I knew that Florian and I were in for a great Shamrock Tour® when I woke to the softly layered Appalachian mountains stretching out in front of our hotel, with a twisting two-lane highway cutting an inviting path between them. Four days later, parking our Harley-Davidsons for the last time as the sun slid toward the mountains and lit the valley with its last golden rays, I felt the satisfaction of knowing I had been right. We had once more found fantastic roads, friendly people, and an assortment of fun restaurants and coffee shops where we could fuel up or cool off along the way.

When you're traveling, you are what you are right there and then. People don't have your past to hold against you. No yesterdays on the road."Blue Highways" by William Least Heat Moon

The Georgia coast might not be the first place that comes to mind for a quick motorcycle ride from Atlanta. But with only a weekend to spare, my husband and I wanted somewhere that we could ride to, within a few hours of our home in North Atlanta. With its rich history, live oaks draped with Spanish moss, and remote barrier islands, the Georgia coast sounded like a perfect ride and destination.

Kathy and I have heard many tales about Savannah, Georgia's great food, fun pubs, and its arts atmosphere for years. And though many Southern sojourns have taken us tantalizingly close, the quick going-elsewhere spell of the super-slab has always prevailed. Until now our glimpses of the grand, old city have been relegated to the green blurs of exit signs rushing by on Interstate 95.

Smoky Mountain roads are quiet places, especially in the morning. Turn off the key and listen. Beneath the engine's cooling ticks, the subtle sounds of nature close in. The ever-present breeze dances with leaves above the clear streams tumbling from ancient mountains. Birds and crickets call, then answer. The grass sways. And above it all, clinging valiantly to the treetops, the night's foggy shroud is slowly pulled apart in the morning sun.