One day a strange reddening of the sky brought the brave and the maiden to The Blowing Rock.

To him it was a sign of trouble commanding his return to his tribe in the plains.

With the maiden’s entreaties not to leave her, the brave, torn by conflict of

duty and heart, leaped from The Rock into the wilderness far below.

The grief-stricken maiden prayed daily to the Great Spirit until one evening with a

 reddening sky, a gust of wind blew her lover back onto The Rock and into her arms.

From that day a perpetual wind has blown up onto The Rock from the valley below.

For people of other days, at least, this was explanation enough for The

Blowing Rock’s mysterious winds causing even the snow to fall upside down.

All I know is, you don't want to lean over the edge and look down,

unless you're into looking down at 3,000 feet of nothingness.

We rolled on out of Blowing Rock, N.C. on US-321, then hit US-64, then had to jump

back onto the super-slab that is I-40 west for 75 miles, headed to Maggie Valley.

Out on I-40 traffic speeds were 75 - 80 m.p.h. in the "granny lane," and traffic was pretty thick with cages and 18-wheelers. I trust the truck drivers way more than I trust the vacationing cagers on the super-slab any day, but I still have to watch them for road fatigue and blasting off recap tires at random that can put a rider down.

Rolling along at 75 m.p.h. in the granny lane, I encountered a shredded, "road gator" of which there was no option for evasive maneuvers, as I haul the trailer I have to decide what set of wheels can most withstand contact with any given object on or in the road surface. This time, there was no avoiding the scraps and chunks of ragged steel belt and rubber strewn across 3 lanes of high speed traffic. I picked something up that ran through the front fender, dragged on the lower fender tip for a nano-second, flipped up and smacked the bottom of the bike's frame and hung on the transmission mount cross-over brace until the rear tire grabbed it and ran it through and out of the rear fender, then getting caught in the trailer hitch safety chains, then letting go and flipping up against the bottom of the trailer and dragging with a demonic scream of a sound, as I had already began downshifting, braking, and making for the less trashier emergency lane, expecting the worst.

I got down on my hands and knees in the barbed wire, nail strewn, scraps of unidentifiable sheet metal,

 that was the emergency lane, and looked the bike and trailer's underside over real good, saw nothing, remounted, and took the next exit 1/8 mile up and checked closer for oil leaks, and made sure that all

the lights on the rig were still working. Nothing could be seen out of order, so away we went again.

Shirley had called ahead to our motel in Maggie Valley to see if we could come in a

day prior to the reservation date, from Blowing Rock, N.C., but they had a buttload of Fire

Fighters home based out of the motel and were holding a mega-poker run, so it was a no go.

NOTE TO GREENHORNS: Never leave out on a road trip without a couple of, "just in case," options.

Mark Infield, Editor of The Carolina's Full Throttle Magazine recommended staying at the,

"Apple Cover Inn" and he was right on the money about its quaintness, hospitality, and its owner,

"Derrick" who rides a late model Road Glide, and is active on the town council of Maggie Valley.

We dropped in unannounced, and Derrick fixed us right up.

He grinned when I mentioned Mark's name too.

The price was right as you can see, and we were in good company.

Derrick's Road Glide

The room was small, clean, with just enough room for a King sized bed,

nightstand, a comfy chair, Satellite  T.V. and shower stall bathroom.

Very utilitarian, and just what was needed to crash for one night.

We sat in the rocking chairs and watched the sun go down.

Parked across from the room under...what else? The apple tree.

How cool is that?

The "Fetch-it-mobile"

Derrick recommended Hurley's for dinner, 'cuz he said that he'd never gotten any crappy food or service. I thought that the name sounded like a place that an anorexic would go to eat, then hurl. That's just me.

Walking into the restaurant, you could tell that at one time, when the economy treated Maggie Valley well, catered to the upscale crowd based on the decor, the hostess with her hairdo that looked more like a coifed wig, and the way the the waiter kept buggin' the bejesus out of us. Good service is fine, but buddy when I'm eating, leave me the hell alone. Also, the sign wouldn't have said, "BIKERS WELCOME" at another time, but this area is a quarter of an inch from dying. More than once we were told that the city put all of their money into, "Ghost Town in the Sky" to be their salvation, and wanted Bikers out of the area. Well, Ghost Town is what Maggie Valley will soon be called, and guess who is spending the money there? Ghost Town in the Sky is dead folks. We rode by its, overgrown with weeds, parking lot and faded buildings, and it's obvious to anyone that looks at it, Maggie Valley doesn't have enough dough to finish what they've started - on several levels. The food and service at Hurley's was just as Derrick had said. If you look back up at the sign and across the street, you'll see, "Joey's Pancake House." Open 7:00am - Noon except Thurdays. Always packed to the gills and a line outside, but I have it on good authority that they cannot stand bikers, but they put on their fake smiles and take those greenbacks just the same. I won't say say that a majority of merchants are of this mindset in Maggie Valley, but that type of attitude is not very forward thinking when it comes to business in a depressed economy. I attribute this train of thought to the geezers that have the old money in this town.

What a shame. The ironic thing is August 9th - 11th there will be an event, "Thunder in the Smokies" in the middle of town, in a teeny tiny field that appears as if it will only hold about 600 bikes with all the vendor crap.

Ahhhhh, home base for 4 days. We dropped anchor and rode all over.

Click on the sign for their website, and see what they have to offer.

Covered parking right outside of the room, with more rockin'

chairs, huge, clean room, and a huge shower stall bathroom.

I snapped this picture sitting in a rockin' chair outside the room door just after

unloading most of the essentials and parking the bike and trailer under the awning.

Whatta view!

Fire Pit

Cement Pond

Horseshoe Pit

This ol' boy rolled in from Northeast Georgia on this, this, Can-Am and I got curious about it and we

got to talking about it, and he claims that it's a 900 and somethin' c.c. engine that puts out 100 h.p.

I had to take his word about it, 'cuz the thing is riddled with all manner of computerized monitoring.

It turns out that he's been a racer all of his life, broke pretty much every bone in his body once, including his neck and back. He is half paralyzed, can't feel pain, with a degenerative disc disease with a fused spine.

You just never know who or what kind of people you'll run into on a road trip.

We decided to take ride up the Blue Ridge Parkway and visit, "Clingmans Dome."

 6,600+ feet in elevation, and believe me, the air be thin up there, but the views, forget about it.

It was a little bit chilly starting out, but as the day wore on, the temps rose up into the 80's.

We took a little break at Lickstone Ridge to check the scenery,

and it never lets you down. Tunnels are always fun on the route too.

A lot of boots and shoes have walked across this altitude certification marker, but you didn't have to be able to read it to know how high up you were. There is only one higher place on the Blue Ridge Parkway, and that's atop Mt. Mitchell at about 50 some odd feet higher, and is the highest peak east of the Mississippi River.

Nice view, huh?

When we came back down, I realized that even though we've never rode on the "Tail of the Dragon," I really don't think that we needed to after all of the roads we've been on with hairpin turns and whoop-dee-doo's that leave you looking at your own ass as you negotiate the curves. I don't think that we're missing a thing.

Getting back from the approx. 80 mile round trip to Clingmans Dome, and

pulling into the motel, we were looking forward to a relaxing afternoon.

Until, this boy rolled in from New York on a Screamin' Eagle 110" FX, sounding good,

but blasting them street sweepers inside the covered parking. It got my attention.

The ol' boy never said a word, went straight to his room and didn't come out until the next day.

After looking at the seat, and the very minimal clothing he had with him, I could see why.

Ahhh, but that's when the fun began.

Three dudes from Kentucky came rolling in from a day at, "The Dragon."

All three of them crazy coal miners - the most real

and down to earth folks you could ever expect to meet.

The ol' boy standing next to his Heritage Springer said that he didn't think that "The Dragon"

 was very impressive. He said it reminded him of a ride to work. Gotta love it!

The feller in the middle never said much at all.

James Sanders, on the white Road King was a compendium of riding places to see and experience.

His objective that evening was to walk up the road to the nearest watering hole and get blasted.

As he told me this, he produced a plastic bottle of Early Times and turned it up.

We shot the breeze for a bit and he excused himself to go shower.

When he came back, ready to burn up some brain cells, he proceeded

 to ask us had we been here, or there, or saw this or saw that.

When he mentioned the "Kentucky Moonbow," I was all ears, and any reader of this

chronicle can click on the hyperlink and they will be just as inquisitive as we became.

Since we've pretty much worn out the Smoky Mountains, all were in agreement

that the next road trip should be to the Bluegrass state of Kentucky.

The "Moonbow" being the central focus of the destination.

Imagine, on a scheduled moon phase, at night, over a waterfall lit up by

lunar luminescence as if it were daytime with a spectral display to boot.

We also discussed and entertained including the New River Gorge.

Quite a bit more research and time needs to be put into planning.

Talking with these guys was very inspiring, to say the least.

We all set out walking to Salty Dog's and James must've ran up there, 'cuz by the time we got there, he

was already well on his way to hangover city. He had a drink called a, "Quaalude" when I saw him and it must've been doing its job. By the time I got my broiled fish platter eaten, he was ready to stumble on

 back to his room. That was the last we saw of him 'til the next morning with his bottle of Early Times.

The internet gives Salty Dog's terrible reviews, but the posters must've be uppity snoots.

It was sad to see folks leave and head onto other destinations, but I have a feeling

 we'll see these yay-hoos again, since James and I exchanged phone numbers.

Oh yes, now here's the reason for this road trip...

You'll want to get here early.

Click the image above for info.

Walking through the front door you may have to side step the ol' hound, but critters always know where

the coolest spot in the house is. Dale keeps the museum at whatever ambient temp it happens to be,

I figure it's for two reasons; 1. To maintain a natural air flow around all of the machines to prohibit condensation, and 2. it's just too damned expensive to run an A/C unit big enough to cool the place

off with the doors constantly opening and closing with all the visitors that come to the Wheels

Through Time Museum. That morning was probably around 80 degrees with high humidity.

Walking into the lobby, you start to sweat, your pulse pounds, and you have

to concentrate to keep your jaw from hitting the floor every 5 seconds.

We invested $70 in chances to win this first year Knucklehead.

I didn't have the winning ticket, or you would have seen me riding it.

When you walk into the museum itself, you don't know which way to go, or what to eyeball first.

 It's all eye candy. I can't blame him, but Dale keeps the lighting to a minimum for economical reasons.

It was tough with smartphones to get really good pictures, but we did our best to capture the

awesome iron that filled the place. Pictures and video don't do justice to convey the

 indescribable emotions you feel as you walk around. You have to experience it for yourself.

Even in the early 70's someone was thinking "green."

Too bad they used this rare FX "Boat tail" to do it with.

Knuckles, Knuckles, and more Knuckles.

I dubbed this a "Panhead Rocket." I didn't ask if it was used in a record setting

attempt, or built as a novelty ride like something George Barris would build.

If anyone knows anything about this machine, gimme a shout.

The most interesting man on the planet, not that dude below.

I did ask one of the mechanics, how many on frame and

off frame complete Knucklehead motors were on site.

After looking up in the air, counting on his fingers, mumbling

to himself, and pointing toward the back room, he said, 50.

Harley-Davidson Roto-Tillers, can ya beat that?

HA HA! You know it!!!

Indian Bob-Sled

A Harley-Davidson engine powered the original Jet-Ski before there was a word for it.

It resembles more a motorized surf board, but whoever rode this bad boy, did it in style.

Headgear choices from back in the day.

Primo Board Track Runners - Woo!

External Valve/Pushrod Springs

Back in the day you couldn't pay homage to a product without getting a corporate kick in the sack.

Thanks but no thanks from the Evil Empire - 1975

This bike was either registered incorrectly due to it's custom build, or someone mislabeled the sign on the floor, claiming it to be be a first year Shovelhead. It became a momentary discussion among the small group that had gathered as I stated, without looking at the sign, that it was a '66, Pan lower, Shovel top.

If I remember right, Dale said that this bike was willed to its owner's son

with the provision that it was never to be ridden. Man, whatta bummer.

Well, at least that consolation is what may have kept it in the shape that it's in now.

Pierce Arrow - I forgot  what year it is

The Hill Climb display was done well. A 360 degree walk around of how it was.

Most folks, as we did, found it hard to leave W.T.T., so we sat outside at a picnic table beside the

creek in the shade, and watched the folks coming and going, in and on all manner of conveyances.

We went back to the motel and reorganized things for our circuitous ride back home via Gatlinburg,

TN., Pigeon Forge, TN., and  Sevierville, TN., before jumping onto I-40 east to where it turns into I-81

north and spank ass back home and make some time on the super-slab. Though I had planned on

running with or ahead of the traffic that averaged 80 m.p.h. The weather had turned to forecasting

scattered afternoon thunderstorms, and once on I-81,  I wanted to lay down as many miles as I could.

Rolling out from Maggie Valley, we took the Blue Ridge Parkway

northbound again and hung a right onto 441 north.

We got to enjoy the 5 tunnels again as we left.

And we did the curvier parts of 441 with care, 'cuz the closer we came to Newfound Gap,

the more cage and RV traffic increased. Those folks proved to be quite a challenge to our

survival as they seemed to be enjoying the scenery more than they paid attention to the roads

 and were constantly crossing the double yellow line. With trailer weight pushing the bike down the road,

and the tourists driving mindlessly, I had to leave it in 3rd gear and let the motor do all of the work.

Finally up on Newfound Gap, we took a smoke break before heading down the mountain into

Gatlinburg. We planned on going through the touristy part of Gatlinburg so that we could

stop at the H-D boutique and get some Hillbilly Harley Davidson t-shirts and swag.

We finally parked in a so-called, "Public Parking Lot" for $6.00 behind the H-D boutique, did our

shopping and decided to have a bite to eat at the Hard Rock Cafe. It turns out that the barmaid

was the same one that was working there 6 years ago when we stopped in and recognized us.

I think she said she's been working there for 12 years now. The tips must be good.

As we walked to the crosswalk, we came across a place that cut a notch in,

 and became a cheesy piece of T.V. Americana back in the late 70's.

We had to go in and check it out, it was just too tempting not to.

Reflections of the economy.

Now I know that you're really going to laugh. For a mere $5, with your own camera, you can take

as many pictures as you want, so we got silly. I texted some of the pictures back to some guys

that I know, and they were responding that they wished that they'd been there.

No, you're not hallucinating, we did it, and drew a little crowd. The cashier gave us the rules:

No sliding across the hood on your butt, or climbing through the windows.

This wasn't exactly on the Bucket List, but had it been, I've checked it off.

Getting the heck out of Gatlinburg, the next stop was the Smoky Mountain Knife Works as I need a

new double holstered knife case, 'cuz mine is falling apart and my Buck knife will fall out at the most inopportune times. I keep it in the top portion, and a Leatherman in the lower portion. The knife place

 is HUGE and if you're like me, and searching for a specific, unique, item, you can never find it.

 If anyone reading this knows where I can get one, (pictured below) gimme a shout.

We got the heck out of Pigeon Forge and  Sevierville, TN., and jumped onto

I-40 east to I-81 northbound with the hammer down. The cops didn't even bat an eye as

 we rolled with the rest of the vacation traffic, 18-Wheeler's, and nimrod's in 4-banger's.

We ran I-81 up about 185 miles to Christiansburg, VA., and after the ride from Maggie Valley to

Gatlinburg, TN., we were sore-assed and getting plumb tuckered out from playing tourists, then

running through the Winfield Dunn Parkway, a clone of Branson, MO., and got a room at the Econo

 Lodge, 'cuz it was right behind a Waffle House, and a Omelet the next morning sounded right tasty.

After a classic Waffle House breakfast, we jumped back onto I-81 north, and I was determined to

make Stephens City, VA. by noon or 1:00pm, and between butt and smoke breaks should've put

 us back home by around 5 or 6pm. Well, so much for the best laid plans of mice and men, and

Murphy's Law had other plans that weren't shared with me. It's a good thing that I had gotten some

sleep for this leg, 'cuz we ended up having what we thought was an, "Oh SHIT!" moment.

I need to mention that at 70 m.p.h., using the cruise control, with the saddlebags, tour pack, and

trailer, modestly loaded down, we were knocking out an average of 43 - 44 m.p.g., which isn't too

bad considering we get about the same without the trailer and toting a load, just our asses.

At 80 m.p.h. totin' a load with the cruise control on, the m.p.g.'s dropped significantly when you

factor in that I-81 northbound gradually climbs as you roll, so I was burning 4.2 gallons about every

170 miles as opposed to the 200 miles per tank unloaded and still jammin' and hammerin'.

We merrily rolled along at 75 mph up the hills, sometimes getting down to 70 mph if it

was mountainous, then on level spots and downhill I'd see 79 - 80 mph on the clock.

Passing the ever growing number of 18-Wheelers and cages around 8:30 am it began

to warm up a bit and I was glad I had taken my jacket off and tossed it into the trailer.

About the 147 or 148 mile marker I noticed that the center of the lane was

 getting really crowned, so I tested out the left trough, and as I eased over it felt

more like a weave to the left instead of a gradual lane relocation.

The gentle weave continued and I swapped to the inner trough,

weaving like a drunk to get the front tire into it, so I decided to try the center

again and put the front tire up on top of the crown and as I did, I watched the

trailer doing a little hula-girl, slow motion, weave to follow the bike

I was thinking as I blasted around a curve passing two 18-Wheeler's that the trailer must be about

 to have a flat tire. I hit the blinker and got back into the granny lane as I started rolling down

a long hill, and watched the trailer again in the mirror, but it was running level and true.

I really began to notice the slow back and forth weave as I went to climb the next hill as I passed

 two cages and an 18-Wheeler. I watched the speedo go from 80 mph down to 75 mph as I

climbed the hill and changed out of the hammer lane, back into the granny lane.

I'm thinking that it's about time that I pull over and have a look-see into just WTF is going on.

I got far enough down the road after cresting the hill to hit my blinker to head into the  emergency

 lane, eased into it checking for boards, baby boulders, body parts, or lengths of barbed wire,

or any other silly stuff that collects there, and came to a halt parallel to a stout guardrail.

I checked the mirrors again to insure we off of the road enough so that we weren't

scaring cages and 18-Wheeler's to change lanes as I hit the four-ways.

We bailed off, and I got down on my hands and knees checking the trailer tires, got up and snatched on

the hitch to check it, and it dawned on me that the bike's back tire was flattter 'n 10 year old girl's chest!

That was what I thought the "Oh SHIT" moment was. Nah, that comes later.

Note: it was 9:17am

I dug out the insurance packet that I keep under a funky emergency backpack type of cooler

 that would hold about 4 beers with ice, which we've never used, but makes a great separator

of important paperwork and all the crazy stuff that gets tossed into the tour pack, and dug

out the Progressive Roadside Assistance card and asked Shirley if this was still good.

She hopped the guardrail and took off down through the ditch and up into

 the weeds just before the woods started, and made the call to Progressive.

F-in A! The Roadside Assistance was good!

After hearing her yell into the phone for a bit, she hops back over

the guardrail and tells me that a rollback will be here by 10:00am.

I thought, yeahhhhh, buddy! but I figured we'd wait 'n see on that one.

Sure enough the insurance company kept texting her as to the rollback's status.

As things like this go, they can usually be not so good, but it wasn't blazing hot out, nor was it raining,

so that was a good thing, getting the rollback to get to us this month, is what I was thinking about.

Of course the insurance company gave the driver of the rollback misinformation

and he called Shirley directly and she told him that we were at mile marker 151.5

You can't get anymore precise than that.

At 10:10am he came rolling up. What a wonderful sight.

This rollback had the slickest paint finish on it I have ever seen, and it was beginning to sprinkle.

I was really concerned about the rim spinning inside of the tire as I rode it up onto the bed,

so I suggested to the driver that as soon as my trailer tires hit the weld on the beavertail section,

that he work that lever and start leveling it up so that I don't slide all the way back down.

Man, it went off like a ballet, he knew his job and I knew mine.

I stayed with him and got the tie down straps just right, as he was

a professional and a perfectionist when it came to this kind of job,

It didn't take much tightening up of the straps to secure all 4 points.

Notice that finish on the bed.

This booger was F - L - A - T, flat.

We jumped into the cab, and away we went back southbound to Roanoke H-D and now the reality

of what they were gonna stick us for on a new tire was settling in on me. Fortunately, the driver

 was a character and knew how to size folks up and talk to them to try and ease their anxiety.

Give a listen to this guy, he talks just like a hillbilly.

I had already called Roanoke H-D' Service Manager and told

him that we were on our way in and what our situation was.

When we rolled up the back drive to the Service Department door at

Roanoke H-D, I stepped back and let the Service boys handle the

unloading so that if they trashed the rig, it would be on them.

After the Service write-up, we went outside to have

a smoke, then we found the customer's lounge.

It was all set up up nice with very comfy couches and a 60 inch

big screen T.V. that was tuned the The Weather Channel.

Time seemed to drag by as I realized that my objective of hitting

Stephens City, VA., at the estimated time that I had originally

projected. I was now more determined than ever to haul ass

whenever they got the tire done. I had offered to remove

the saddlebags and muffler to save money on labor, but

they said it would cost the same whether I did it or they did it.

I paced the whole Dealership about 5 times and finally found a magazine

 to read when the Service guy came and told us that the bike was ready.

Ughhhh, I was dreading this part.

They shocked the hell out of me in a couple of ways.

The bill for the blackwall tire, installed, came to $263.00

I was expecting at least $100 more, but they

were also running a 15% discount sale.

I listened to the Service Manager as he told me what the tire's issue

was, but it didn't totally hit me until we were 100 miles down the road.

When I had stopped for fuel, everything that occurred and was told to me

by the Service Department, gave me that testicles sliding up into

my belly feeling, and the post ass pucker that I was lucid and able

to realize that saying, "Oh my fucking God," just didn't cover it.

Nothing happened to the tire itself, even though it would be due for replacement

by season's end, and I ran all through the shredded road gator on I-40 west.

It was the valve stem that went bad and took a dump that caused the flat.

So, in essence I had a flat tire at 79 mph, kept riding for 3+ miles at that speed without the bead breaking loose from the rim as I passed an assload of cages and 18-Wheeler's, decided to pull over and check something completely unrelated as it didn't feel like a flat on the bike, and all that I can say is that the trailer guiding the rear of the bike kept us from flying out through the median, or off of the side of a rocky ridge.

This is not the first time that the trailer has saved our ass from vehicular mayhem.

This is event number 3 that I have to give credit to the trailer for saving our ass.

The entire fiasco took 4 hours from the time we called into the Roadside

Assistance, until we were back running I-81 northbound. I think that any

 other time, it could've been a lot worse of an experience, on a lot of levels.

I honked up I-81 and got to Stephens City around 4:30 - 5:00pm and didn't stop

 for a break until we were between Charles Town, WV., and Harpers Ferry, WV.

We rolled on up 340 to Frederick, MD., and the

 skies were getting black rain clouds off to the east

and the wind was kicking up. I knew what was coming,

but you always hope that the mess will miss you.

Hoppin' on I-70 east toward Baltimore it was looking grim.

I was guessing that we were about to pay our dues for all the

nice weather and good riding we had through the previous days.

I wasn't going to take the back roads route back that I posted at the

 beginning of this page, I was going to roll right onto the I-695 loop

around Baltimore, then take the U.S.1 exit at Bel Air, MD., to

continue making up for the 4 hours dealing with the flat tire situation.

Ha! You don't fool with Mother Nature.

You have to pay your dues.

Overpasses that weren't exits, were a welcome sight

even though we were only able to utilize 2 of them.

You that have ridden any length of time, know that when your glasses are fogged

up and the cages and 18-Wheeler's think it's sport to deliver you a wall of

water as they pass you and then get in front of you, it's time to stop and regroup.

Especially if you wear prescription riding glasses.

I broke out my regular walking around glasses and kept a-rollin'.

I stayed in the granny lane with the four-ways on, and believe it or

not, most folks were well behaved when they'd run up on our ass.

This was a first for me.

We finally hit the Bel Air, MD., exit and got off and ran

up to the same Exxon we usually stop at for breaks.

I stepped into the store and asked about a decent motel in the area, and

this guy gave me directions to some uppity, yuppity, area called "The Avenues."

We ended up about 10 miles north on U.S. 1 at an

 honest to goodness prize winning flea bag of a motel.

I've been to some cheesy places before out of

necessity, but this dump was B-A-D, bad. 

I was able to get some dry gear on, order a calzone,

smoke a dry cigarette, and get a little bit of sleep.

We were up 'n outta there earrrrrly and up the road and home by 1:30 - 2:00pm.

This trip was pretty damned good, considering all that was experienced.

Total trip mileage: 1555.0 on the button

Fuel total: $160.00 - approx. $0.10 per mile.

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