I haven't written anything for quite a while - but with the cooler weather, the motorcycle has been getting out of the garage a lot more, mainly just for tooling around town and such. Still, it's the best time of year for riding, and even a short trip to the store, or the morning commute to work, is a whole lot nicer in the cool, fresh air, with the friendly sound of the motorcycle engine putting a big old smile on your face.

27 September 06

Blue Ridge Adventure - Part 1

By Laurie Sherfey

Since I got this insane wanderlust for a long, cross-country trip, I've been itchy and restless, though. As always, I got wise, insightful advice from Phil during our last staff meeting. He told me to "Go ride the mountains here in Virginia". He even offered to mount an effort to get the whole staff to do a trip. But I had a few reservations about that.

First, I haven't ridden more than about 300 miles in one day, and never that far with anyone else. Secondly, I'm well past that false confidence stage that most riders have to deal with, but I think the pendulum has swung too much the other way, and now I'm too under confident. That comes with its own set of problems, because you can't afford to be too tentative in many situations - it can get you into almost as much trouble as being arrogant and overly aggressive.

One situation that comes immediately to mind is helical or decreasing radius curves, like you see on most interstate exit ramps. I don't do those very well, and I don't like them. They used to be no big deal. Now I take them slowly, and not very smoothly. I enjoy curves, but those ramps have made me second-guess my riding on curves a bit. So, how would I do up on those twisty mountain roads? And, to complicate matters further, with my daughter sitting behind me?

So, I decided to start with baby steps. I had a Friday off, and I've wanted to do a longer ride in the worst way. I'd work west across Route 58, get on the Parkway to ride north to Roanoke, and then shoot home on Route 460. These are all roads I know very well, but I haven't ridden them much on the motorcycle.

It would give me a chance to try a long day of riding, give me a little taste of riding the Blue Ridge Parkway (and for this first time, just with me on the motorcycle), and just get away for a day and do something totally fun. What could be better than doing something you love, in a beautiful place you love? I got my gear together, checked the air pressure in my tires, and decided to get an early start Friday morning.

Unfortunately, I was so excited I couldn't get to sleep, like a kid on Christmas Eve, and started to rethink the whole idea of even going at all before I finally fell asleep. So I didn't get up quite as early as planned, and by the time I decided to just do it, and finished getting ready and geared up, it was after 7 when I pulled out of the driveway.

My first goal was to get out of Tidewater as quickly as possible, which is not as simple as you would expect. Getting on 64 seemed like a bad idea, with the road construction going on near Great Bridge. The tunnels to Portsmouth are always backed up, and those early morning commuters seem to have it in for motorcycles. All those crazy lane changes and such give me the willies. I decided to just motor down Military Highway (Route 13) out to Suffolk, and not deal with the main roads.

This plan, too, was doomed. Tidewater traffic is inescapable, like death and taxes. I got held up by 4 accidents between Norfolk and Suffolk, one involving fire trucks, spilled fuel, and no one going anywhere for over 45 minutes. And there was a bridge lift at the steel bridge, too. I was way behind schedule before I even got on Route 58.

I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I was finally heading west. I had decided that if I couldn't make it all the way west to the Parkway, I'd pull out the map and come up with an alternate route home. Then I realized I'd left the map at home on the dining room table. Oh, well, I'd get another one. For now, I had a top case full of layers of gear for every possible weather condition I might possibly encounter, and I planned on going all the way, anyway.

Now the goal was to ride as many miles as I could, as quickly as I could. But no speeding; I know Emporia is famous for being one big speed trap, and I already got busted down in Windsor a while back. I'm a totally law-abiding citizen these days. Well, most of the time.

I made a quick rest stop near Emporia, pulling into a Hardy's. As usually happens, conversations stopped and people stared when I walked in. I was going to get something to eat, but between the slow moving line, and several tables full of older guys gawking at me, I decided to just get back on the road. As I pulled out of the lot, I glanced back, and sure enough, a bunch of them got up to watch me ride off! I didn't know whether to be flattered or embarrassed. Am I too sexy for my gear, or just some kind of freak show?!? Unfortunately, I think the latter option is the more likely one. It has to be either the scary helmet hair, or the lightning bolts on my bike, because sexy is about the last word I'd use for my gear.

Shortly after leaving Emporia, a group of 6 Harleys passed me, in a neat, tight formation. I was just at the speed limit, so they were above it, but not way much. They slowly pulled ahead, and eventually I lost sight of them. But it wasn't the last I saw of them. We repeated this drill several times as we headed west on 58. They would stop for one reason or another, and then catch back up with me again. I guess I was the tortoise to their hare.

As I was tooling along, I thought about making time; at times like this if you don't want to exceed the speed limit, endurance is your only other option. My strategy is simple; try to only stop for three or more reasons at a time. In other words, stop to go to the bathroom, AND get gas, AND to add or subtract a layer. I also count ice cream, sunglasses, and things like that as valid reasons, sometimes.

Anyway, I know I'm not good for more than about 3 hours, or 150 miles, without at least a quick leg stretcher. On this trip, it seemed to work out to more like 100 miles between stops, when I'd have at least 3 reasons to pull over.

My husband had "guesstimated" it would take about 3 hours to get to Meadows of Dan. By the time I got to Emporia, I knew that wasn't going to happen, it was already almost 10 o'clock. So I started to think about my options, but kept heading west while doing so.

The road was good, the motorcycle felt wonderful, and I knew I could just turn around and go home if I decided to, at any time.

It turned out to be just less than 300 miles to the Parkway entrance, so the original estimate was not a good one, even if traffic hadn't been an issue. Anyway, I started to wish I'd brought that map, but just kept motoring west as the morning wore on.

Route 58 now has bypasses around many of the towns it used to go through, and the ride was very scenic and relaxing. I figured I'd at least ride till lunchtime, and then find a map, and make a decision. Making decisions is not one of my strong points, so I just kept putting it off. There was a lot to look at, and the day was getting cooler and nicer as I got further west. Traffic was extraordinarily light and getting lighter all the time; that alone made it easy to just keep on going.

I knew what lay behind me, if I just turned around and headed back. Tidewater traffic, and it's never a pretty thought. The road ahead was wide open, and inviting, though as I rode I started to do the math about how many hours it would take to get to the Blue Ridge, ride the Parkway to Roanoke, and then ride home. It was starting to look just a tiny bit unrealistic.

I mulled over my options - I could cut north in Martinsville, I could turn around and go back on Route 58, or a new option occurred to me - I could find a place to stay overnight, and then do the rest of the trip the next morning. After riding this far to see the mountains, I really liked this new idea a lot, but balked at the idea of some overpriced motel room.

Still, I rode on, because it was just too nice a day not to. The ride around Clarksville was especially nice, with water everywhere, and a really awesome bridge to ride over, and at this point, I was ready to ride forever into the sunset, and decided (again) not to decide for a while yet.

I stopped in Martinsville to get gas - for $2.08 a gallon (name brand gas, too!). I added a warm silk turtleneck underneath my other gear, because it was getting cooler as the day wore on, and the elevation climbed gradually but steadily. My hands were starting to feel the chill, too, so I put the surgical gloves on underneath my regular gloves, which are not very warm.

At times after Clarksville it had gotten overcast, and the possibility of rain made doing the entire ride in one day seem even more difficult, if not downright impossible. Turning around started to seem like a better idea, but I got on and continued west, because I knew I was really close to the Parkway now - only about 40 miles or so to go.

What I didn't remember is that Route 58 gets a lot more interesting after Martinsville. The road starts to climb steeply, there are some really, really sharp curves, and this one place called "Lover's Leap". It's an unbelievable panoramic view, except you are climbing a steep grade and negotiating a very challenging curve when you suddenly and unexpectedly come upon it. The sensory overload of rounding that curve, and seeing all that spread out before me was exhilarating, but also terrifying at the same time! Remembering the whole target fixation thing, I pulled my eyes away from the breathtaking view, and continued on in one piece.

It was well after noon by now, and as I tensely dealt with the curves and the climbing, the temperature was dropping fast. My hands were really cold now, and it started to rain a little. Not a lot, just enough to make those winding roads shinier and just a little scarier.

I was tucked in behind a cautious little old lady in a very old Chrysler by now, and her low speed seemed just fine and dandy to me. This section of road was scary, and it made me wonder if I was up to the Parkway, if I was so nervous about this road! But I pressed on, with my numb fingers, and a feeling in the pit of my stomach that was about half hunger, and half nerves about the curves.

It was truly amazing, though - so wild and beautiful, and after a while, just me and the motorcycle, and the next curve. The nice thing about being by yourself, is that you can go as slow and easy as you like, and not worry about cramping anyone else's style. Or, even worse, try to ride beyond your ability, to keep up with a pace that's out of your league. Just keeping up with the Chrysler Granny was really working out well for me.

Just as I decided I must be totally crazy to be doing this, I arrived in Meadows of Dan, the junction of Route 58 with the Blue Ridge Parkway. There were some shops and other businesses on both sides of 58, with quite a few motorcycles in the parking lots.

I rode on through, looking for the little motel and restaurant on the other side of the Parkway. Most of the other businesses there were newer, and I didn't recognize most of them, but we've eaten at the little motel restaurant many times, and it seemed like a great place for a late lunch, and for thawing out my frozen fingers.

When I pulled into the lot, it looked like it might not be open any more, and I was disappointed. However, a sign on the door informed me that I'd just ridden by their new location, back in the "downtown area". So, back I went.

My poor fingers felt like popsicles by now. I think any rider gets cold hands, if they don't have hand guards, or at least good gloves. But it's far worse for us women riders, because physiologically, our circulation is more concentrated in our core area, and our extremities don't get the same blood flow that men do, so our hands and feet chill out faster than most men's do, except perhaps for men with circulation issues of their own. Anyway, I don't have hand guards, or warm enough gloves. That will be remedied before long, this is the last time I'm going to risk frostbite and possibly compromising my control of the motorcycle.

One good thing about Meadows of Dan (and probably most places on or near the Parkway) - they're used to motorcycle riders, and scruffy, chilled people in odd protective clothing don't create much of a stir. People didn't stare at me when I walked into the restaurant, and the waitress was friendly and totally unafraid of me. She took my order, and I just enjoyed being dry and warm while I waited for my food.

My fingers actually thawed out pretty quickly, and only the outside of my gear was wet. The silk turtleneck I had put on earlier is one of the most compact, useful pieces of clothing I have ever owned, and so at least most of me was not chilled through. There's nothing to it, and yet it adds so much insulation under anything else. It was fairly cold out there by now, even when not on a bike, getting the added wind chill factor; but, I still had several additional layers to add as it got colder.

Lunch was great, nice homemade chicken salad, and freshly brewed iced tea. It seemed odd drinking iced tea when chilled to the bone, but I was thirsty, and it tasted really good.

It's amazing how much better you feel after a meal, warming up, and stretching your legs a little! I contemplated my options now that I'd gotten this far. Turning around and going back down that mountainous road I had just come up didn't seem like much of a plan to me. Now that I was here, I was eager to get on the Parkway.

I felt like I could press on, and maybe even do the whole loop after all! Or, I could stop in Roanoke, maybe, and find a place that wouldn't be too expensive. It was 2:00 by now, so that would mean no stopping at Mabry Mill, though, which is a long-time favorite place of mine. I paid my bill, and decided to go for it, so I added a layer of fleece for extra warmth, as well as all the other gear, and headed out.

There were motorcycles all over the place - Harleys, Gold Wings, and even some BMW touring bikes. None of them seemed headed for the Parkway, though. I think the day turned out colder than many of us expected, and I doubt most of them brought along as many layers as I did.

From the moment I got on the Parkway, I knew the trip was going to be worth it. I rode the mile or so to Mabry Mill with a huge grin on my face. But having to ride by the mill without stopping faded that smile quickly. I love to walk around there, and just sit and watch the wheel turn. I reluctantly twisted the throttle and moved on sadly.

I had gone about half a mile when I thought of the little motel back at Meadows of Dan. It wasn't a fancy place, but it was a little family-type place, clean and quiet, and certainly would be less expensive than some fancier place in Roanoke. If I could get a room there, I could spend the rest of the afternoon at Mabry Mill, do something simple for dinner, hopefully get a good night's sleep, and do the Parkway portion of the ride fresh and rested in the morning, and then head home.

At the first available turnoff, I turned around and headed back. It didn't hurt to try, and if it didn't pan out, at least I'd get to cruise past the mill again!

The very nice lady at the motel told me they had rooms, and quoted a very friendly price. She even let me use her cell phone to call home and let them know my change of plans, since there aren't phones in the rooms, and pay phones are getting harder and harder to come by, wherever you go.

Like everyone else I met up in the mountains, she didn't give my motorcycle or me a second glance. She just asked if I liked riding in the cooler weather, and said it was supposed to be warmer the next day, and no rain was forecast.

I gratefully snapped up the room, stashed a few items in my newly acquired space, which was delightfully warm and immaculately clean, and zipped back to Mabry Mill as quickly as I could, with the grin back on my face in a big way.

The Parkway was not at all busy, though there were some cars and motorcycles in the Mabry Mill lot. The next day, I knew the Saturday crowds would fill that lot, and the large overflow parking lot, too. I'd never been to the mill when it was so quiet and uncrowded! I felt like I was getting away with something.

It was a wonderful afternoon. I wandered around the old water sluices, and through the old cabins. In one of them, a friendly couple was doing mountain crafts. The husband was weaving a basket, and he had a vast array of completed baskets around him in the cabin. They made me guess what each one was used for.

My favorite was the one for carrying a live chicken to market, though there was a saddlebag shaped double basket I thought might just work on my motorcycle seat, maybe. They weren't for sale, though.

The lady was working with wool, and had a spinning wheel set up. When I told her I also have a spinning wheel and spin yarn, she had me sit right down, and try the wheel, which was an older, more traditional style than mine. It turned out to be a lot more difficult than mine, too, and the yarn I spun was really lumpy and irregular. Still, it was a lot of fun to try, and we both laughed over my clumsy efforts. It also made me appreciate how much easier and more efficient my wheel is, and glad that I chose it.

People came in, and seemed a little surprised to see me sitting there at the spinning wheel, but didn't say too much. A ranger came in after a while, and told us there would be a grinding demonstration down in the mill in ten minutes. Since my yarn was looking just as terrible as ever, I decided to give it up, and go watch the mill in operation.

A small group gathered, and after a brief presentation outside, we went inside the old mill. They explained setting the millstones' spacing to grind different textures to make either corn meal, or grits (the grits are a lot coarser than the meal). A family from Germany wanted to know what you make with the corn meal, and all the rest of us started listing all the great things you can make.

When I suggested spoon bread, the mill operator grinned at me, and said, "You don't talk like a young lady who would know about spoon bread!"

When I told him I make killer spoon bread, he looked amazed, and said, "Well, then, Missy, I know at least ten fine young men who would just love to marry you!"

That really cracked me up! Young lady, indeed! I bought a bag of cornmeal to take home with me, because the husband I've got likes spoon bread an awful lot, too. I have to keep him well fed with things like spoon bread, and collards, and other fine southern cuisine; I think it mellows him out about this whole motorcycle thing I do. They also had ground buckwheat, and grits, but I had to keep traveling light, so I limited myself to the cornmeal, which is our absolute favorite.

After that, I just sat by the mill pond, knitted on my latest project, and enjoyed the sound of the water splashing over the mill. There were people to watch, and a trio of hilarious ducks, and various motorcycles pulling in and out of the lot. It was a wonderful, restful afternoon.

Since the restaurant at the mill closes at six, and since I hadn't eaten lunch till 1:30, I decided to just pick up snacks at the little grocery store back in town, and have a picnic back in my motel room, with the heat cranked way up.

It was a quick ride back, but it took a while to pick out an odd assortment of food at the store, especially since it would also probably be my breakfast in the morning, too. The lady at the register was just as friendly as everyone else I met there, and even gave me a free Virginia map.

The elderly lady behind me in line also struck up a conversation, and after commenting on my big blue bike, she told me I need to move up there. Everyone I met there was friendly! Not one person made me feel like some kind of oddball. Being called a young lady several times didn't hurt, either. And I've never gotten more than one marriage proposal in a single day before, either!

It felt good to head back to the motel as the daylight was fading, and it got even colder. As I pulled into the lot, only about a third of the rooms were occupied, and the nice motel lady didn't put anyone in adjoining rooms, so it would be a very quiet night. The next occupied room down from mine had a sleek grey BMW RT parked in front of it, so my motorcycle wouldn't be lonely, either. I walked around the BMW and admired it, and noticed it had Pennsylvania plates on it. I hoped I'd get a chance to talk to its owner, but I never did.

I cranked the heat up in my room, turned on the television, and had a great picnic. I did wish I had packed a toothbrush, or had thought to buy one at the store. But I had all the other modern conveniences, lots of snack food, and the best part of my trip ahead of me in the morning. This was all working out very, very well!

Here are just a few of the things I learned on day one, or mostly relearned:

1. They seem to like motorcyclists up in the mountains of Virginia. Their warmth was genuine, and I felt very welcome there. It was very nice. People wave at you, instead of gawking at you.
   
2. The weak link in your gear - whether it's a collar that chafes, gloves that are not warm enough, or a helmet that presses against the wrong part of your skull, will at first be uncomfortable, but will then eventually drive you to the very brink of madness, after a couple of hours on the road. Try to fix these things, if you can, before you go over the edge. The converse of this is that when everything is comfortable and right, you ride in a state of almost transcendent contentment and tranquility.
   
3. Even a brief stop can be very refreshing and rejuvenating, especially if you stretch a little, and make adjustments to your gear and such. Also, you often get to meet someone interesting, and talk a little. A motorcycle is a great icebreaker!
   
4. Plans are great. But stuff happens, and plans change. Be open to it, especially if your safety is involved.
   
5. The people you meet along the way can often be the best part of your trip.
   
6. Riding a motorcycle is just about the best possible way to have some alone time to just think, even if you never really figure out very much. But it is also an amazing way to meet people, too. Best of both worlds!
   
7. Layers are a wonderful thing. Don't leave home without them, and pick them wisely.It's more important for me to have fun, than to be some kind of hero. There was no prize being awarded for superhuman endurance, or for taking every curve with perfect precision at breathtaking speeds. I did, however, have quite a lot to lose, if I pushed too far past my limits.
   
8. Don't whine about what you can't do. Find something you can do, and go for it! You'll be way glad you did. And, it beats the heck out of whining.
   
9. I decided I also have all the flaws Gary has discovered in himself, out on the road, but none of his endurance. I am amazed at the miles he covers, and even more amazed after doing just a fraction of what he does!
   
10. Getting away is good for the soul.

In part 2 (and Day 2), I'll finally ride a section of the Parkway, and head for home. A lot of other cool stuff happened along the way!

092806
Nice article. My wife and I were also riding on the Blue Ridge last weekend and Friday did turn a bit chilly.

I'd like to make a suggestion for warming your hands. Ditch the surgical gloves. They may immediately warm your hands but they will quickly make your hands sweat which will create a much worse chill. Go to a high end bicycle shop and get some silk glove liners. They don't cost too much. They work just like your silk turtleneck, take up no space in your gloves, and really improve insulation. This, in addition to brush guards for that V-Strom, will allow you to wear light, comfortable, gloves into much colder weather that you may think possible. I learned this years ago because thick insulated winter gloves are miserable things to ride in; they feel like tieing your shoes with catcher's mitts.

I'm glad you had a nice trip. Keep the shiney side up!
Bob Chapman

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