Recounted by Bill Berry
I arrived at the Waffle House just before 6:00am Friday just as the sun had started to lighten the eastern sky. Shortly after I ordered, in pulls Chris and Ann Long. Having never ridden with them this is a good sign, on time and looks ready to roll. Soon Joe Berry pulls in looking a little ill. Turns out he had to call in “sick” before he could enjoy his breakfast.
A little before 7:00 we’re outa there heading towards Flemingsburg to meet up with Tom Gibson and maybe Bob and Gail Ulrich if they managed to get up at 0 dark thirty. As we turn onto Rt.11 I catch a flash of sunshine off what appears to be a helmet up ahead. Sure enough, by the time we have caught up with that helmet, it is on Bob and Gail’s heads. We all turn into the BP station at Flemingsburg like we had planned it or something. Scary sometimes how a plan comes together.
A few hellos are exchanged, coffee released, and we’re heading deeper into Kentucky on Rt.11 through rolling hills and under cloudless skies, very pleasant for the end of July. We cruise past Red River Gorge, Natural Bridge having the road to ourselves most of the time. By the time we arrive in Oneida and turn onto Rt.66 the sky has become overcast which is not all bad as it keeps the temps comfortable while we travel in our safety gear.
We are now deep into coal country and soon catch up with the coal trucks and the rain at the same time, which makes for an interesting mix on the road. We are talking about rain, coal dust, coal chunks, and the Kentucky clay…lovely, plus the occasional mudslide from road repair. The rain will stay with us through the Cumberland Gap into Tennessee until we pick up I-40 near Newport. When the rain does stop it gets hot in a hurry and it must have been quite a show as 5 motorcycles and 7 motorcyclists pull into the gas station and start to strip as fast as possible before purchasing gas and beverages. I mean, you can’t get those plastic Baggies off quick enough.
Of course, 30 miles down the road we run into the mother of all storms on the interstate, the curviest interstate in the U.S., with no place to stop. So we take a nice bath while snaking through the mountains toward Asheville. The rain stops as we exit the interstate and we get to dry out on the final leg to the campground. Still, all in all, better than a day at the office. 5 bikes, 400 miles, nobody lost.
We arrive at The Blue Ridge Motorcycle Campground early evening and are greeted by Steve Thoerner & son, Tom Collins, Henry & Mary Pierce, Travis Brown (now member), plus friends Chris and girlfriend(sorry about the names) and The Phipps. Several of them had left the day before and played in the mountains, i.e. Deals Gap, Cherahola Parkway, and Blue Ridge Parkway.
All agree the campground is excellent, food tasty and plentiful, and the pie is great. We discover you don’t need to bring a cooler or bedroll, as both are rentable from the camp office for a nominal fee. The one room cabins are outfitted with fresh linens daily and quite accommodating. The sound of the babbling brook tended to drown out some of the other nighttime sounds one usually hears at campgrounds (snoring). The only down side to the campground seems to be the proximity of alcoholic beverages. These require approximately a 30-minute trip into Waynesville to purchase. Most took care of that the following day while out riding.
Speaking of riding, I don’t think anybody found a bad road down around the campground, just lousy weather. Turns out that weekend, the Parkway was socked in with fog in both directions as far as anybody tried to go. I mean thick as pea soup, continual, non-stop, hey where did that guy’s taillight go?, thick.Oh, don’t forget to ask Henry & Mary about the tunnels. 2 miles down either side of the mountain and it was just cloudy, but since most of the good roads cross the parkway, sooner or later you found the fog.
Saturday evening was spent with a nice rib dinner, cold libations, and countless tales of the day’s rides and of rides past. Oh yes, there was a tall tale or two told into the wee hours.
Sunday awoke with, yea you guessed it, rain. A steady, seeming to get harder every hour, rain. Joe and myself was suppose to spend another day touring the area, but after a review of the weather channel in the camp office where they were posting flood warnings for the entire day, we gave into the weather gods. I told Joe I wasn’t riding in the rain for fun (DONE THAT!) and wasn’t going to sit on a picnic bench looking at him all day, would you? So we wadded up all the wet stuff, shoved it onto the bike and took off. 300 of the 400 mile trip home was in the @#$%& rain, won’t bore you with that.
Over all I had a great time. I think the consensus was to perhaps make this an annual club event assuming the campground survives. The campground is for sale, hopefully to someone as committed as the current owners, who will continue to operate it as it currently is. The owners built it 18 years ago and said it is time to move on. We wish they would reconsider, since we just discovered them.
The comment was made that this campout reminded them of when the club was involved with the Buckeye State Rally and the camaraderie the club experienced as a group. We have a lot of new members who haven’t had that experience and they feel this would serve as an excellent way of achieving this. I agree and would be willing to volunteer to set something up next year. Maybe try a different weekend, something without rain if possible.
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8/27/01