Shamrock Tour
Text by: Christian Neuhauser
Exploring the "Eldorado" of curves around Dillsboro, NC, in The Great Smoky Mountains National Park.
Deep, hanging clouds at 7 a.m. and the heavy raindrops tell us we have to wait. Some four hours later, the wait is over and it´s time to call Garry, and start our tour of the Nantahala National Forest.
We meet at my home in Clemmons - Garry on his brand-new 750 Ducati Monster and I on my old reliable Triumph Tiger. The first sunrays are blinking through the clouds, the asphalt is drying, and the gloom is lifting along with our spirits. We take I-40 to Hickory and then follow the back roads toward Dillsboro to our first overnight stop. On the back roads we find a few curves and warm up for the next day when our shamrock tours begin. Late that evening, Michelle McMahon is waiting for us at the Mountain Brook Inn and shows us to our cabin. I know this place from my two previous trips in this gorgeous area and it is always a pleasure to return. You do not feel like a guest at all here; this family treats you like a member of the clan.
The first curves
Hello, the sun is up and beckoning through the curtains. Not really awake yet, I look at my watch. What? We should already be on the road. I jump out of my bed and knock at the door of Garry´s room. "Hurry up my friend, it´s already 9 o´clock." Shower, brush teeth, brew coffee, jump into the motorcycle gear, drink coffee, push the button, the bike is running and we´re off, all in 25 minutes. Is it a new world record? Who knows? But it´s definitely a beautiful day and we start carving the first curves behind the town of Franklin on Wahay Road. Riding down from this little gap, we slow and stop for pictures in appreciation of the Nantahala Lake and its sparkling waves.
The following road to Robbinsville is like a racetrack with wide curves and long straight sections that invite us to open the throttle more than normally allowed. Have they closed the Cherohala Skyway to everyone but us? There is no traffic on an absolutely gorgeous day and that doesn´t happen very often. An engineering marvel, this 36-mile road took 34 years to build at a price tag of $100,000,000 and the surface snakes very smoothly to the highest point (over 5,200 feet) before it swoops down to Tellico Plains, Tennessee. In this marvelous environment it´s almost sinful to ride too fast. I only want to ride and stretch the enjoyment for as long as possible.
After this swerving, hilly intermezzo, we encounter a totally different picture. On Hwy 360, the wide-open landscape and expanses of water bewitch us. Here, the Little Tennessee River feeds the Tellico and Loudoun lakes. Crossing the Tellico Lake on Hwy 411, we turn right on Hwy 72, which brings us to Hwy 129. In any experienced biker´s brain, the bells are ringing now because The Dragon is waiting and lays down its tail in 311 curves. It´s always an adventure to ride the Dragon and I wave to Garry - bye-bye, my friend - open wide my throttle and sweep through the curves. It is the most enjoyable ride I´ve had since Hwy 16 in Virginia. As always, we meet other bikers at Deals Gap where I salute this successful ride with a cup of coffee before hunting down Hwy 28. We´ve put approximately 180 miles under our butts by the time we roll through the entrance of the Mountain Brook Inn.
When Garry pulled his helmet off, his smile extended from ear to ear. "What a great tour!" he said before confessing how bone-tired he was.
"Well, my friend," I answered, "if you are tired from only 180 miles, then I have a new nickname for Garry Green. How about Garry "Greenhorn?"
The Blue Ridge Parkway
When the first sunrays traverse my face and wake me, I know we can expect another wonderful day. Over breakfast, Mr. Greenhorn and I decide to venture onto the Blue Ridge Parkway.
After a few nice warm-up miles, we enter Brevard, NC. This charming town in the middle of Transylvania County invites us to take a break. Although the community is well known for its summer music festival, music training center, and the liberal arts school, Brevard College, today I´m more interested in its downtown ambience and the chance to kick back at one of its sidewalk cafés. It only takes a few cups of coffee for me, and tea for my friend, to put us in the mood to roll out again and hit Hwy 215 to the Blue Ridge Parkway.
I notice Garry walking oddly toward his black Monster, in a wide-legged swagger somewhat like John Wayne after a long ride through the desert, and then it occurs to me why, how terribly chafed his butt must be.
Back on the road I recall aspects of the first ride I took on Hwy 215 with a group of journalists from Europe. The wide curves, little traffic, and great asphalt combine to create a beautiful ride. I spur my Tiger on the winding road and feel she is running very smoothly on her velvet paws. Suddenly I see the intersection directing us to the Blue Ridge Parkway. We take the sharp left turn and from thereon Garry remains positioned in my rearview. But he looks to be in better shape now and I wonder if there was something special in that morning tea of his. And his Monster also looks extremely sharp today. Did she have a spot of tea, too?
We pull into the parking lot at the highest point of the Blue Ridge Parkway at 6034 ft. Tons of other bikers meet up in this huge parking lot and soon we are lending our voices in the competition for the best biker stories. Obviously, these tales are pretty much the same the world over because I´ve been around long enough to hear most of them over and over again. But it´s always fun to hear an old story with a new twist. Some of it is true and the rest we can categorize as very creative biker blarney. I urge my buddy to mingle in this exciting place and start compiling his own anthology of tremendous stories. I also have a surprise for him. No, it´s not the Iron Butt award or the Greenhorn medal - our friends Gerald and Andi are waiting for us at the Mountain Brook Inn. We pass Cherokee and Dillsboro before we return.
Tied
In front of our cabin I see a Triumph Bonneville and a red Ducati Monster. What a big surprise! The guys hear the sound of our motorcycles and welcome us with cold beers. You should see the look on Garry´s face! He looks like a kid opening a birthday present. "Tied," I call, to the two Triumphs and two Ducatis. Let´s see what happens tomorrow.
The next day
The next morning we feel terrible. We look like, you know, hell. The night passes too swiftly when half of it is spent talking and laughing. Strong coffee is the best medicine I know of for that kind of weariness. During our liquid breakfast, we plan the longest ride of this shamrock tour, which turned out to be about 230 miles.
The first part from Franklin to Clayton is not challenging. On this very straight road we pass small towns in a smooth landscape. My visor is wide open and the oxygen refreshes my biker blood and at the right moment, just when we are turning onto Hwy 197. That´s perfect timing, I think, and open the throttle a little more. This highway swings along Lake Burton and rolling hills toward Helen. I look into my rearview mirror and see my friends caroming through the curves. Helen is very quiet today. Later, in the summer and fall, you can count on thousands of tourists. We take advantage of their absence for a short walk and lounge outside beneath the early June sun on a restaurant patio. It´s time for a good, long brunch, which pleased our empty, coffee-fueled stomachs.
Greg, the waiter, recommends we try a route to Suches, Hwy 180, a winding road in a gorgeous landscape. "And why not? Let´s try this one," I suggest to my friends.
After a couple of miles, I turn right on Hwy 180 and immediately the meandering begins. Glancing back over my shoulder, I see the British-Italian motorcycle squadron fall in behind. The formation looks great. All of us are in the same rhythm. The street is narrow and twisty with some hairpins. Now I spur my Tiger to see if these blokes have what it takes to follow. And they do! Andi and Gerald take Mr. Greenhorn in the middle so that he has no chances to ride slower and pick flowers from the shoulder. It works well and it looks like everyone enjoys the ride. The way back on Hwy 64 is a relaxing, smooth ride, just about perfect after so many curves. It´s early to bed that night. We certainly need our energy for the next day´s ride.
Flying
Early in the morning, deer, raccoon and other skittering creatures try to mix it up with one black Monster, one Ducati and two Triumphs. The guys on them have fun, especially when the streets are empty, as they usually are at 6 o´clock in the morning. We are flying through Dillsboro and Cherokee. Our early departure is called for because I want the squadron to enjoy the many pleasures of Newfound Gap without traffic. The curves on both sides are just perfect to warm up the tires. On the Tennessee side, it pays to be careful; a lot of gravel and oil covers the best line through the curves. When we reach Gatlinburg, a very touristy spot, it´s just waking - tons of people are lined up in front of the breakfast restaurant. We look for another breakfast spot and find a nice, cozy place in the middle of nowhere. We fill our tanks with bacon, pancakes, eggs, grits and gallons of coffee before the road to Asheville calls. Dizzy from the curves on Hwy 63 we have to stop in Asheville to regain our equilibrium and wander around awhile. For me, it´s one of the most beautiful communities in the Southeast with a real town center, great buildings, and its stunning mountain setting. No wonder moviemakers use Asheville so often as the setting for their films.
Patio Season
We have luck and find a parking lot in front of a patio. Four hungry fellows jump in and order plenty. Enjoying the sun and the mild day, we are firmly convinced today is one of those days that qualify as heaven on earth. I smile a little bit when I tell the boys about Hwy 151. They will be surprised because it is only a narrow asphalt ribbon through dense forest and full of sharp curves. At the top, it ends in the Blue Ridge Parkway.
For a couple of miles we have an easy ride before we abandon ourselves to the pleasures of Hwy 215. "That was a great tour, Speedy Tiger," Bad Andi exclaims back in the Mountain Brook Inn.
"But sometimes I was struggling on Hwy 151," Garry adds.
"That is why you are known as the Greenhorn," jokes Gerald.
Our tour has ended, but the fun continues and we fool around like kids. If our motorcycles could roll their eyes, they could probably speak, and they might whisper to themselves, "Yes, you are the kids, and we are the toys."
And I do love these toys. Hope we can all come out to play again in this wonderful place very soon.
RR