parkway section?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “No, I don’t want to bail out. I feel good. Let’s do the whole trip.” So I call a Quality Inn near Asheville where I’ve stayed a number of times and book the last available room.
So we follow US 441 through Cherokee and just before 4:00 PM we catch the Blue Ridge Parkway at its extreme southern terminus. At first, I try on the curves like a toddler trying on a new pair of shoes. Having ridden for over a week in the flatlands and straight roads of the South, carving corners is almost foreign to me. I always try to find and hold the perfect line for a curve, but today I’m probably hitting only one in four. The rest of the time I have to make speed or lean angle adjustments. Kitty notices it and thinks I’m going too fast because of the way the bike changes around the curves. But 85 miles later, by the time we reach Asheville, North Carolina, my lines are smooth and I’ve regained my corner-carving confidence.
“You’re going slower now than you did at first,” Kitty says. I smile because I’m actually going 10 mph faster on the same type of curve. It just feels slower because it feels right: Slow down before the curve, pick the right lean angle, keep the eyes level with the horizon as the bike leans into the turn, hold the line, watch the road as far in front of the bike as possible, accelerate coming out of the turn.
Once again today, without really trying, we’ve ridden 370 non-Interstate miles. God smiled on us with clear skies and temperatures in the 70’s (F). One of the things I enjoy most on a ride is to see how the country in our country changes, and do that you have to ride some miles in a compressed time format, and you have to be up close and personal. In two days we've ridden 700 miles from the sunny expanses of central Florida to the rugged mountains of North Carolina. These have been two of those special days.
Oh, yeah, I think I’m going to enjoy the next two days on the BRP.
Thursday May 22, 2008
My wrist watch alarm technology continues to improve and not only have I now figured out how to silence it when we don’t want it, but also how to activate it when we do. This morning it sounds at 6:30 AM.
Yesterday, defying all odds, we made our originally planned destination, really without trying. It just happened. Today, well, I’m not so sure: I originally scripted a 370-mile day, all on two-lane or non-Interstate roads, including the last 85 miles on the Blue Ridge Parkway with its 45-mph speed limit. Normally that’s a nice day’s ride on two-lanes, but on the back of a very tiring day with Mickey and a long day yesterday, it might be too much. If it’s a hot day, that might be too many hours in the saddle, even for a super-biker-chick.
Nevertheless, undaunted by reality, by a little after 8:00 AM we roll northward from Vidalia on Rt. 297, a continuation of our two-lane journey through remote areas. We’ve ridden for days now in the same direction, and I’m suddenly struck that there’s a lot of “country” in our country, and it’s filled with incredible variety coast to coast, border to border. No two areas are the same. As well, I’m amazed how we, the human race, have been able to uncover the unique attributes of each area and discover what works, be it gathering seafood, planting crops, harvesting natural resources from above and below the earth, and a host of other ingenious commodities.
Logging, wheat, and peanuts (who are just now poking innocent green shoots through the soil) seem to be the primary industries here.This day is a gift after the past days of hot weather. We start out at 67F under pristine and cloudless skies, and as we roll northward on Rt. 297 until we intersect US 1 near Swainsboro, the heat never comes into the day. These mostly two-lane roads are just perfect for our mood this morning. Not spectacular in the normal sense, but it just makes us feel good to be on our motorcycle on roads like this, far from the Interstate, mostly far from anyone else, just enjoying the day together. It remains deliciously cool and crisp. We hold US 1 until the town of Wrens, where we pick up Rt. 17.
The elevation here is only 400 feet above sea level, but there’s been a definite change in topography. Gone are the flatlands with their large expansive fields, gone are the pine trees that line the roads. The land here is more rolling and with more hardwoods, and the roads no longer feature miles of straight-line travel. Now, it pays to be sharp for every hilly curve.
We stop in Elberton, the self-proclaimed “Granite Capital of the World.” I wasn’t actually aware that Georgia is one of the world’s premier supplies of very high quality granite. A little research shows that Elberton sits on a layer of granite left by a dome of molten volcanic lava, 35 miles long, 6 miles wide, and estimated at two to three miles deep. That’s enough to fill the Rose Bowl 2 million times. But who’s counting?
I have a secret US tour sketched out: “Centreville, USA”. My goal would simply be to visit at least one town named “Centreville” (spelling does not matter) in every state that contains such a town, and get a picture of the bike with something that identifies the city. So far I’ve got only three. Without checking, I think there might be 34 states that have such a town, Georgia included. So at Elberton, we pick up Rt. 77, as I have added Centerville, Georgia to our itinerary for this trip.
As we near the waypoint, I think, “Wow, this is going to be a small town!” And as we crest the hill and Jill announces “Arriving at Centerville,” we see… nothing but a tin metal shed on the left. There is no Centerville, Georgia! Perhaps in time past there was, but no evidence exists now. As we turn around and retrace our ride, we do see a signpost for “Centerville Road” but it just disappears behind the shed. We concede an ignominious defeat and re-join our regularly scheduled route, already in progress.
Winding northward through Georgia in a complicated route only a GPS could understand or remember (I would never try these two-lane roads without a GPS!), we make our way through Toccoa and finally join US 23 and US 441 northward. By this time the elevation is 1500 feet above sea level and we are definitely in the Smoky Mountain zone. The heavy forests are mostly hardwood, and even the pine trees are different. I don’t have good pine tree technology to know which pines are which, but these pines appear hardier, have thicker trunks, and the branches grow much closer to the ground.
We take a picnic lunch break at Tallulah Point, from which the Tallulah Gorge is visible. This gorge was at one time the premier vacation destination of the Southeast, and was made somewhat famous in 1970 when the high-wire artist Karl Wallenda tightrope-walked the gorge without a net. It’s only 1,000 feet to the bottom. Kitty and I talked about how he dealt with the wind, which is formidable today.
By this time it’s almost 2:30 PM and prior to this stop, we’ve ridden about 220 miles and been off the bike for a total of 35 minutes (the GPS keeps track of these things). “It’s about 150 miles to Asheville,” I tell Kitty. “And remember, the last 85 miles is on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Do you want to bail out and stop now, or skip the Blue Ridge Parkway section?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “No, I don’t want to bail out. I feel good. Let’s do the whole trip.” So I call a Quality Inn near Asheville where I’ve stayed a number of times and book the last available room.
So we follow US 441 through Cherokee and just before 4:00 PM we catch the Blue Ridge Parkway at its extreme southern terminus. At first, I try on the curves like a toddler trying on a new pair of shoes. Having ridden for over a week in the flatlands and straight roads of the South, carving corners is almost foreign to me. I always try to find and hold the perfect line for a curve, but today I’m probably hitting only one in four. The rest of the time I have to make speed or lean angle adjustments. Kitty notices it and thinks I’m going too fast because of the way the bike changes around the curves. But 85 miles later, by the time we reach Asheville, North Carolina, my lines are smooth and I’ve regained my corner-carving confidence.“You’re going slower now than you did at first,” Kitty says. I smile because I’m actually going 10 mph faster on the same type of curve. It just feels slower because it feels right: Slow down before the curve, pick the right lean angle, keep the eyes level with the horizon as the bike leans into the turn, hold the line, watch the road as far in front of the bike as possible, accelerate coming out of the turn.
Once again today, without really trying, we’ve ridden 370 non-Interstate miles. God smiled on us with clear skies and temperatures in the 70’s (F). One of the things I enjoy most on a ride is to see how the country in our country changes, and do that you have to ride some miles in a compressed time format, and you have to be up close and personal. In two days we've ridden 700 miles from the sunny expanses of central Florida to the rugged mountains of North Carolina. These have been two of those special days.
Oh, yeah, I think I’m going to enjoy the next two days on the BRP.
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