Issue:
September/October 2006

Text:
Chris Myers

Photography:
Chris Myers

Geographic Region:
NC, USA

Pages:
94 - 100

Tankbag Maps:
Download Map 1

GPS Maps:
Download GPS File 1

Visit the gallery for more pictures

 

Bryson City, NC is the sponsor of this article. — www.greatsmokies.com

Although Rich is gone, I like to think I carry a bit of his intrepid spirit with me every time I set off on another journey. As I'm securing the Givi Arrow bags to the bike for this latest assignment, I can't help smiling, knowing that Rich would be particularly proud. I'm about to leave on a three-day tour of North Carolina's mountains, hopscotching from one quaint mountain town to the next. It's a dream ride in most respects, but my mount this time out happens to be a 1972 Triumph Bonneville. I can attest to some experience with these early Brit bikes, and to say they can be temperamental is an understatement. The machine's notorious Lucas electronics are the butt of numerous jokes: Why do the British drink warm beer? Because Lucas makes the refrigerators. And never ride your old Triumph further than your buddy is willing to drive his truck.

A quick tickle of the Amal carburetors and three stout jabs at the kickstarter have me on my way. My first few rides on a real street bike were aboard an early seventies Triumph. Pleasant memories of high school and carefree romps about the Southern Maryland countryside come rushing back as the rpm rise from gear to gear creating a glorious din of ordered mechanical clatter singing in perfect harmony with the raw-boned, staccato exhaust note. You'd be hard-pressed to convince me that it gets any better than this.

Old Favorites and a Classic Ride
By lunchtime I've reached Black Mountain, home to numerous artists and craftspeople as well as Super Bowl champion quarterback Brad Johnson. Having spent a few years just up the road in Asheville, Kathy and I regularly rode to Black Mountain to explore the many galleries and antique shops and to lunch at one of the best pizza joints around, My Father's Pizza. Much to my dismay, they chose this particular Tuesday to close for renovations – just my luck. I walk down the street and have a tasty bowl of chili at Peppers, a restaurant decorated in all things Dr. Pepper. I stuck with mountain tap-water though. After all, it was past ten, not yet two, and well before four.

I head south of town in search of one of my old favorite roads. The big yellow sign warning of impending gloom and doom befalling truckers foolhardy enough to steer their rigs in that direction is a sure indication that my memory hasn't failed me. Route 9 is a great ride. Right off the bat, intense tight curves and steep grades come right at you. The old Bonneville's agility and friendly power make it easy to understand why this classic was the class of the field in its day. Even after 34 years, the Triumph's race-inspired pedigree still shines through.

As Route 9 ends, a quick left-right combo has me wheeling toward Hendersonville on Route 64. If you find yourself with a little extra time on your hands, take the short ride east on 64 down to Lake Lure and Chimney Rock. Many of the breathtaking panoramic shots in one of my favorite flicks, The Last of the Mohicans, were filmed in Chimney Rock Park. Should you find yourself craving a stretch of the legs in Hendersonville, you're in luck. The downtown is listed on the National Register of Historic Places and the busy shops and restaurants located along the tree- and flower-lined North Main Street present a vibrant, cheerful character.

I continue west on Route 64 after a brief stop at the Oakdale Cemetery to see the real life angel that inspired the title of Thomas Wolfe's classic novel Look Homeward Angel. Arriving in Pisgah Forest, I stay on 64 and head toward Brevard. Aside from being a charming town with several nice eateries, antique shops, and a very cool toy store called O. P. Taylor's, Brevard holds special memories for me. Kathy and I chose to get married not too far from here and we picked up our wedding license at the Brevard courthouse. To this day we still do our best Bela Lugosi, dripping vowels as we tell people we were married in Trahn-syl-vain-ee-ah (Transylvania County).

Riding past Rosman I veer off onto Route 215. Stay alert, the nice, quiet, creek-side ride is but an overture to what's about to break loose. In the blink of an eye this tranquil lane becomes a maniacal twist-fest lasting until you reach the village of Balsam Grove (one store, two gas pumps: Cash Only). But don't exhale yet, it all starts again and continues until the Blue Ridge Parkway. Make sure to slow near the top – the views are second to none – and catch your breath because the whole wild ride continues down the other side of the mountain, offering challenges almost all the way to Waynesville. By the time I reach town, the idea of a room with a brew is sounding pretty good. The downtown is inviting enough but my planned stop for the evening is just a few more miles up the road in Maggie Valley.

From the Valley to the Mountains, and Then More Mountains
I've always liked Maggie Valley. They're no strangers to motorcyclists and a plethora of clean, quiet, mom-and-pop motels almost always assures reasonable rates, especially during the week. My choice, the Smoky Mountain Lodge, is all of the above and located next door to a pizza joint to boot.

Well rested, and off to an early start, I head for the world-famous Wheels Through Time Museum. Curator Dale Walksler has amassed a collection of vintage American motorcycles running the gamut from World War I-era military machines to a custom-built Evel Knievel jump bike. The two hours I had blocked out for exploring here quickly became three and I finally tore myself away. But just getting out of the parking lot proves to be a challenge in itself. Most everyone milling about the place is a vintage bike fan, and the loaded Triumph is getting its fair share of attention. It seems that just about all of the guys that I end up talking to have their own quirky tales of travel on an old British bike. They were all more than happy to share road-going examples of the many foibles associated with these parallel twins. Though everyone agrees that the reliability and comfort of today's bikes is preferable, I get the feeling that any one of them would change places with me in a heartbeat, even if for just a few hours. A couple of them even hang around to give me the thumbs-up as the 750 roars to life. They're part of a circle of appreciative riders that I'm always happy to encounter and run around with.

After one full day on the road, the Triumph has had nary a hiccup and is running like a champ. Even the typical next-morning drop of oil is barely the size of a nickel. Everything is going great as I head out of Lake Junaluska, tracking down another one of my old haunts, Route 209. But clouds are beginning to move in, and my doubts about Lucas' waterproofing abilities shoot to the top of the "things I'd rather not worry about" list. With Rich's stock phrase still in my ears, I shrug and blast on into the hills. Fortunately, Mr. Bluebird's on my shoulder and the clouds only douse me with one small shower.

Route 209 is impressive, with its perfect blend of off-the-beaten-path scenery, challenging twists, and mountain vistas. Riding into Hot Springs, I'm reminded by a ragtag group of hikers that this small town is known for more than its soothing springs. The Appalachian Trail skirts the town and weary footsloggers often stop here to soothe their soles. If you have a big appetite like mine, this is a good place for lunch. The hikers that wander into town from the trail usually have ravenous appetites and the local cafes know it. After shoving a hearty Carolina Burger (chili, mustard, onions, and slaw) down my maw, I waddle out into an afternoon that's clouding up.

I head out across the high-speed sweeps of Route 25/70. A left at the stop sign has me heading north on Route 208 and then 212. I've rarely seen skies this threatening lurking over dry roads. As the road continues to throw its twists and turns my way, I'm thankful for every rainless mile that rolls off the Triumph's odometer. Crossing into Tennessee, the road changes to Route 352, yet the turns keep me flinging the Bonneville from side to side. The clouds seem to be coming from the northwest, so I'm happy to turn back south on Route 19W in Ernestville. What comes next is a twist-o-rama of monumental proportions that has the old Triumph straining and its older rider grinning from ear to ear. The darkened, Appalachian canopy shrouds the road in an eerie gray light. But who cares if it's going to rain? This is what traveling on a motorcycle is all about. Adventure.

Rolling up to the intersection of 19E and 19W, I decide to head east toward Burnsville. Judging from the miles on the odometer, it's definitely time for some petrol. Yep, you guessed it – there's no fuel gauge on this baby. I've also relearned the fine art of taking off the gas cap and wiggling the bike to determine the approximate volume in the tank. Just as my receipt rolls from the pump, the light rain starts, and I quickly find a small, poor excuse for a motel on the outskirts of town and call it a night.

Comin' Down the Mountain
One positive about crappy motel rooms: they destroy any urge to linger. As soon as it's light out, I'm more than eager for an early blastoff into the cool morning. With slaty remnants of last night's clouds hanging above, I head north on Route 197. The specter of rain threatens intermittently and then gives way to peeks of sun, but all of the so-so weather is easily overshadowed by the fine road and a Triumph purring like a kitten. I find my way over to Route 226 and follow the serpentine down into Spruce Pine. This small, mountainside community of just over 2,000 is a good target for mountain handicrafts aficionados. The Penland School of Crafts, a national center for craft education, is located a short distance away and visitors can tour their gallery of works created by the students and resident artists.

Just as I'm considering a place for an early lunch, the rain begins in earnest. Oh well, that's my signal to move along. Route 226 passes under the Blue Ridge Parkway and plunges down the side of the mountain in a dizzying cascade of trees and twists, perfectly befitting the final stretch of this vintage ride. In Marion I hang a right on Route 70 and motor back toward Black Mountain. Once there, I contemplate another stab at some pizza, but decide against it. I'd rather save lunch at My Father's Pizza for a time when Kathy can join me. And if I leave now, I can still take the back roads and be home with her in time for dinner.

Thankfully, the Triumph defied all of its mechanical naysayers and Mr. Lucas didn't live up to his ill-gotten nickname: the Prince of Darkness. Though the seat on the old Triumph has seen better days, the ethereal vibes it transmits can massage away any of my physical misgivings. Sometimes, a great feeling is infinitely more important than the trappings of the physical realm. The Bonneville, like an old friend, is great company. It seems to have a voice of its own, one that constantly urges exploration. Despite the occasional drops of oil and questionable electrics, a Bonneville in the garage will always inspire spirited quests for new and exciting roads, seeming to inquire in its own special way, "Where's your sense of adventure?"

Wheels Through Time Museum
There's a place in the small town of Maggie Valley that every motorcyclist should experience at least once. The Wheels Through Time Museum is a living, breathing display of the history of American motorcycling. And to say living and breathing is no exaggeration. Thanks to the meticulous work of curator Dale Walksler, just about every one of the 250 machines on exhibit is ready to ride and requires only a mere kick or two to come to life. Seeing the ghosts of the past is one thing, but at Wheels Through Time you get to hear them in all their carb-wheezing, valve-clattering glory. From one-off prototypes to perfectly restored showroom pieces, Dale has accumulated, arguably, the most impressive collection of American iron on the planet. When you're there, just remember two things. Be ready to plug your ears because you never know when Dale will fire off one of the Harley hill-climbers. And be alert, those burnout marks on the floor aren't painted on. Along with the numerous bikes, there are thousands of pieces of memorabilia, tons of old magazines, and even a car or two for good measure. If you truly love motorcycles, put Wheels Through Time Museum on your must-see list. I promise you won't regret it.

Thomas Wolfe's Angel
A little west of downtown Hendersonville, an angel carved from Italian marble ("poised clumsily upon the ball of one phthisic foot, and its stupid white face [wearing] a smile of soft stone idiocy...") keeps silent vigil over Oakdale Cemetery. This somewhat unremarkable figure might go unnoticed were it not for her unique place in American literary history. Author Thomas Wolfe, a native of nearby Asheville, is said to have drawn inspiration from this figure when titling his classic novel Look Homeward Angel. The angel spent many years unsold on the porch of the tombstone shop run by William O. Wolfe, Thomas' father. A roadside marker identifies the angel's location. Thomas Wolfe's boyhood home is preserved at 52 North Market Street about 20 miles north in Asheville.

FACTS AND INFORMATION
In General
Western North Carolina is one of the best locations in the United States for riding. The Appalachian Mountains are at their scenic best here, making this area a magnet for two-wheeled thrill-seekers. The higher elevations almost always guarantee pleasant temperatures even on the hottest days in summer. Just be aware that thunderstorms can pop up, but they usually don't last too long. No matter what kind of ride you prefer, there's something for everyone in the Carolina hill country.

How to Get There
The quickest and easiest way to connect with the tour area is via I-40. This slab connects both coasts of the country and is easy to find on the map. If you're coming from the north or south, Interstates 81 and 85 literally sandwich Western North Carolina. Any number of smaller highways and secondary roads will get you here from the main road, and some of them are downright fun rides (especially Route 276 from Greenville, SC, and Route 25/70 from Newport, TN).

Food & Lodging
Western North Carolina has long been a tourist destination. The larger cities like Hendersonville and especially Asheville provide just about any food or lodging option that suits you. Off the beaten trail, the smaller towns offer fewer choices, but services are never very hard to come by. If you carry your tent, there's no shortage of pitching places in sections of the Pisgah and Cherokee National Forests. There are also numerous campgrounds that cater to riders in the tour vicinity; just Google "motorcycle camping" for recent info.

Roads & Biking
If you're jonesing for a jumble of curves, there's no better place to get your fix than the mountains of the Tar Heel State. From the gusto of Deal's Gap to the tranquility of the Blue Ridge Parkway, any number of testing roads squiggle before you. In general, the tarmac is in excellent shape and the twists seem never-ending. You may occasionally see some gravel in the corners, so be alert. Traffic is rarely an issue during the week, but it certainly picks up over the weekends, especially during the summer.

Books & Maps
For this tour I used a road map from Map Supply, Inc. The routes I was interested in were well marked and easy to see, even while in the tank bag's map holder. Reference books on Western North Carolina and the Appalachian Mountains are plentiful. A couple that caught my eye are Carolyn Sakowski's Touring the Western North Carolina Back Roads and Dale Coyner's Motorcycle Journeys Through the Appalachians.

Addresses & Phone Numbers

• Wheels Through Time
  Motorcycle Museum
  (828) 926-6266
  www.wheelsthroughtime.com
• Smoky Mountain Lodge
  (866) 926-1570
  www.thesmokymountainlodge.com
• Pisgah National Forest
  (828) 257-4200
  www.cs.unca.edu/nfsnc
• Penland School of Crafts
  (828) 765-2359
  www.penland.org