Conowingo Dam with 20 flood gates open July 26, 2018

Conowingo Dam Flood Gates are Open

When The Rain Comes

The Mid-Atlantic saw record rainfall in July 2018. Most of that rain came down over a 5-day period as a result of tropical moisture moving up from the Bahamas. As the storms left Maryland, they continued north into Pennsylvania, where they continued their deluge.

The Susquehanna River, the longest river on the east coast, is formed from two branches – one in western PA, the other near Cooperstown, NY. The watershed drains 27,500 square miles, eventually emptying into the north end of the Chesapeake Bay. On its way into Maryland, all that water passes through the Conowingo Dam and Hydroelectric Plant.

Ask any Maryland motorcycle rider, and they will probably tell you that they have ridden on Rt. 1, crossing the river along the top of the dam from Darlington in Harford County to Conowingo in Cecil County. It’s a scenic ride, and chances are you’ll see eagles flying around the dam. On any given Sunday during riding season, you can find bikers gathering at the Union Hotel not far from the dam. The lot is usually packed and the overflow often winds up a few miles south at a dock bar in Port Deposit.

Port Deposit July 26, 2018

Port Deposit is a small town nestled on the eastern bank of the Susquehanna – a mere five miles downstream from the dam. The dam has flood gates that can be opened and closed as necessary to manage the water level behind the dam. Obviously, more open gates mean more water coming down the river.

In 2011, Tropical Storm Lee left behind enough water that 44 of the 53 flood gates had to be opened. This led to flooding and a mandatory evacuation of Port Deposit.

As of this writing, at least 20 flood gates were open. The town was under a voluntary evacuation. Officials were estimating that another 4 to 7 gates would have to be opened within the next 24 hours. We will update this post as this story develops.

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Wheels of Freedom today

Wheels of Freedom Back in My Day…

Kenny and me back in the day

Freedom for me has always come with wheels.

My first vehicle was a blue pedal car that looked a lot like my Dad’s 1965 Ford Mustang. That car was made out of steel, and it would go as fast as my little legs could push the pedals. I loved that pedal car and, though I got it when I was 5, I kept it until I was about 11. It ultimately became the primary obstacle for our Evel Knievel jumps on bicycles from the sidewalk in front of our next house.

Sure, I was cool in that pedal car as a toddler. I’d meet my dad in the afternoon in front of our house in Idaho Falls, Idaho. We would ride to the neighbor’s driveway, where we would both make a perfect 3-point turn to park – him along the curb, me on the sidewalk. I was just like Dad.

But my older brother, Kenny, was just like the big kids on the street. He was riding on 2 wheels, and going places my little blue toy car could never go. I was alone in that toy, while Kenny was out exploring a world I could only imagine… with the big kids.

Remembering Wheels of Freedom

When I finally got my first bicycle, I briefly felt that wheeled freedom again. But, I was still on four wheels, not two. The training wheels were a necessary source of embarrassment. I still wasn’t like the big kids. I remember adjusting the training wheels up a little higher, inch by inch, to diminish their effectiveness. I knew what I was doing; I was teaching myself to ride without them. And at night I dreamed about being on two wheels.

I don’t have a strong memory of my first solo ride without training wheels. It’s very likely that, by the time I got to that point, I had elevated the outrigger tires so high that they weren’t doing much at all. I sort of remember Dad running beside me with a hand on the seat of the bike, eventually letting me loose. Once I left those embarrassing supports behind, I knew freedom like never before. I could go further, I could ride faster, and I could taste the acceleration of an open ride down what we called the “dirt hills.” I was free.

When I was about 9, we moved exactly 3.3 miles away to a new neighborhood. It seemed like 20 miles at the time. But, we were now less than a mile from our school. This meant we no longer had to take the bus. We could ride our bikes. Wheels of Freedom.

My bike looked a lot like this

My Wheels of Freedom are getting bigger

I had a different bike by then. Bigger, obviously. This one was yellow and had a banana seat. I don’t even know if they even make those anymore. I lived on that bike. I rode to school and back, explored the neighborhood and the surrounding area on that bike. I knew freedom on that bike. At one point, I lowered the front part of the seat, and raised the rear. This didn’t give me any place to sit when I rode, so I stood. But I could lean back against that seat and pop a wheelie like nobody’s business. That just magnified my freedom. I also learned to ride without touching the handlebars. I was one with the bike.

We did our best to emulate our hero, Evel Knievel, jumping from homemade plywood ramps over my beloved pedal car… and each other. The yellow bike with the banana seat proved to be a perfect daredevil ride for me.

A few years later, we left Idaho, crossed the country, and settled into a new home in Pennsylvania. I started riding a 10-speed with drop bars, but I spent much of my time on the four wheels of a skateboard. That was usually on my belly or my back, striving for insane speeds down steep inclines.

Accidents Happen

Then, Kenny bought a Harley. It was an AMF-Harley SX-125 enduro. After some time, I was invited to learn how to ride it. The first ride went something like this: Kenny showed me how to  throttle, clutch and shift. I managed to do all three, right into a pine tree.

I don’t think I rode the bike much from that day until the day he joined the Marines and headed off to bootcamp. Then I tasted those wheels of freedom again. Kenny, if you are reading this, I hope you can forgive me for taking over the bike while you were gone. But, know this: I never crashed into a pine tree again. Key words: pine tree.

I would ride with friends on their Suzuki DR-400’s or Yamaha YZ-350’s. I was the kid with the training wheels again… until we stopped at one of their houses; at which point their fathers would inevitably come out and admire the Harley.

It was many years after that before I was in a position to buy my own bike, a Harley-Davidson 883 Sportster. I kept it for about a thousand miles, traded it in for a couple 4-wheel ATV’s, which I sold for cash. In 2006, I bought a brand new Sportster 1200 Custom. Our current ride is a 2005 Softail Deluxe.

It is true: freedom comes with wheels. But, through all of this, I have learned that it’s not about the vehicle you are on. It’s about your state of mind. Therein lies the freedom. The bike is only a tool to to help you get there.

And this is another reason why I ride.

What were your wheels of freedom growing up verses what they are now?

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The Tail of the Dragon

Snaking across the border between North Carolina and Tennessee, is US Route 129 – the famous Tail of the Dragon. Google it and you’ll see just how famous it is, and why. The ultra-curvy road draws thousands of motorcyclists and sports car enthusiasts every year. Most visitors leave with fond memories of a fun ride. Some leave behind pieces of their vehicles and their pride. And, yes, people have died there.

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The Tail of the Dragon starts at mile marker 0 at Deals Gap in North Carolina and ends at mile 11 in Tallahassee, TN – of course, you can run it both ways. We rode it from south to north in mid-July of 2017 on our way to Nashville. Here are a couple videos of that ride. The second video is sped up – just for the fun of it.

https://youtu.be/UD5njC9JehM

https://youtu.be/qz5YRGJq7J8

I found it to be somewhat technically challenging, due to the sheer number of turns; but we had a pretty good idea of what to expect going into it and, therefore, rode it very conservatively. By the time you roll out of a curve, it’s time to set up for the next one. In this way, it really forces you to stay on your game. There’s no time enjoy the scenery – eyes on the rode ahead. It was definitely fun. But, this story isn’t about the Tail of the Dragon, as impressive as it is.

“It’s not the destination it’s the glory of the ride.” – Giles Andreae

This story is about some of the roads we found on the way to the dragon.

We left Floyd, VA on a Sunday morning and headed westbound. The plan: to ride to Gatlinburg, spend the night there; leaving Monday open for lots of fun riding. Through Virginia and into North Carolina, Louise worked her navigation magic, finding some nice roads to travel and keeping us off the highways (because that’s how we roll). From Mountain City, NC we picked up US 421, still heading west. This incredible ribbon of blacktop meanders, twists, turns and weaves its way across a couple ridgelines, switching back on itself several times as it wriggles its way into Tennessee, crosses the Appalachian trail and continues on squiggling towards South Holston Lake. Check out this incredible 6-mile stretch.

We had no idea at the time that we were riding “The Snake 421” – it’s also known as “The Best of the Snake.” We were just trying to get a little lost. We didn’t see a great deal of motorcycle traffic on that beautiful Sunday; but, as it turns out, The Snake is gaining a reputation as a rival to its famous cousin over in Deals Gap. We will probably be back to ride it again one day, but there are so many great roads out there. Roads like the Cherohala Skyway, a National Scenic Byway connecting Tellico Plains, TN to Robbinsville, NC.

The Day of the Dragon

The bikes parked at our cabin at The Lodge at Tellico

Monday morning, we left Gatlinburg and rode through part of the Great Smoky Mountain National Park, arriving at our overnight homestead in Tellico Plains around 1 in the afternoon. We rented rooms in a cabin at the Lodge at Tellico, a cozy, comfortable, motorcycle-friendly home away from home. After we unloaded our luggage in preparation for the Tail of the Dragon, we set out for an afternoon with our knees in the wind. The temperature was a perfect 87° F and the sun would be with us for another 8 hours. First up: the Cherohala Skyway.

Some roads are fun, some roads are beautiful. The skyway is both, with amazing panoramic views from elevations in the Cherokee and Nantahala forests. This was one of those “kick back and relax, here’s your moment of zen” rides. A nice, easy precursor to the Tail of Dragon.

The build-up, hype and touristy atmosphere of the Tail of the Dragon left us expecting more from what has been called “the ride of your life.” Maybe it’s because we prefer to ride where we feel alone with the wind and the rumble of the V-twin, or maybe it’s because we planned too much and anticipated even more. But, I really think its because the roads we discovered on the way there were so surprisingly wonderful; so were the roads heading home, especially the Black Dragon – but that’s another story.

If you have been thinking about riding the Tail of the Dragon, do it. Just make sure you enjoy the journey there, too. And try avoiding highways – it always pays off.

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So, What Does Happen When You Get a Flat Tire on a Motorcycle

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I used to wonder what it would be like to get a flat tire while riding a motorcycle. I did not really want to find out firsthand, I was just curious. Well, I guess you could say, “Curiosity willed the flat.”

It was day one of a 9-day motorcycle road trip to Nashville with another couple. Everything was off to a great start. The weather was perfect and the bike was purring like a tiger as we made our way from the Chesapeake Bay across the Potomac River with only minimal highway time. Maryland and Virginia are connected at Newburg and Dahlgren by the Gov. Harry W. Nice Memorial Bridge. This toll bridge is the only way to cross the Potomac from Southern Maryland, so we were burdened with more than a few miles of mandatory highway on US Route 301 South. The 135-foot-high span affords a beautiful view of the river, but the two opposing lanes of 50-MPH traffic demand your full attention as a rider.

The “Baby Dragon”

As we rode off the bridge, Louise called out the first of many Virginia turns – a right onto Dahlgren road followed by another right onto Caledon Road. That’s where the ride really started to get fun. If you ever find yourself in this area, do yourself a favor and give this road a run. Tree-lined twists and turns… nothing technically difficult, just enough to get your blood pumping. I thought, this is just a taste of what’s to come – we planned to ride the infamous “Tail of the Dragon” in a few days. We jokingly nicknamed this stretch of road “Baby Dragon” and we rode on – destination: Floyd, VA for wood-fired pizza and live music. If our estimates were correct, we would get there by 6PM.

Taking Our Sweet Time

We stopped for lunch at Los Tres Potrillos Mexican Restaurant in Louisa, Virginia. No hurry, we were on the bikes, so we took our time and relaxed. After about an hour (and some great food), we were back on the road.

Some of the best backroads will pop up as last-minute options on Google Maps (when the avoid highways option is selected), so, while Louise juggled the navigation on her phone, I simply settled into a relaxing ride waiting for her to call out my next turn. I knew we were north of Richmond and still southwest of Charlottesville, but, I really didn’t care where we were, exactly – I trust Louise to get us where we are going; my job is to keep the rubber side down, so that’s what I did. However, I didn’t expect the rubber to let us down.

Feeling a Little Deflated

Somewhere in the middle of nowhere, we paused at a STOP sign long enough for Louise to verify left, right or otherwise. It would be a right onto Scottsville Road, followed by a left onto Red Hill Road. As I pulled forward and leaned into a slow turn to the right, the lowest part of the bike’s frame scraped briefly on the asphalt. Now, the Softail Deluxe has the lowest ground-to-seat height of any Harley, which means that the lowest part of the frame is closer to the ground than even a Sportster (we would know, since several thousand of our tandem miles were on a 2006 Sportster 1200). We’ve scraped before, but always at speed. To scrape in a slow turn was new. I was convinced that I had just leaned too far in the turn – add to that the extra weight of our luggage weighing on the shocks. The bike still felt fine, so we continued with caution. It wasn’t until a few miles later, that we started to feel the rear end of the motorcycle sway with every turn. I would describe the feeling as squirrely, mushy, soft, not good.

Definitely flat

Red Hill Road – not much of a shoulder

Seriously? Two in the afternoon, five hours into our vacation, and this? A flat rear tire. Louise climbed off and I was able to get the bike off of the the road onto a grass “shoulder.” Ahh, Red Hill Road, one of Virginia’s many beautiful backroads. And there we would spend the next hour-and-a-half: calling around trying to arrange for a tow truck (more difficult on a Saturday afternoon in central Virginia than you might imagine); searching for an auto shop that just might be able to repair a flat motorcycle tire; watching and listening to the North Fork Hardware River run by us just past the tree line and down at the bottom of an embankment; and coordinating service with Shenandoah Harley Davidson in Staunton, VA (41 miles away, in the direction we had not planned to go.)

From 2 Wheels to 6

Albemarle Towing‘s driver, Tommy (a really cool guy and champion bluegrass guitar picker), showed up around 3:30. I have to admit, I was a little nervous about the thought of riding a motorcycle, flat tire and all, up onto the bed of a rollback, but I had help and no other options.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0D66YU3h21A

Fifteen minutes later, Tommy, Louise and I sat in the sweltering cab of the truck heading west. We would cross the Shenandoah Mountain Range between Skyline Drive and the Blue Ridge Parkway – two beautiful roads we had ridden only ten months earlier. Not so beautiful from the cab of a tow truck rumbling along Interstate 64; yep, a highway.

All tied down for the ride

Louise and Tommy

The tow truck did not have air conditioning, but it did have a blower, which was blowing nothing but hot air into the cab. So, we kept the windows rolled down and Tommy kept us entertained for the 45-minute trip with stories of his years playing bluegrass music in the Shenandoah Valley. We kept checking behind us to make sure our friends were still in trail, and that our poor motorcycle was still secure on the flatbed. All was good. We arrived at Shenandoah Harley a little after 4:30.

The Definition of Customer Service

The Harley dealership closes at 5 PM on Saturdays, and we burned up 15 minutes just getting the bike off the rollback and paying Tommy the $300 towing fee – great way to start a vacation, right? But, the mechanic, Gavin, had promised to stay late to get us back on the road. The folks here definitely understand customer service.

The service department at Shenandoah H-D

Gavin removed the flat tire and inspected everything closely. The tire itself was still good with plenty of tread left on it. But the tube? Well, that was another story. Not only did the tube have a hole in it the size of the Grand Canyon, the valve stem popped off as Gavin was removing it from the wheel, and the entire tube was filled with goop that we collectively agreed was leftover “Fix-a-Flat” or something similar. We had bought the bike used when it had about 30,000 miles. The previous owner assured us that the tires and tubes only had about 500 miles at the time of purchase.

The lesson learned: when you buy a used bike, check EVERYTHING or have a mechanic do a thorough pre-buy. Had we known that tube was comprised, we probably would have been able to avoid this entire situation.

Gavin from Shenandoah Harley-Davidson test rides our bike after fixing the flat tire

Looking on the bight side, though: nobody got hurt; the bike was not damaged; we salvaged the tire and met some great people, turning this into a memorial adventure – an expensive adventure, but memorable, nonetheless.

Back on the road… I mean highway

The Adventure Continues

Leaving Staunton, we made the decision to take Interstate 81 South towards Floyd, VA. Another highway, but a necessary evil if we were going to beat the impending darkness, as it was now after 6 PM. And even though we hit some heavy traffic near Roanoke, we made it to Hotel Floyd with plenty of time to walk to Dogtown Roadhouse for some of the best wood-fired pizza in the world. I ordered the “Appalachian” – sausage, caramelized onion, aged white cheddar and goat cheese over an Apple Butter Base. Yes, it was even better than it sounds.

We also enjoyed live music by The Trongone Band, a unique jam band that channels the Allman Brothers, the Grateful Dead, with a nice blend of blues and funk.

But, the best part of the evening was sitting there having a cold beer, knowing that we made it through the first day of our trip safely. I’d say we were pretty lucky: we were going slow when it happened, it was the rear tire, and we had cell coverage. We took the flat tire in stride, and just let it be part of the adventure.

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Photo courtesy of Lowcountry Bistro

Riding out of the rain, shins soaked from the wet road, we landed in the “World’s Best City,” Charleston, South Carolina. Historic, beautiful and known for its restaurants, this overnight stop promised everything weary travelers craved.

Luggage loaded on the bellman’s cart, Louise headed inside to check into the Double Tree Suites. I jumped back on the bike and followed the parking valet’s directions around the corner and down the block where I found the entrance to the underground parking garage. The only other option was to park across the street in a public lot. With more rain heading our way, we gladly paid for the valet service, even though I parked the bike myself.

We showered, changed clothes, and headed out to explore Charleston by foot. And here came the rain. We waited under an awning for the shower to pass. Feeling a little road-worn and tired, our patience with the Sunday night crowds was quickly waning. Cocktails in the hotel room before dinner sounded like a better plan, and it gave Louise time to search for a restaurant.

The search paid off. She found a place a block and a half away called Lowcountry Bistro. A quick walk past the busy Charleston City Market, and we were there – just in time for our 8 o’clock reservation. The bistro is in a stand-alone three-story brick-faced building on S. Market St.

The interior is rustic, inviting, and a whole lot bigger than first impressions would indicate. Off of the first floor dining room is an indoor patio with communal window seating – a mirror of the balcony above, which is accessed from the upstairs dining room. The bar is on the first floor. We scored the table by the front window, and the friendly server welcomed us with a warmth that quickly made the wet afternoon a distant memory.

We started with bourbon and moonshine flights. This is where we discovered William Wolf Pecan Bourbon, which was presented along with Bulleit Rye, and Crown Royal. The moonshine offerings were Blueberry, Caramel and Apple Pie. The winner… Caramel Apple. Yeah, we mixed a couple of them.

Now, let’s talk chicken and waffles. I had never tried them, but had always wanted to. This was the place, and I am still addicted. They are so good, even Paula Dean raved about them. Bone-in chicken sitting atop a delicious cornbread waffle, drizzled with a bourbon reduction, and pecan butter. Pecans in the bourbon, pecans in the butter – that’s the Lowcountry for you. Oh… did I mention that there is bacon in the batter? You’d better believe it.

Lowcountry Bistro is Part of the Queen Street Hospitality Group of restaurants in Charleston. Next time we are in town, we will have to give some of the others a shot – and, hopefully, the weather will be a little drier. For now, I am still on the quest for a better Chicken and Waffles. Louise’s are pretty darned good, but nothing compares to those I had at Lowcountry Bistro in Charleston, SC.

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Over-heating on a motorcycle is a real thing; try this tip for instant air conditioning!

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If you read through this blog, you will find me constantly extolling the benefits of backroads: less traffic, more hills and turns, slower pace, better scenery. One additional advantage is the shade often provided by tree canopies. But, sadly, not all backroads are tree-lined; and sometimes, no matter what you do, you’ll find yourself out in the open, with the hot sun beating down on you.

This windchill chart shows you how speed can reduce the feel of of the outside temperature. What it also demonstrates is that when it is really hot out, faster equals hotter. Notice that as the outside temp gets above 90° F, the “feels like” temperature actually goes up with your speed. This could lead to a very dangerous situation, possibly resulting in heat exhaustion or even heat stroke.

The Long, Hot Ride Home

Louise and I ran into this situation coming home through Virginia on the last day of one of our long trips. The previous days had periods where we would get a little uncomfortable, but there was enough shade on most of the roads we chose. On this final day of riding, the temperature reached nearly 100° F and we were feeling it.

We always keep bottled water on the bike, especially on hot days; it’s easy to dehydrate and not realize it until it’s too late. Louise poured some water down my neck and onto my sleeves (we were wearing light-colored long sleeved T-shirts – highly recommended on hot rides). I immediately felt the instant air conditioning effect of the evaporating water. This is a result of the liquid absorbing heat from its surroundings as it evaporates, the same way sweating helps cool you down (at the expense of your body’s hydration). We only had a small amount of water available, so the instant air conditioning benefits were short-lived. Then it occurred to me: we are doing this the hard way.

I pulled in at the next gas station and we went inside. The plan was to soak our long sleeved shirts in water, and then put them back on. I took the shirts into the restroom and soaked them in the sink. Here’s a pro tip: spend a buck for a gallon jug of distilled water and use that for turning your clothes into air conditioners. The water from the tap in the gas station restroom was disgusting at best. My favorite white long sleeved shirt never did come clean after that. But, the plan worked. We may have looked silly donning soaking wet clothes (feel free to insert your favorite wet t-shirt joke here), but back on the road, it felt like we had just cranked up the AC to max. If you wear a bandana on your head (with or without a helmet) soak that, as well. Also, if you have enough room on your motorcycle, take an extra jug of water for the road.

So, next time you head out on a hot day, grab some water and a long-sleeved shirt, and stay cool, comfortable and safe.

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What happens when one flies up your sleeve while cruising? Bees will be bees.

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Jeff’s Bee Story

An apiologist would probably take me to task for lumping all stinger-laden flying insects into the same category. And I mean no disrespect to honey bees, which serve a vital purpose in our ecosystem. But, for the sake of sharing my “bee” story along with Louise’s bee story (note the lack of finger quotes on hers), the title of this short tale shall remain “Jeff’s Bee Story.”

There we were, on the bike, southbound out of Maryland. We had the kickstand up before the sun finished its first cup of coffee. Today would kick off a 10-day, 10-state ride – our first motorcycle vacation together, and we would do it on a 2006 Harley-Davidson 1200 Custom. Yep, a Sportster. Loaded down with only the things we thought we would need, we entered our second state, Virginia. The sun had finally joined us on our adventure, I had switched the lenses in my goggles from yellow to black, and we were enjoying the ride. All was good with the world, and I relished in the thought that this would be our lives for the next week-and-a-half.

Then it happened. Something stabbed into my right forearm, underneath the leather sleeve of my jacket. I knew this feeling from somewhere: I was being electrocuted – no that wasn’t it; a hypodermic needle was no doubt sticking out of my arm – well, maybe not; it had to be a wasp (or the like). I immediately reverted to my extensive training and experience with insect attacks and… okay, I don’t really have extensive training – but I do have some personal experience with stinging insects from bees and wasps to hornets and yellow jackets. I didn’t have time to identify the culprit by name, order or suborder; I had to act… now. So, I did what made the most sense at the time: I lowered my arm and begin to shake it violently. Great idea. This would certainly coax the invader out of my sleeve. Or not.

Louise was not comforted by my sudden arm shaking (most likely, because removing my right hand from the throttle caused the bike to slow down – and we weren’t even close to our breakfast stop in the southern part of the DelMarVa peninsula), so she asked me, “What are you doing?” Well, that was the gist of it, anyway.

I replied, “I’m being stung.”

“Pull over,” was the response from the back seat. There was probably an exclamation point on the end of that sentence. And maybe the word “idiot.” Can’t remember.

So I pulled over, put down the kickstand, and jumped off the bike. As I ripped off my jacket, I briefly saw something small and dark fall to the ground. It disappeared, so I assumed it had been swallowed back into the depths of hell from whence it came. Now it was time to deal with the aftermath of the attack, and here’s the takeaway from this story: if you have a choice, marry a nurse. Apparently, Louise had heard (or read) that toothpaste is suitable first aid for an insect sting. She was right. Within minutes, the pain and swelling had subsided and my arm smelled minty-fresh.

Thank you, my dear wife and riding partner. You saved my life. Now let’s ride on to Cape Charles, VA for breakfast.

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I’ve written briefly about the Tail of the Dragon. Actually, the stuff about the Tail merely served as bookends for a story about some really cool roads we found by chance, en route to that famous ride along US 129. This is a story about the ride home, and how we stumbled upon The Black Dragon.

Here Comes The Rain

This serendipitous find happened because of weather and a missed turn. We had left Bardstown, KY a day earlier than planned. We were there to ride the Bourbon Trail in Western Kentucky. This would have been a nice day-ride with several stops, but a cold front was pushing in from the northwest, bringing rain through much of Kentucky. We had also planned to work our way back to Maryland through West Virginia and Western Maryland the following day. A quick look at My Radar told me that wasn’t happening. We would have to start moving east and stay south of our planned route. No Bourbon Trail on this trip.

We mounted the bikes and headed east on Route 15. Google Maps was not being generous with backroads, so we toughed it out and rode on the unshaded highway in temperatures that reached into the 90’s. It was uncomfortably hot (we didn’t know about about instant air conditioning yet). By the time we made it to Whitesburg, KY, with our fair share of Rt. 15 in the books, we were sufficiently worn out and parched. We decided to stop for some relaxation and hydration at an air-conditioned little place called Heritage Kitchen. One of the owners, Brad, greeted us kindly as we settled in for some much-needed iced tea. He asked us about our travels, and we asked him for some help finding some fun roads.

We were looking for the best ways to get to Abingdon, VA. That was our newly agreed-upon overnight stop. Brad told us we had to get past Black Mountain and there were three options: around it to the north, around it to the south, and over the top. Louise and I looked at each other: “Over the top? Sign us up.” Then we found out that the over-the-top option would add about 2 hours to the ride. Louise and I looked at each other again: “Sign us up.” Our riding partners wanted to shave some time off this leg, so we compromised and agreed to take the north route, with a slight diversion: South Route 119 – a road familiar with the cooling shade of trees; a road willing to twist and turn a little to give into the shape and slope of the earth.

And It Gets Better

I told you earlier that we stumbled upon one of the “really cool roads” partly because of a missed turn. Well, 4 paragraphs, 200 miles, and about a gallon of iced tea later, we get to that part of the story.

After a nice ride through a gap in some hills, the directions told us to turn left onto 932 near Eolia, KY and follow a winding road through a some valleys molded by the adjacent ridges. We had plenty of advanced notice, and Louise called out the turn several times. As we got closer, I saw what looked almost like a driveway cutting to the left at an angle that was much more than 90 degrees. Ahead of us, the road we were on was also bearing to the left. This must be one of those times when the mapping software calls out a curve as a turn – happens a lot. So, I stayed on 119, while Google Maps tried to recalculate – again and again. I had clearly missed the turn.

Turn Around or Get Lost?

If you have ever used a mapping app or GPS, you know that the system will recognize when you’ve missed a turn. Most of the time, it immediately offers a new course, with a new ETA, and all is well. Sometimes the new course is simply a U-turn to herd you back to your previous route. That’s the guidance we were given by the app – turn around. Well, sometimes a U-turn isn’t prudent; especially when there is no safe place to turn around and you’re on a motorcycle.  Google Maps, nonetheless, kept insisting we go back whence we came.

I was certain the software would eventually get the point and offer an option that did not involve turning around, so we pushed on. And boy, did our stubbornness pay off. The road we were following had a fresh blacktop with recently-painted double yellow lines following gentle turns. It seemed to be an exceptionally well-built and maintained route which was taking us to lower elevations and we could see several quarries to our left. I surmised that the road was maintained this well to accommodate the large trucks carrying minerals out of this hollow. And I was beginning to think that we might be on a one-way ride to the bottom of a dig. Fortunately I was wrong, and the ride was about to really get good.

Up, Up, Up

Google Maps finally conceded and gave us a route that did not involve U-turns. We followed the map’s blue arrow onto Kentucky Route 160 South. It started out a little slow, as we passed through Cumberland and Lynch (two small adjacent mining towns in eastern Harlan County). Before long, the route became a scenic, tree-lined two-lane road. It followed the contours of the rising terrain; up and up, left and right, hugging rock walls on one side while revealing steep drop-offs on the other.

The outside temperature dropped as we climbed, and the canopy of trees never wavered, providing near-constant shade – brief thoughts of donning a jacket actually crossed my mind. When the blue sky popped out in all its glory, we found ourselves on top of the world. Well, we were certainly at the top of Kentucky – a roadside sign declared our location at the top of Black Mountain, the highest point in the state: 4,145 feet above sea level.

The Black Dragon

We had accidentally stumbled upon one of the greatest roads we’ve ridden. We later discovered that this path over the top of Black Mountain is part of what is known as The Black Dragon Loop, a popular motorcycle route. We took a short break for pictures of the scenic expanse before us which was as much Kentucky as it was Virginia. We were on the state line, so the ride down from the mountain would be in the Old Dominion. It was just as fun as the ride up the other side, swerving and bending back and forth with a couple switchbacks thrown in for good measure.

By the end of this day, we were exhausted. That good kind of exhaustion where the beer tastes better and the sleep comes quicker. We had ridden some fine roads; following rivers and hills through villages and forests; in sun and shade (no rain); and over the top of a mountain. All because we let ourselves get lost. Try it… you’ll like it.

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Freedom’s Just Another Word for Why We Ride

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I believe that the best distance between two points is never a straight line. There’s a peace to be found in the twists and turns; the scenery and the surprises; the here and now. 

This is why we ride.

The road beneath you slips by. You lean to the right, feeling the rubber of the tires grab hold and pull you through the curve. The bike straightens out as the road does; and then you are leaning left – a rock face to one side of the bend, a river far below through the trees on the other. You ride on.

The blue sky peeks through the canopy. You feel a moment of the sun’s warmth on your face and arms. And just like that, the shadows take over, bringing with them a comfortable coolness. A quick whiff of cedar rises from the forest and greets you.

The rumble of the engine speaks up, but fails to completely drown out the whisper of the wind. And you ride on.

The edges of your periphery blur… the leaves, the asphalt and the yellow lines, all part of this tunnel through nature, forged and defined by man’s desire to go places. 

It is here that we find freedom.

So, we travel. From point A to point B. 

When you are somewhere between points A and B, you are no place. And no place is a good place to be. So, you ride on.

Heads or Tails

Louise and I will sometimes pick a general direction and head out on the bike. When we are faced with a decision to turn left or right or continue straight ahead, we will flip a coin. Heads left, tails right. No schedule, no plan, no worries, no specific destination.

Sometimes, Louise will give me the choice: left, right or straight ahead. With no guidance other than my gut, I’ll choose, and we’ll head in that direction. And we are always amazed by the things we discover that we may have missed had we simply followed the recommendations from the mapping app or GPS. Often I wonder: what would we have found if I had made another choice? We may never know… or we may have to go back one day and find out.

And that’s why we ride.

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The Back of the Dragon

When an opportunity to ride the Tail of the Dragon first popped up, I did some research. I wanted to know what I was getting into. Wouldn’t you? If you Google the term, you’ll find a plethora of websites with maps, stories, reviews and pictures. A YouTube search will yield more videos than you’ll ever have time to watch, some of which might even scare you away from US 129.

A couple friends had recently ridden the infamous route, so I reached out to them for some advice. “LEAN” was capitalized in texts I received from them both. I also found out that one of them had taken his eyes off a curve for a split second and ended up putting his bike down. In addition to the uppercase recommendation, was an admonition to look all the way through the turns – don’t try to take in the scenery. This is a valuable takeaway from any motorcycle safety course: look where you want to go – the bike will follow.

My friends also suggested we try the Back of the Dragon in southwestern Virginia. I conducted the requisite internet searches and found a ride which promises 438 curves spread out over 32 miles of blacktop. Route 16 slithers across part of the Appalachian Mountains between Marion and Tazewell, VA. I was intrigued by how the technically challenging twists and turns are bundled with smooth curves, offering a fun ride with elevated scenic vistas that riders can relish safely. I added the route to my wishlist.

Your Wish is Granted

So, there we were: on the backside of a nine-day motorcycle vacation. Having rerouted for weather, we now found ourselves in this neck of the woods with time to play. A sign to the right of Park Blvd. (VA Rt. 16N) modestly welcomed us to Marion, “Gateway to the Back of the Dragon.” After a quick photo op, we jumped on the bikes and set out. It was eleven in the morning on a sunny Saturday in July and the temperature had just reached a very comfortable 80° F. We were ready to ride, so we did. Right into a traffic jam.

The southern point of the Back of the Dragon starts at Hungry Mother State Park. If you plan to do this ride, check the event schedule for the park. We spent what felt like an eternity inching along with families heading to the Hungry Mother Festival in a 4-mile back-up that left us wondering if the ride would ever happen. Eventually, we passed the entrance to the festival and the road opened up.

The first serpentine turns showed up minutes later, and the roller coaster began.
First, we weaved our way up to the top of Walker Mountain, trees to the left of us, trees to the right. Cresting the ridge, we started a winding decent down to the valley below as the canopy broke up here and there, revealing rolling hills and rugged mountains. We crossed the Holston River where the road stretched out a bit, giving us a little break. Then we were climbing again, turning left and right and back again as we traced the terrain.

https://youtu.be/-goZh81Futs

The ride continued on for another fun, beautiful twenty miles, eventually settling into a nice jaunt through the countryside. We crossed three mountains on this route, which eventually dumped us out in Tazewell, VA. If you’re looking for the welcome center and store, don’t blink. I saw it as we rode by, only because I knew to look for a small building that almost looks like a construction trailer on the far side of a parking lot off of Main Street.

So Many Roads, So Little Time

The Back of the Dragon is a small part of a bigger network of roads known as The Claw of the Dragon. If you are ever in the area, set aside some time to explore. And remember to let yourself get lost once in a while.

We set out for Nashville in July 2017 with another couple. On the trip, we rode the Snake 421, the Cherohala Skyway, the Tail of the Dragon, the Black Dragon, the Back of the Dragon, a little winding road near Dahlgren, Virginia which we’ve nicknamed the Baby Dragon, and many other side roads, backroads, and even highways. We rode down Main Street through countless little towns and even got a flat tire in the middle of nowhere.

Where next?

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