Where do I start? It has been over 2 years since I've written a trip report - not to mention, the number of trips has fallen off dramatically since my last report in Oct 2001. So what happened? Simple - life happened. Between moving, work, track days, an accident, and other events, the last two years have really flown by. I'm not saying any of that is bad, just different.
Given that me and the VFR (my bike) were barely on speaking terms for a while, what better place to re-acquaint ourselves with sport touring than the BRP in the fall. This has become somewhat of a tradition since my first trip in the fall of 1998. What follows is a recap of the 7 days my Dad and I spent on the road, traversing our way from Chicago, over thru Ohio, into West Virginia, Virginia, North Carolina, then across thru Kentucky and Tennessee, and finally back into Illinois and home. The trip total 2449 miles for me.
Day 1 - October 5, 2003 (Sunday)
543 miles
In the weeks leading up to this trip, I was finishing up several projects on the VFR. Earlier this year I was able to sneak down to Arkansas for a few days, only to discover steering head bearings were close to expired, and my suspension was getting tired. So, new tapered bearing were installed, and race tech springs up front to at least make the VFR somewhat "sporty" and road-worthy again. Once the bike was certified again, I started thinking about the trip, and what the road would present us this year.
Given my recent move away from Chicago-land proper, my Dad and I departed early morning on Sunday from his house. Both our bikes were packed and I think each of us were equally excited about a week on the road. For Dad this trip would also be his chance to figure out what motorcycling was going to mean to him going forward. You see - the reason there was no report from the 5th annual fall color run is because we never made it last year. About an hour into day 2 last year, lets just say that Dad had a bad day that landed him in the hospital, and our bikes in the back of a U-haul. Thankfully, he's OK now, and was eager to get back on the road after rebuilding the ST last winter.
Anyway - enough of that. The morning was brisk, our tanks full of gas, and the interstate beaconed. Usually, I crank up the tunes to pass the time on our "slab" days. This year, with the addition of a new helmet, I purposely didn't bother mounting speakers. Instead, I used the time to let my mind just wonder. Initially thoughts of day-to-day activities filled my mind, work, etc - but by the time we were approaching Bloomington, my mind was already starting to let go. Perfect!
Mother nature also started to talk to me sometime around Bloomington, and after about 30 minutes of torture, we finally pulled off at a customary stop near Champaign for gas and a quick snack. The day was going good, the miles passing by easy, and Dad seemed to be doing pretty good.
From Champaign, we continued east on 74 over thru Indianapolis and then eventually into Ohio. The days pace on the interstate was very relaxed. We cruised for the most part 5-7mph over the limit, which is slightly slower then we usually "push" it on the slab. Before crossing into Ohio, we stopped again for our second tank of gas at yet another familiar gas stop. Go figure - the VFR goes almost exactly 200 miles on a tank before hitting reserve. Given our earlier decision not to head south towards Kentucky, we were pretty much locked on an interstate route until we could exit near the Ohio river once thru Cincinnati. We did so, without incident, [less one idiot cutting Dad off, who got a much deserved PIAA treatment] and were both relieved for a 2 lane road and a change of pace.
Given the time of year in the Midwest, we are always challenged with shorter days in October. Today we were doing better than years past, but still, nightfall was quickly approaching. As chief navigator for the trip, I considered a few options, and soon decided on a route that would end us at a campsite near Portsmouth, OH. Shortly before making our final route change, we passed thru the last one horse town. I pulled off at a convenient mart were we picked up some lunch meat and chips for dinner.
At the campsite, we quickly setup the tents and within minutes the last signs of daylight were disappearing. We attempted to get a fire going, but didn't have much luck. The day was long, and after dinner and a quick trip to the latrine, we were both just about ready for bed anyway.
Day 2 - October 6, 2003 (Monday)
372 miles
This morning we awoke to an over abundance of FOG. The tents were soaked. Not much could be done about that, so we made coffee and packed up the wet tents. Once packed up, we set out for what I hoped would be more than an hour ride. Given the heavy fog, we took it very easy this morning and went in search of breakfast a little earlier than normal. After one failed town, I sniffed out a Bob Evans at which we both enjoyed a hearty breakfast.
After breakfast, we went ahead and filled up with gas again before continuing into West Virginia. We learned the hard way on a previous trip there is a good and bad route to get over to Charleston. This morning we chose the safer interstate/roller coaster route versus the slow thru 4 bazillion little towns option. I actually have really taken a liking to the interstate in this part of the country. I call them roller coasters for a reason. Woohooo!
All the while approaching Charleston I was trying to map out a good route across WV. Typically we head north, but this year - I opted for something different, and instead we took more of a southern route. The roads were unknown to me, and after our short duration on the interstate, we were rewarded with roads typical of this part of the country. There is a reason why I keep coming back here, and the roads we happened upon this year were subtle reminders of this point. I was really enjoying the mornings ride, but it had been quite some time since our morning breakfast/gas stop. About this time, I started seeing the PIAAs in my mirror - a sign that Dad needed a break. No problem, I signaled back and a short time later pulled off at a nice roadside park area complete with an old fashion dam. Umm, excuse me - I have a question sir. Oh.. never mind.
At our stop, two couples pulled in on bikes. We got to talking, and it turned out they lived in another favorite area of the country I enjoying riding in, namely Arkansas. The conversation was good, the sun shining, temps were in the low 70s - life couldn't have been much better at that point for me. Dad on the other hand was struggling a bit. He was complaining of fatigue and shoulder/helmet pain. He tried to shake it off with a few advils, and we pressed continued up the road.
The next hour or so was spent enjoying the countryside, the farms in the valleys between the mountains, and in general just being on the road again. After my break from touring, I have to admit, yesterday was a little tough. Interstate days always are. But today there was no question in my mind why I was here, riding this road.
About this time, the VFR was again approaching the limit of its touring range, so we pulled off for more petrol and some lunch snacks from the RCT treat trunk (aka GIVI bag filled with junk food). It was at this point when the next sign of fatigue was apparent. Dad made a comment while we were stopped that "he didn't think he could do this anymore." The road we had just been on was not excessively twisty, but there were a few 35mph bends thrown in for fun. I wasn't seeking out the hard-core twisty roads, it's just part of riding in this part of the country. Needless to say, I was somewhat disappointed with his comments, but I tried to put it behind me.
After our stop, we proceeded north, and eventually dropped into Route 33 just south of Senaca Rocks which were visible in the distance. When given the opportunity, this is a route not to miss when in this part of the country. The road starts out friendly enough, gradually working its way up the mountain towards Germany Valley outlook. I always stop here, and this year I made sure to flag Dad down so he could enjoy the view also. About this time, we both made a few comments about how flat out WRONG the weather channels fall foliage report was. They called this area "near peak", but I think you'll agree with us looking at the photos that it was not even close to that (and then some). We call this trip the FCR for a reason, but it is amazing how much the colors vary from year to year. Don't get me wrong, the view was still incredible!
After a few more photos, Dad and I proceeded up the mountain. I picked up the pace a bit, but in retrospect from previous years, not really. I was just having fun but not trying to pretend the road was a racetrack. This seasons experience on the race track taught me a valuable lesson. There is only one place to even remotely push a modern day "sport" bike - and it's not the street. I think I'm lucky I found the racetrack before the pavement found my aerostich. With Dad still basically still in my mirrors, we came to the most intense section of this road. I need to go back and take a picture of this one particular corner - but basically it's a 15mph two lane on camber road carved out from the side of a mountain, that leaves you looking back DOWN at the road you just came from. I later learned Dad called it a "mogal" ... but I sure enjoyed it. Once to the top of the mountain, there are about 3 miles of 25mph switchbacks to get back down that I also enjoyed.
Once safely on the other side fo the mountain, I pulled off to wait for Dad - which is no problem. After some time, I spotted the familiar view of the ST coming down the road, under the cover of the roadside trees. This section of Rt 33 has always been a favorite of mine also. Todays ride was breath taking. The sun was setting in my mirrors, there were about 7 total clouds in the sky, and the rolling hills and farm land really painted a peaceful picture. Today was a great day of riding for me! As we started to approach Harrisonburg I realized that Dad keep getting farther and farther behind me. I was barely doing the speed limit, yet he didn't seem to want to keep the pace up. I knew exactly what had happened - but it wasn't until later that night at dinner when I would fully understand the severity. Once we re-grouped, I navigated thru the early stages of dusk safely to our hotel on the other side of the interstate in Harrisonburg, VA.
At dinner this night, the conversation quickly turned very philosophical. Since Dr. Tad wasn't around, I had to offer what words of wisdom I could to the ol'man. In a nut shell, what happened was the "mogals" on Rt 33 had broken Dad. It had been almost 2 years since a real trip, then there was last years failed attempt at this trip. It left Dad wondering if motorcycling was something he wanted to continue, or if he would hang it up. The waitress wondered why we were ordering two rounds of beers at a time - but at the end of dinner, Dad had decided to sleep on it, and make his decision in the morning. Two options were discussed. He could jump on the interstate and be home in about a day and a half. Otherwise, he could press on and see what the BRP and the rest of the trip had to offer.
Pictures:
An old dam in WV
Roadside in WV
A Farm in WV
Germany valley outlook, WV
Rt 33 just into VA
Day 3 - October 7, 2003 (Tuesday)
298 miles
This mornings first comments were that "I decided to get back in the plane." (think Top Gun if that isn't exactly clear) I think the decision was a good one - I just hopped that todays ride would be more rewarding for Dad than the past two days were.
The great thing about pushing hard the first two days out of Chicago is that within an hour, you can basically be at the beginning of the BRP on day three. We stopped for a nice breakfast at Cracker Barrel before looking for the signs marking the spot for the traditional pretty maids in a row picture locations and the start of the BRP. The weather was wonderful this morning - in the low 50s with highs expected near 65 I believe. We stopped for a quick picture and then I told my Dad I'd see him down the road somewhere. The plan of record was to camp at Doughton Park, which has become another traditional stop - mostly due to its location just about in the middle of BRP.
Every year brings a different attitude when I ride the BRP. It marks the end of the riding season, but I would have to say it is still the trip I look forward to the most every year. As time passes, there seems to be less and less time for things like this. Life is busy, but good. As such, I cherish every second spent riding on the BRP. If you've read any of my other trip reports, this is nothing new. But I will say it again this year, and every year I continue to take this trip.
Not much really needs to be said about the days ride expect how absolutely wonderful it was. The weather couldn't have been better. Just a few poofy clouds here and there - but otherwise perfect if I dare to use that word. I spent the morning and afternoon hours just enjoying everything that the BRP and being on the road had to offer. I stopped often, at some familiar overlooks, and some not as familiar. The funny part about the day is Dad and I ran across each other more times than I could believe.
After a great day of riding, Dad and I eventually met up at Little Glad Mill Pond where I had stopped to enjoy the scenery. From here, it wasn't too much further to Doughton Park and our campsite for the night. We enjoyed the rest of the ride together and all too quickly found the end of our first days ride on the BRP. At the campsite, we found a nice spot, setup our tents, and gathered some free roaming wood for the nights fire before heading off for some chow.
The Doughton Park diner has great food, period. If you are in the area, don't miss it. Tonight's meal was no exception. Just make sure you save room for a jelly bisket for desert. :) At dinner Dad and I discussed how his day went. All I can say is his attitude was 100% different than it was the night before. I seem to recall a grin from ear to ear. We really had a great day of riding, and boff'a us were equally thankful for that. We loaded up the viffer with some more campfire wood and some waters and headed back to camp. I took the duty of building the fire tonight and had good success at it thanks to the dry firewood and some good kindling.
The nights conversations were good. We both took time to step away from the fire to enjoy the view of the Milky Way that you can't see from Chicago. It always hits me at that moment - how small I feel on this earth. It was just me and Dad on the top of a mountain, essentially in the middle of know where. And you know the best part - I didn't have a care in the world, and my mind was completely blank. You could say this was another perfect day of riding.
Pictures:
Pretty maids in a row
the BRP, need I say more
Otter creak, BRP
Looking down into the valley from BRP
Dad showing off the PIAA's
Glad Mill Pond
A successful campfire, Doughton Park
Day 4 - October 8, 2003 (Wednesday)
285 miles
We awoke again this morning to dew covered tents, but a rising sun over the mountain. Dad of course found a most unique method for drying his tent by hanging it from a low hanging tree branch. Go figure. First things first though. Every morning we camp, I have to make coffee, or instant capachino - whichever the givi happens to have in it. We packed up camp then and headed back to Doughton Park diner for breakfast. The morning was looking like it was going to be another great day.
After breakfast, I went ahead and filled up the viffer with gas, just in case it was more than "about 100" miles to the next case stop. Any other place in the country I'll take calculated risks with respect to how far I can go on a tank of gas. But not the BRP. Go back and read my trip report from my first fall color run if you wonder why.
Anyway, while I'm filling up with gas, I told Dad to take off, and I'd meet him down the road a ways. The funny part is, his internal compass must have been out of alignment - as he went the WRONG way. Thankfully he looked back before he got too far, and I was signaling like you were docking a 777 to go the other way. It was hilarious, but I guess you had to be there.
With 220 miles of range (approximately of course), I saddled up and started to enjoy the day almost immediately again. The morning valley's were filled with fog (aka. low hanging clouds) from the night. It made for some beautiful pictures taken from the higher elevations looking down on the gaps. (another technical word for a valley in case you wondered) At any rate, the morning ride was great. The closer I got to Linn Cove, the more abundant the colors got. It really started to remind me of my first ever trip on the BRP. The sun was again abundant in the early morning hours, the temps pleasant, and the scenery - did I mention it was gorgeous?
As I approached Linn Cove, the cloud cover started moving back in, and the temps fell slightly. The scenery more than made up for the slightly overcast skys, and fog rolling up over the mountain peaks. I of course had to pull off in the no parking area (hey - that's for cars only) and take some customary pictures of the bridge at Linn Cove. About this time, Dad and I caught back up with each other also, and I took the lead again.
The clouds continued to thicken, but that didn't stop either one of us from stopping and enjoying the days ride. I had mentioned to Dad that we would stop at Asheville for gas. I was still in the lead so I waited a while at the gas station while enjoying my daily Dr. Pepper. Dad never did show up, so I decided to head back to the parkway and continue on. Ironically, just as I pulled back on the parkway, I saw the familiar ST coming down the road. It started to rain shortly there after, so I pulled off to switch into my rain gloves and change my shield. I could see Dad had already made the switch, so he keep going.
About this point, things take a turn for the worse. The only other plan we had talked about was to meet at Big Witch outlook, near the end of the BRP. The fog really started to roll in. Remember that fog I mentioned from earlier this morning rolling across the peaks of the mountains. Well, the end of the BRP goes right thru those same peaks. This translated to almost near zero viability. It was so bad in fact, I didn't see that Dad pulled off at one of the next road side gas stations which left me thinking he was still in front of me as I rode up, over, and thru "death fog mountain." It was a scary time, and I really wanted to get off this mountain after a while. It didn't help that my newly acquired helmet visor was not adjusted properly, and water was leaking in, creating another layer of fog within in my helmet. Ya - I basically was driving blind. Then, to make matters worse, the cars were driving, and I use that term loosely, even SLOWER than I was.
I did what I could to get by them, some much more difficult than others, with the hope that I would come across the ol'man, and vote for an early departure from the mountain pass. No such luck of course, since Dad was behind me, which I didn't know at the time.
After about an hour of these treacherous conditions, which neither of us had any business being out riding in, the fog slowly started to lift as I began my decent, nearing the end of the BRP. I almost went into panic mode when I got to Big Witch outlook though and Dad wasn't there. I was sure he was ahead of me. I had been watching the pavement as much as I could thru the fog, but could I have missed him, and could he have crashed off the side of the mountain somewhere? Those were the kind of thoughts that were racing thru my head. I of course turned on my cel phone asap to check for voicemails - no such luck.
I'm really not sure how much time passed, but I remember telling myself I would give him one hour before I called 911. Thankfully, he eventually showed up, maybe 15 minutes behind me. I was glad I didn't have to call out the search and rescue team. Seriously, it was THAT bad. We chatted for a bit while my nerves calmed down about what now we will both always remember as our run in with "death fog mountain." We are both lucky to have made it thru that in one piece! Dad also made a comment to me that I better take his picture, as he wasn't sure if he would make it back here again. The rest of the journey over to Granny's place in Robbinsville was uneventful with the exception of the typical delay thru the tourist trap called Cherokee.
After checking in with Granny, Dad and I walked up the road for a sit down dinner. I think I speak for both of us that we were equally thankful to be off of THAT mountain.
Pictures:
Fog in the valley below
Linn Cove
the VFR in one of the BRP tunnels
GrayBeard Mountain
Dad at Big Witch Overlook
Day 5 - October 9, 2003 (Thursday)
354 miles
This morning I awoke with mixed thoughts about what our plan for the day should be. I really wanted to go visit Deal's GAP, but I know Dad wants nothing to do with 318 turns in 11 miles, esp. after yesterdays events. That being said, Dad encouraged me to go "slay" the Dragon while he dried out our tents.
With that - I left the GIVIs at the hotel, and set out for a short ~25 mile ride to Deal's Gap. The ride up to the gap was very peaceful, with some mountain fog in the distance and crisp mountain air. I arrived a short time later at the GAP and without stopping at T.W.O., proceeded to slay the dragon. What is interesting to me these days, ever since I started riding a "race" bike on the track, is that the road no longer is a place where I find myself even remotely wanting/needing to push it. I really am lucky actually. Had I not found the racetrack when I did, and found that venue to get the "speed" out of my blood safely, I would have found out the hard way on the street, probably on a road like Deals Gap that crys out to be ridden hard (leaving the 2nd half of statement out to keep this PG).
At any rate - that's just me. Your mileage may, and probably should, vary. I had a really fun time thru the Gap. Spooling up the VFR is still wicked fun. The sound of the gear driven cams is music to my ears. And even at my "slow" street pace, I had a fabulous time "getting jiggy" thru the gap. I stopped at Calderwood Dam to add to the photo collection, and then made my return trip back to T.W.O., where I stopped to look around a bit before heading back to the hotel.
Once safely back to the motel, Dad and I loaded up the bikes and set out for the Cherohala. We talked briefly about the chance for more fog on the mountain, but with only two possible routes west, we opted to give the Cherohala a chance despite Granny's warnings to Dad. (something about don't go up on that there mountain in the fog - really!?!?)
The motorcycle gods rewarded us for sure, as the Cherohala was breathtaking. We saw the most vivid colors yet on our trip. The east side of the mountain started out with some fog in the valleys, but approaching 6000 ft, the fog had already burned off, and nothing but blue skies, dry pavement, and beautiful scenery was to be found. I really enjoyed the mornings ride, stopping often early for photos, then just riding. Life was simple, and things seemed to make sense all of a sudden. I think Dad found the same inner peace as I did this early afternoon. I found him stopped near the end of the Cherohala, and after getting my earplugs out, he said "it's time to smell the roses for a while". Sometimes it takes Dad a while to catch on, but today he realized there was no place he had to be, and nothing more important besides enjoying this wonderful day and the stream running along the roadside.
Often times on these trips, we have pushed hard and slabbed after the Cherohala all the way to Southern Illinois. I joked with Dad after his comment to me, "But don't we have to hurry home now?" We opted for a slower more casual route home and added an extra day to our trip. The exact route is sketchy at this point, but needless to say, the day was spent exploring western Tennessee and southern Kentucky. We got rained on for a brief period of time after stopping to visit Dale Hollow Dam and Lake, which as the signs point out, was built by the Army Core of Engineers! That seems more meaningful to mention these days than in years past if you know what I mean.
Near the end of the day, we ended up at a gas station next to one of the major interstates running thru KY. I pulled over to figure out where exactly we were and what route we should take to find a hotel for the night. For most of the day, as is fairly common when I travel with my Dad, I do most (if not all) of the route planning, and Dad is just along for the ride. We discussed a plan, and then geared back up for a short trip up the interstate. I somehow managed to get geared back up much more quickly that Dad did, and while I was sitting there, VFR idling, watching Dad gear up, putting on this helmet, then gloves, and throwing a leg over the ST at age 54, I realized something very important. Knowing the trip was a bit of a struggle for Dad the first few days, and after everything he went thru with his crash last year, that whatever he decided to do - Dad had done it right. I have to give my Dad full credit for venturing out on these journeys with me, and keeping a (mostly) open mind along the way. Needless to say, at this very moment, sitting a gas station on the middle of KY (or TN, it doesn't matter), I felt very fortunate to have spent the time on the road with my Dad that I have!
Eventually we found our way to a hotel in Bowling Green, KY where we enjoyed a wonderful meal and a few cocktails to celebrate a great journey thus far.
Pictures:
Calderwood Dam
Deal's Gap
Colors on the Cherohala
more of the same on the Cherohala
less colors at lower elevations
looking down from the last outlook
Dale Hollow Dam and Lake
Day 6 - October 10, 2003 (Friday)
241 miles
One of our traditions for this trip (yes, change is good, but traditions are great too) is to stop at SIUC where I went to college - what seems like an eternity ago already, and it's only been 8 years since I graduated. With that, we set out to traverse the rest of the way across KY and into southern Illinois. The only thing worth mentioning here was my slightly over ambitious calculation about how much gas I had left. It was a little close for even my comfort level.
The mornings ride started out with a bit of light rain, but soon the sky's parted, and we were rewarded with a nice ride thru the fall colors across the beautiful countryside that Kentucky has to offer. Crossing into Illinois via ferry, we found ourselves approaching Carbondale from the south in the very early afternoon, which works out perfectly for stopping in Makonda for some ice cream - which is another tradition of mine ever since college. After our ice cream and a brief stop at Giant City Park, we proceeded the ~13 miles to Carbondale, where we secured a hotel and then made our way to campus via foot. For me, it is always nice to stop back at school, and spend some time walking about. We made it all the way out to Thompson Point where we noticed the new awnings being installed on all of the dorms. The scene along the campus lake was really nice. It's strange how your perspective changes thru the years. I spent 2 years living at that dorm, and never did I notice the way I do now how picturesque it all was.
After our campus tour, we went back to the "strip" to partake in a little FAC action, eventually making our way to Tres for a wonderful Mexican dinner.
Day 7 - October 11, 2003 (Saturday)
388 miles
This day is pretty much all about getting home and is entirely spent on the interstate. The first hour or so of the day is spent just getting used to the slab. Then after that, I can usually relax and use the next few hours to reflect on the trip. Dad and I had decided to just get going this morning and after about an hour, I was feeling mighty hungry, so we pulled off for a non scheduled stop and my first McDonalds McGriddle. After a quick breakfast and a little coffee, we returned to the slab and proceeded to our final gas stop near Bloomington. I was still feeling pretty good, but I got the feeling Dad was getting tired. We pushed on but gradually the ST disappeared in my mirrors until it was completely out of sight. I used the rest of the trip to recap on the trips highs and lows, and often wondered what Dad would decide to and if motorocycling was something he would want to continue to do.
Summary:
As you can tell from the frequency of trips posted on my webpage, and even then, the number of reports I have been posting (and their tardiness), my free time for motorcycle trips has defiantly been compromised. Why? Have you ever heard that country tune by someone I should know the name of, but for the life of me can't think of right now - "Life Happens." That is pretty much how I can sum things up right now. While I understand there is no tombstone that says "I should have spent more time at work," I am at the point in my career that demands more than I wish it did. That being said, every moment spent outside of work needs to be fully taken advantage of. Taking trips like this really still are very special to me and I hope to continue them - even if not as often as I have in the past.
Sitting here more than 7 months after this trip, currently at ~31,000 ft heading to Phoenix, AZ for work, the memories from this trip couldn't be clearer in my mind. And that is without even looking at a single photograph. I'm very fortunate to have been able to experience the things I have on a motorcycle, and more importantly, experiencing them with the folks I've been lucky enough to share time with on the road, including of course my Dad. Thanks for always being willing to throw a leg over the ST and follow my lead.
What the future holds is unknown, but having just installed new tyres and a rear shock on the viffer, I can tell you that 40,000 miles on the VFR is just getting broken in.
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