Copyright (c) 2015, Jim Beachy
Last night when we got back from dinner, the cup of strong coffee and a cookie seemed like an extraordinarily good idea. By 7:00 AM, after trying unsuccessfully all night to calculate the Poisson probability of exactly 7 injuries in a basketball game when the average number of injuries is 2, well, not so much. Why would a Poisson distribution come to trouble my hoped-for sleep? I have no clue. Don't judge me.
By the time we have breakfast and I take care of some travel insurance issues resulting from a hacked credit card several weeks ago, it's after 10:00 AM when we make the turn out of the hotel parking lot and make our way to I-81 south. It seems warm, about 63 F, but I know we are heading into some higher elevations where it will be cooler; and, standing around in the sunshine dictates that extra layer or two for when you're cutting into the wind at 70 mph. Usually we are on the road well before this time. Please don't judge me.
In less than a half hour, the temperature has dropped to 52 F and then dipped to 50 F, so every layer is welcome, as are the heated seats and grips. Kitty is riding a bit chilled this morning at these temperatures; the passenger always gets the worst of it, as the big fairing's still air pocket starts to collapse around her shoulders and creates wind turbulence that creeps around the edges of a chilly morning.
At this elevation, the trees are noticeably retarded in their springtime leafing ritual, and the redbuds have scarcely started pushing their purple blooms. It's hilly here and we are running the speed limit of 70 mph on cruise control. When riding two-up and towing a trailer, the added wind resistance at higher speed takes a dramatic toll on fuel mileage, and this morning 70 mph seems just about right for a lazy day. Please don't judge me.
A UPS semi runs up beside us, then hits a grade and has to drop back. We seesaw back and forth a few times over the next five miles or so, and Kitty notices that the driver waves at us each time. I haven't had the CB on this morning but decide he might want to talk to us.
I key up the mic. "Good morning, Mr. UPS. How are you doing this fine morning? Gold Wing callin'."
He comes back immediately and with gusto. "Doin' mighty fine, mighty fine this morning, Gold Wing. That is one mighty fine lookin' rig you got there! Where you headed?"
"Headed for Vicksburg to eat some crawfish!
We chat for a minutes until he hits a hill and eventually we're out of range. He explains that he has a 1995 Gold Wing, the 10th Anniversary Edition so he always looks out for bikes on the road.
At our first fuel stop, Kitty decides to put on her balaclava, so I dig it out from underneath our warm-weather mesh jackets housed in the left saddlebag. It's simply a satin hood with a face cutout; we each have one but I've rarely used mine. I've always said this makes her look like a monk; after we're back on the road cruising at 70 mph, she says it makes a big difference and she feels a lot warmer. We have electric gear but didn't bring it for a southern trip in late April, and I feel a little guilty for having left it behind. Even without electrics, though, our rain gear could add another valuable layer should we need it.
At the fuel stop, I'd arbitrarily decided to reroute and run US 11 between Bristol, TN/VA and Knoxville, TN, a distance of roughly 100 miles. I've never been on that segment; we'd asked a woman who came up to chat if she knew that route, and she did, telling us it was a nice road.
So we prepare to take the first exit in Tennessee, Exit 74-B, to US 11 south. Not a mile before the exit, we catch up to the UPS driver who'd apparently passed us at our fuel stop.
"So you'll be in Vicksburg tomorrow night?" he asks.
"No, no, no, we're taking all the slow roads in Tennessee and then wondering along the Mississippi River to Vicksburg. We'll plan to be there by Thursday evening."
"Well, you have a safe ride! Have a blessed day, and God be with you!"
"Hey, He is, and we talk to Him every day!" is my last transmission.
US 11 runs to the west of Kingsport. I tell Kitty, "I'm in the mood for a funky hometown restaurant. If you see one that doesn't have a gravel parking lot, feel free to point it out." At that moment we pass a little place called Katy's, which looks funky enough and hometown-ish enough, but has a deep gravel parking lot so it's off limits for us on our big bike. We settle for MacDonald's. Don't judge us.
During the 50-mile descent to Bristol and onto US 11, the temperature has climbed to 70 F, representing a temperature change of 20 degrees from this morning. At our second fuel stop, I opt to remove a layer of clothing, as I'm getting pretty warm in these temps. Kitty holds steadfastly to all her layers and her balaclava.
US 11 is a pleasant if not spectacular ride after we get through Kingsport. It's a gently winding four-lane highway that passes through a rolling valley flanked on either side by smallish but extremely steep hills. I now begin to understand why there are few connecting roads between US 11 and I-81; a note that if you choose this route, you are pretty well committed for most of the distance to Knoxville. At times the route takes us close to the Holston River that winds sinuously through the valley, and then again across Cherokee Lake. The flat surface of the river and the lake coupled with the steepness of the surrounding hills offers a scenic and interesting contrast. At Bean Station, the highway becomes a pleasant two-lane route for the remaining 40 miles or so to Knoxville.
I have not scoped out this route at all, having arbitrarily picked a waypoint with the bike's onboard GPS system, so I only presume US 11 will join the little I-640 beltway we usually take around Knoxville. Well, I'm mighty surprised when we reach that point and US 11 simply passes underneath the bypass and connects directly to I-40 right through the heart of Knoxville, a route I've avoided for years. I brace myself for the dreaded Knoxville traffic, and... it's a breeze! In 10 minutes we're through the heart of Knoxville and exiting on the south side at 55 mph.
"You must have prayed that God would part the Red Sea!" I tell Kitty in the headset.
When we arrive at the hotel in Lenoir City, after a beautiful if sometimes chilly ride of just under 300 miles, I retrieve the luggage cart to load out our stuff. Kitty just shakes her head and says "That's pathetic!" All I can say is, don't judge me. Or, maybe, judge for yourself.
Last night when we got back from dinner, the cup of strong coffee and a cookie seemed like an extraordinarily good idea. By 7:00 AM, after trying unsuccessfully all night to calculate the Poisson probability of exactly 7 injuries in a basketball game when the average number of injuries is 2, well, not so much. Why would a Poisson distribution come to trouble my hoped-for sleep? I have no clue. Don't judge me.
By the time we have breakfast and I take care of some travel insurance issues resulting from a hacked credit card several weeks ago, it's after 10:00 AM when we make the turn out of the hotel parking lot and make our way to I-81 south. It seems warm, about 63 F, but I know we are heading into some higher elevations where it will be cooler; and, standing around in the sunshine dictates that extra layer or two for when you're cutting into the wind at 70 mph. Usually we are on the road well before this time. Please don't judge me.
In less than a half hour, the temperature has dropped to 52 F and then dipped to 50 F, so every layer is welcome, as are the heated seats and grips. Kitty is riding a bit chilled this morning at these temperatures; the passenger always gets the worst of it, as the big fairing's still air pocket starts to collapse around her shoulders and creates wind turbulence that creeps around the edges of a chilly morning.
At this elevation, the trees are noticeably retarded in their springtime leafing ritual, and the redbuds have scarcely started pushing their purple blooms. It's hilly here and we are running the speed limit of 70 mph on cruise control. When riding two-up and towing a trailer, the added wind resistance at higher speed takes a dramatic toll on fuel mileage, and this morning 70 mph seems just about right for a lazy day. Please don't judge me.
A UPS semi runs up beside us, then hits a grade and has to drop back. We seesaw back and forth a few times over the next five miles or so, and Kitty notices that the driver waves at us each time. I haven't had the CB on this morning but decide he might want to talk to us.
I key up the mic. "Good morning, Mr. UPS. How are you doing this fine morning? Gold Wing callin'."
He comes back immediately and with gusto. "Doin' mighty fine, mighty fine this morning, Gold Wing. That is one mighty fine lookin' rig you got there! Where you headed?"
"Headed for Vicksburg to eat some crawfish!
We chat for a minutes until he hits a hill and eventually we're out of range. He explains that he has a 1995 Gold Wing, the 10th Anniversary Edition so he always looks out for bikes on the road.
At our first fuel stop, Kitty decides to put on her balaclava, so I dig it out from underneath our warm-weather mesh jackets housed in the left saddlebag. It's simply a satin hood with a face cutout; we each have one but I've rarely used mine. I've always said this makes her look like a monk; after we're back on the road cruising at 70 mph, she says it makes a big difference and she feels a lot warmer. We have electric gear but didn't bring it for a southern trip in late April, and I feel a little guilty for having left it behind. Even without electrics, though, our rain gear could add another valuable layer should we need it.At the fuel stop, I'd arbitrarily decided to reroute and run US 11 between Bristol, TN/VA and Knoxville, TN, a distance of roughly 100 miles. I've never been on that segment; we'd asked a woman who came up to chat if she knew that route, and she did, telling us it was a nice road.
So we prepare to take the first exit in Tennessee, Exit 74-B, to US 11 south. Not a mile before the exit, we catch up to the UPS driver who'd apparently passed us at our fuel stop.
"So you'll be in Vicksburg tomorrow night?" he asks.
"No, no, no, we're taking all the slow roads in Tennessee and then wondering along the Mississippi River to Vicksburg. We'll plan to be there by Thursday evening."
"Well, you have a safe ride! Have a blessed day, and God be with you!"
"Hey, He is, and we talk to Him every day!" is my last transmission.
US 11 runs to the west of Kingsport. I tell Kitty, "I'm in the mood for a funky hometown restaurant. If you see one that doesn't have a gravel parking lot, feel free to point it out." At that moment we pass a little place called Katy's, which looks funky enough and hometown-ish enough, but has a deep gravel parking lot so it's off limits for us on our big bike. We settle for MacDonald's. Don't judge us.
During the 50-mile descent to Bristol and onto US 11, the temperature has climbed to 70 F, representing a temperature change of 20 degrees from this morning. At our second fuel stop, I opt to remove a layer of clothing, as I'm getting pretty warm in these temps. Kitty holds steadfastly to all her layers and her balaclava.
US 11 is a pleasant if not spectacular ride after we get through Kingsport. It's a gently winding four-lane highway that passes through a rolling valley flanked on either side by smallish but extremely steep hills. I now begin to understand why there are few connecting roads between US 11 and I-81; a note that if you choose this route, you are pretty well committed for most of the distance to Knoxville. At times the route takes us close to the Holston River that winds sinuously through the valley, and then again across Cherokee Lake. The flat surface of the river and the lake coupled with the steepness of the surrounding hills offers a scenic and interesting contrast. At Bean Station, the highway becomes a pleasant two-lane route for the remaining 40 miles or so to Knoxville.
I have not scoped out this route at all, having arbitrarily picked a waypoint with the bike's onboard GPS system, so I only presume US 11 will join the little I-640 beltway we usually take around Knoxville. Well, I'm mighty surprised when we reach that point and US 11 simply passes underneath the bypass and connects directly to I-40 right through the heart of Knoxville, a route I've avoided for years. I brace myself for the dreaded Knoxville traffic, and... it's a breeze! In 10 minutes we're through the heart of Knoxville and exiting on the south side at 55 mph.
"You must have prayed that God would part the Red Sea!" I tell Kitty in the headset.
GPS Track (gray) and Elevation Graph
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