Goal:
Take three days and the long route to go white water rafting with one of Mike's friends.

The trip, Day One:
I spent Friday night catching up with an out-of-town friend. I was smart enough (a difficult task for me) to avoid drinking and around 1am, I called it quits. Unfortunately, the rest of the gang didn't have to get up bright-n-early. Equally unfortunate was the fact that I'd volunteered my living room for the reunion party. Around 3am I managed to drift off into a more-or-less constant sleep.

8am rolls around really early. I managed to put it off until 8:30 but it still felt a lot like 8am. A quick shower and I was feeling clean. Still lousy but at least clean. I filled my cat's autofeeder with food and put out an extra bowl of water. Then went out and started loading the bike. I put the tankbag on and stood staring at the saddlebags. The last time I used them, some stove fuel ended up on the wrong side and promptly ignited due to heat from the exhaust pipe. I'd packed more carefully (mainly putting expendibles over the pipe) but was still cautious about actually mounting them. While trying to get up the guts to mount said bags, the sound of a GS850 met my ears. In rolled Mike in his spify new blue Aerostitch. He'd put two backpacks on his bike for luggage (one on the tank, the second on the pillion) so he offered no example on how to avoid roadside pyrotechnics. Finally I bit the bullet and threw the saddle bags and tail trunk on the bike. I put on my leathers and immediately started sweating. Whew, its gonna be a scorcher. With everything packed, I started the bike warming and did a last minute check of the house. My guests had started moving (anyone remember the zombie movements from Evil Dead?) so I left orders on how to lock up the house when they left.

At 9:15, the two bikes rolled out of my driveway. At 9:16 I was back to pick up my sunglasses I'd left on the kitchen table. Lot of good that did me, 100 miles later they broke! Our basic idea was to head to the N. Georgia mountains, so that meant some boring riding on various superslab and bland state highways. After 80 miles we woke up and got gas just outside Dahlonega, Georgia. This put us 12 miles away from the best riding in the state, so we gained renewed energy for the trip. (We also started our substantial investment in the Gatorade Corp.) Just outside Dahlonega we got behind a slow moving car but got passed it before reaching the twisties. Just as the road started getting interesting we caught up to two Harleys (a big sportie and some hardtail) who were taking the comfortable pace. In fact, the hardtail only changed gears a couple of times the entire 12 miles. (I'm certain of this because at this speed I had *plenty* of time to count his shifts.) I was hoping they would pull over at T.W.O. the bike campground in Suches but was disappointed to see them turn onto GA-180, the other curvy road in the area. Just as I was planning the way to pass them, they handsignaled a turn into a field marked "Georgia Ride for Sobriety" I opted not to follow.

We turned the pace up considerably and had an enjoyable ride for the 11 miles down 180. The first half is sweepers, the second tight switchbacks and quick transitions. The heavy load of the saddlebags kept throwing off my lines, so I took a little more cautious pace than normal. I was a bit frustrated when we pulled off because so few of the corners felt "right". Or maybe it was the GS850 that stayed parked on my fender.

Next was US-129 north through Blairville. The town square is really odd. You enter at the southern end, then circle completely around the city hall and exit to the west. One block later you resume going northward. My navigation skills were probably doubted as I gave a puzzled look at everything on the way through. 15 miles later we were in N.Carolina. The next task was passing through a streetside flea market that managed to engulf the road. Slow moving and hot! We pulled in behind two bikes (another big sportie and a VX800) that were loaded with gear. Once free of the crowds, they set off at a good clip in a northward direction so we pulled in behind. They gave a wave and otherwise ignored our presence. A quick 45 miles later Mike and I pulled off for gas in Robbinsville, NC. Much to my delight, the saddlebags weren't even warm. Equally delightful was the realization that my 120hp beast was managing ~38mph while Mike was doing even better. Since it was 13:00 we decided to check out a little restaurant I'd seen on previous trips. With a name like "The Dungeon" I thought it had to be tried. It turned out to be far less exciting that the name led me to hope for, but for us two vegetarians it was much better than Mickey Ds.

Lunch only took 30 minutes, so we were quickly back on the road and headed towards Deal's Gap. I clearly remembered how exciting the Gap was but had completely forgotten how thrilling 129 was enroute. There are about 25 miles of prime sweepers. We kept the speed down to a low enough speed that the local constabulary wouldn't shoot on contact. (Long hair is enough of a violence catalyst among southern law enforcement, no need to add astronomical speed limit violations.) We did pass a park ranger truck, but we were outside the National Forest. A mile later we changed that.

From the Dam to Deal Gap was really tight but roadside work had left some debris in the road. I'd also been warned that the police are vicious just outside the Gap since it is next to impossible to pull anyone over on the 11 miles of supercurvy road. Still at this sedate pace we still overshot The Crossroads of Time campground at the southern end. I wanted to stop here and ask about cabin prices for a DoD event in late August or early Sept. We managed to turn around and pull into the parking lot which was entirely packed with bikes. The locals were trading best times through Gap and two Floridians were gassing up their Ducs (900ss and a 900 Superlight) for a run. I opted not to count the number of bikes in the parking lot but instead ogled the Ducs over a cold quart of Gatorade. (The temperature was high 90s and my leathers weren't offering much cooling.) I talked to the owner about the DoD ride and an upcoming Southeastern Sportbike Assoc ride. Really nice guy. Deals Gap is the 11 mile section of 129 from N. Carolina to Tennessee. It currently contains 318 curves, many of those being tight switchbacks. The Tenn DOT wants to straighten it so it will be easier on cages. They currently have a petition out to counter the legislation so we both signed it. Mike and I also watched an on-bike video made of the gap that is shown on a TV inside.

Thus fortified for the ride we jumped on the bikes and headed out. We immediately got behind a pickup truck and ended up going through at a ridiculous speed. Most folks will pass on the double yellow through there but we were hesitant. We did see quite a few bikes making high speed runs going the other direction. There is an unofficial "Fast Lap" for the Gap and the current record is 9 minutes and change from a race FZR1000. I have no idea how anyone could go through there averaging over 60, even though I've worked at a race track for a couple of years now. Wow!

After dropping out of the Gap, we went along side a lake for another 25 miles then turned south onto US-411. Mistake. If any mathematician wants proof that a line segment through any two points continues infinitely in a straight line, tell him to look at 411 between Cleveland and Maryville, TN. Long, straight, boring and hot as hell. We stopped at Madisonville (one stoplight, one "strictly enforced 45mph speed limit, one cop and an A&W rootbeer stand) for Gatorade. The store owner informed us that there was nothing to do in Cleveland, TN. Coming from someone in Madisonville, I questioned the sanity of us going to a little town outside Cleveland.

The Gatorade quenched the thirst but did nothing for our motivation to continue down Satan's own highway. Nonetheless, we mounted back up and took off. At 17:30, some 40 miles later, we reached Cleveland. We got gas and began looking for an ATM machine so I could get some cash. After 30 minutes I was reeling shock at just long I'd been out of my own podunk hometown and gotten spoiled by the conveniences of big city life. Mike managed to calm my panic by pointing out that he had plenty of cash. Since I still had plastic, I decided we'd be alright. At 18:30 we pulled into the Nantahala Outdoor Center parking lot and met up with Rebecca, Mike's friend.

We moved some of Mike's gear to my bike and handed Rebecca a spare helmet Mike had brought along. She climbed on board (wearing squid gear: shorts, tanktop and sandals) and we rode the 2 miles to the outpost. Over dinner Mike and Rebecca caught up on the latest news. We also made plans to go white water rafting the next day. Around 23:30 we headed to the sleeping bags for the night. Oh yeah, it was still hot. Really hot.

Compression mode ON.
Day Two:
The next day we rode (influenced by Rebecca's squidly attire and the clothing recommendation for rafting) in jeans, tennis shoes, bike jackets and helmets to the NOC. I managed to hit a pothole at over DOD nominal that bottomed out my rear shock and banged my spine! I was sure I'd bent my rear rim but further inspection showed everything to be alright. We locked up the bikes and had an incredible afternoon rafting. After our dislike of 411, Mike mutinied and demanded we get a Tennessee map. Then retiring to the outpost for dinner, map reading and a July 4th bottle rocket fight with the other NOC folks. (Glad to report no injuries, though one of the cabins did sustain a few burn marks) We are both ready to learn to kayak after watching those folks and hearing their tales. Then back to the bags for the evenings beauty rest. It was still really hot. Really, really hot.
Compression mode OFF.

Day Three:
Remember how much I enjoyed 8am? The breakfast bell rang at 7:45. Ugh. We had breakfast while reading Rider and Cycle World's review of the new R1100RS. They both must be lying, I don't believe it sounds like a Ducati. At 9:30 we were again loaded up and on our way. Mike thought that TN-68 looked good so we struck off for it. We passed alongside the raging Ocoee where we'd rafted the day before, but the Dam had turned off the water, so it was a small, calm trickle. (I bet those engineers think they've conquered nature or something. Hah.) TN-68 was incredible. I hereby nominate Mike, DOD 522, as KotNS (Keeper of the Navigation Skills). For the next 60 miles we cruised through beautiful hilly forests, over newly paved roads, through banked sweeper after banked sweeper and only saw two cars. When we stopped for lunch in Telico Plains, TN we were both covered with ear-to-ear smiles. Somewhere along here my turn signals quit working. They'd been a little flaky for a few weeks but they all out died. It was hand signals for the rest of the trip. (And probably for the RCR too, since I doubt I'll be able to get them fixed in the two days before I head northward again.) We then had another 20 miles of the same on TN-360 only to end up back on 411. Fortunately, this only lasted for 5 miles and we were able to escape to TN-366 and get back over to US-129.

This was going to be our last trip through the Deal's Gap, so we wanted to avoid getting stuck behind a cage. On the way we passed a state trooper awarding a distinquished driving award to a ZX-7 and a GSXR750. The riders gave a shrug and a wave as we went past. As we approached the Gap we were behind three touring rigs. Rather than repeat our Harley experience from GA-60, we pulled over at the Calderwood Dam overlook and chatted with a N.C. couple on a 'Wing and a Harley rider from Chicago. The ZX-7/GSXR750 pair screamed past and a moment later another ZX-7 and a Goof2 wheelied past. Irresponsible I know, but I was loving it. We took off and had the first 5 miles to ourselves. Then we caught up to two pickups, so we pulled over and waited a few minutes. We managed to catch up to them one more time and repeated the same maneuver. I managed to touch a boot down and was feeling pretty snappy until we arrived at the campground. Mike's boots were both ground down and his foot peg rubbers had been shredded. Took the wind right out of me. I think he hid a file in his tank bag.

Since it was noon (have I mentioned that it was hot today?), we had lunch there. Once again we watched the video and yapped with the bikers. The ZX-7/GSXR750 pair got their ticket for passing on a double yellow. The ZX-7/Goof2 pair were WERA racers that dropped by for a few passes while returning home from the races at Talledega. Lots more stories were exchanged. Finally we loaded up and took off down NC-28 since it was the long way back. 28 is another incredibly scenic road of back-to-back sweepers but is rumored to be heavily patrolled. We didn't spot anything with lights but still kept a sedate pace. Only two encounters here: one good, one bad. The first consisted of some idiot in a jacked-up Monte Carlo doing a powerslide out into the road in front of us. We both pulled to the right and let him scream by. Dunno if he intended for the car to get that squirrelly but he was full-lock sideways for a long time with the rear tires smoking. The second encounter was a blue pickup driven by an older gentleman. Not long after we came up behind him, he pulled over and waved us by. Wish there were of them in the world.

28 met up with US-19, so we turned and headed south alongside the Nantahala river. We gased up (along with the Gatorade ritual) and continued south. We had originally planned on taking a county road up to Wyatt Bald but decided that we'd better keep headed south since we were beginning to feel the miles. US-19 merges with US-129 where we'd turned off two days ago. We then had an uneventful 70 miles as we retraced our tracks back into Georgia. GA-180 was a welcome sight since curvy roads took my mind off stiff muscles. After Mike had stayed behind me in Deal's Gap *and* embarassed me by scrapping everything but his mirrors, I decided I'd try to regain some confidence. Everything seemed to come together and I had a great ride down 180. When we stopped at a gas station for G&G I was all smiles again. We decided to hop across the road and hang out at T.W.O. for a little while to get blood back into our hands and feet. We sat in the shade for about 45 minutes talking with the riders of a ZX-6 and a GSXR600. Then had an encounter-free ride down GA-60. The only corner I blew the whole trip was a big boring sweeper that caught me daydreaming. About half way through, at moderate lean angle, I freaked that I was going too fast and jumped on the brakes. After standing the bike up, I regained my senses and leaned hard to get through the corner. Had I been aware and looking through the corner I would have been fine but instead I was ho-hum staring at my front tire. Bad rider! Bad rider! Slap!

From GA-60 it was back to 70 miles of long boring GA-400. I'd intended to take a better route back from Dahlonega but we were both feeling a little wrung out and opted for the fastest route home. Along the way I noticed a thunderhead to the right (east) flashing lightening and another dark cloud to the left. We passed through the area the eastern cloud had dumped water on, so wicked up the speed to ~70. We managed to get ahead of the western clouds and got back to my place without getting dumped on.

Final tally: a little more than 650 miles for the weekend, no tickets, no major disasters, no back problems (touring on a GSXR can be done!), one sore throttle wrist and 7 tanks of gas.

I had a blast. Its judged a complete success! Thanks Mike.

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