On the Road Again...
Brian A. Hopkins
On the Road Again...
"Crouching
Tiger, Twisty Dragon"
4 - 13 October 2007
In which the Triumph Tiger and I travel east with my friends Greg and Elaine on their Goldwing to tour the famous Biltmore House, ride that treacherously exciting eleven miles of pavement known as the Tail of the Dragon, and visit the Mammoth Cave area to pay our respects to Floyd Collins. We'll log almost 3,300 miles in ten days (a much slower pace than my last trip with them, that's for sure!), meet some interesting folks along the way, test some new high tech communications gear, demonstrate our hitherto hidden culinary expertise, and feast our jellybeans on the golden diorama of Fall as only the Great Smoky and Appalachian Mountains can paint it. Grab your helmet, boots, and gloves, cause we don't ride with squids (though mice and monkeys are okay); it's time to go riding once again!
Day One: Thursday, October 4th
Oklahoma City, OK to Irving, TX
209 Miles
This trip started because my friend Elaine wanted to tour the Biltmore House in Asheville, NC. I'll confess right up front that I don't know the Biltmore from the Biltless, had frankly never even heard of the place to tell the truth, and generally have absolutely zero interest in mucking about in some rich folks' shindigs ... but we've long since established that I don't need a whole lot of excuses to take a road trip on one of my motorcycles. Besides, the route to and from the Biltmore would include some pretty curvaceous motorcycle roads, not to mention Mammoth Cave. I'd been wanting to visit Mammoth Cave for a while, not so much to explore the caverns themselves, but to breathe in a bit of the caving history that area is famous for, namely historical figures like Floyd Collins and Stephen Bishop and, of course, Cave City. But I'm getting ahead of myself...
My Triumph Tiger would be pulling duty for this roadtrip. First extended trip I've taken it on ... in fact, this is the first real trip for the Tiger period, because Gregger, the original owner, having bought it new in early 2005, had never really taken it on any long trips. Mentioning this reminds me that I've never actually written about how the Tiger came to take up residence in my riding stables here at Road's End. I think all I've said previously is that I wasn't looking for another Tiger -- after having my 2000 model self-destruct on me hundreds of miles from home -- but this one was too good of a deal to pass up. By way of demonstrating the absolutely unparalleled generosity of my two dear friends and traveling companions, I think it's appropriate that I reveal now just exactly how good of a deal I got on that Tiger.
A leftover 2004 model, the Tiger escaped the confines of a dealership in Tyler, TX when Elaine bought it for Greg because I had convinced him to get into adventure touring with me. He got the gorgeous Lucifer Orange 955cc model that I'd originally been lusting after. For financial reasons, I had settled for a used 2000 885cc model. At my urging, Greg installed knobbies (Metzler Karoos to be specific) on the big ol' beast, but he never made it home from the dealership with them. If you've ever put knobbies on a big heavy bike like this, you know that floating feeling you get from the front end as the knobs flex and squirm. For a lifelong pavement junky accustomed to precise front end feedback, that sudden sensory depravation is a bit disconcerting, if not out-and-out terrifying. Greg hated it. He turned the motorcycle around, went back to the bike shop, and ordered them to remount his street tires. While I went on to ride my overweight Tiger in lots of places that it was ill-suited for -- like the White Rim Trail in Utah! -- Greg never took his offroad, even though he'd spent lots of money on crash bars, oil and radiator guards, and other offroad goodies. Subsequent attempts to interest him in getting dirty with me, whether it be on dualsport/adventure bikes or actual dirtbikes, have all failed. He doesn't know what he's missing, of course, so I'll keep after him. Maybe one day I'll succeed in getting him off pavement.
Greg and his brand new Tiger, 9 Jan 2005.
But he kept the Tiger anyway, because, well, it's a great bike.
Fast forward a couple years. Greg and Elaine decided they needed a new Goldwing on which to do some two-up touring. Their garage actually housed three bikes: the aforementioned Tiger, a red Honda VFR (attentive readers will remember the Viffer from my previous roadtrips to Colorado, Big Bend National Park, etc with Greg), and a Honda VTX1800 cruiser. Their plan was to trade in all three motorcycles on the Goldwing. When Elaine told me that, I casually mentioned that if I had the money I would gladly take the Tiger off their hands. Even though my first relationship with a Tiger had ended badly, I had fond memories of traveling on the bike and thought Greg's Tiger, with the three factory hardbags (he added a top case after buying it), would make an excellent traveling machine. It only had 12,000 miles on it, was absolutely spotless, and I knew the Honda dealer was going to take it from them for a song.
Sadly, my finances at the time weren't up to the task of acquiring the Tiger. I had other bike payments to make and plans to add at least one more new bike to my stables. When I told Elaine that I couldn't afford the Tiger, she said, "Oh, what the hell, you know we love you and we'd really like you to have the Tiger. We only owe payments on it for two more years. Take over the payments and the bike is yours."
It was a hell of an offer. It was generosity beyond anything expected. Still, when I sat back down and examined my finances again, I realized my situation hadn't changed. With everything else I had going on, plus tire and travel expenses, I couldn't afford the payments, even for two years. "Elaine," I said, "you're the sweetest, most giving person I have ever met and I can't thank you enough for making such a generous offer ... but I just can't afford it right now."
Her response floored me.
"Just come get it anyway. I really want you to have it and can't bear to trade it in."
"Elaine, I can't let you do that!"
"Sure you can. Come get it. I'll figure out how to pay it off and send you the title later. It's yours, Brian."
So back in March, I drove my truck down to Irving and loaded up the Tiger. While there, I rode Greg's VFR to the Honda dealership for him (so he could trade it in along with the VTX), helped them pick out their brand new Goldwing, and accompanied Greg (me on the Tiger) for the Goldwing's first outing, several hundred miles of rural Texas roads southwest of Fort Worth. Two months later, Elaine mailed me the title to the Tiger, as promised.
Whazzat orange thang in the back of your pickemup truck, bah?
And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, tells you most of what you need to know about the nature of my traveling companions. Caring and generous to a fault. Willing to do most anything for those they love. Money is insignificant, you see; the joy in a friend's eyes when he sits on a big beautiful orange motorcycle is priceless. Thank you again, Greg and Elaine. I love you guys.
But we've got riding to do and a story to tell. Where were we? Oh yes ... Day One ... I got off work that afternoon, hopped on the Tiger -- packed the night before, of course (with plenty of room left in the saddlebags for Elaine's snacks!) -- and headed south for the DFW metroplex. The Tiger knew the way. There was a comfy, familiar spot all ready for it in Greg and Elaine's garage.
Day Two: Friday, October 5th
Irving to Nashville, TN
700 Miles
We all agreed this would be a much more relaxing "Take our time" kinda trip -- nothing like our last adventure! For one thing, we no longer had the advantage of the extended daylight hours of summer. It would be dark by 6:30 or 7, and neither of us really care for the added risk of riding at night. For another, Elaine said she just wasn't going to tolerate that whole "looking for a place to sleep at 10 o'clock at night" bidness again.
However, because Elaine had a cabin reserved in Asheville, NC for Saturday and Sunday, we needed to make tracks this first day. The fun stuff would come later. Taskmaster that he is, the Alien said he would be dragging everyone out of bed at 5 a.m., tossing them on motorcycles even if they were still in their pee-jammies, and hitting the interslab for some hardcore mileage. Elaine and I yawned at him ... Whatever, dude. We ain't skeered a' you. Eat yer oatmeal and behave yerself. Elaine's primary concern was breakfast, of course. The plan was to stop and eat as soon as we cleared DFW traffic. As often as I've left out of there in the wee hours, it still amazes me how much traffic you'll find on the roads. You can keep Dallas -- and all other major metropolises -- as far as I'm concerned. I like my home in the sticks.
Anyway, we packed our things and finished loading the bikes. First ritual of the morning for me was hugging my bag. I'm talking about the red dry bag -- a kayaking bag actually -- that I strap on the back of the bike. I could fit everything I needed for the trip in the Tiger's hardbags, but that wouldn't leave room for Elaine's snacks and their raingear, cold weather gear, and stuff. Plus, it's convenient to just grab the dry bag off the bike and carry it into the hotel at night. In order to get the dry bag closed up nice and compact and watertight, it helps to get the air out of it. Only way I've found to do that is wrap my arms around it and give it a big ol' bear hug just prior to rolling down the top and snapping it closed. "I love you, bag." It's become a morning ritual on our road trips. A smart designer would have installed an air relief valve in the side of the bag, of course. I keep thinking one day I might get around to doing that myself.
Other business of the morning was communications. On the Wing, Greg and Elaine have a hardwired intercom. They plug in and can talk to their heart's content. Last trip, we tried using CB radios to communicate bike-to-bike, but it really hadn't worked out well, mainly cause Greg would rather listen to his satellite radio. Can't really say as I blame him. Listening to the static and mindless trucker mendacity of a CB radio on the off chance I've got something interesting to say...? No thanks.
As you're no doubt aware, Bluetooth technology has really taken off recently. Manufacturers have been fairly quick to target motorcycle riders with helmet-based Bluetooth technology. After all, if all the minivan driving soccer moms are cruising around talking on the phone instead of concentrating on their driving, shouldn't we motorcyclists have the same rights?
I read a review or two about the BlueAnt company and their Interphone Motorcycle Helmet Kit. The innovative thing about the Interphone is that it works as an intercom, connecting one Interphone device to another via a true duplex Bluetooth channel. In other words, not only can you use your Bluetooth-enabled cell phone and make a phone call while hauling ass through the twisties, you can also talk to another rider whose helmet is likewise outfitted with an Interphone. Rechargeable. Up to 5 hours of active battery time. Good for 500 meters (even when hauling ass on our scooters, we're rarely separated by that great of a distance). I was skeptical, but the reviews were good. We decided to give them a try.
I charged them up and installed them in my helmet and Elaine's helmet the night before we left. The two of us then ran around outside the house like a couple little kids on Christmas morning with brand new walkie-talkies (except we looked like nuts cause we were wearing our helmets). "Can you hear me now?" "What about now?" They worked great.
Over the course of the next nine days on the road, the BlueAnt Interphones impressed me. I was able to talk to Elaine and she could relay information between me and Gregger. I can't recommend these things enough for rider-to-passenger (much more convenient than a hard-wired system, you can keep talking while one of you gets off the bike and runs into a gas station or something) and rider-to-rider communications. They're not perfect, but they did exceed my expectations. My only real complaints are battery time and wind noise at speeds above 80 mph. We never got more than four hours out of the batteries. Of course, Elaine talked continuously and her unit was always the first to go dead, undoubtedly because it was constantly transmitting to mine. (I assume transmitting consumes more power than receiving.) Two male riders might be able to get significantly more time out of a single charge. [Yes, I'm ducking and running for cover after typing that statement!] Eventually, we got smart and starting carrying the chargers into restaurants with us at lunchtime, where Elaine would con a waitress into plugging our helmets into a wall socket somewhere. We'd also turn them off occasionally. With these strategies, we were able to get a couple more hours of use out of them each day.
As for the wind noise, I admit that the Tiger's windscreen directs a significant blast of air directly at my helmet. The buffeting on the Tiger is often annoying and even tiring, in fact. Elaine had significantly less trouble understanding me at high speeds than I had understanding her. Whether this was because she was transmitting more wind noise or she was more sheltered from the wind on the Wing, I'm not entirely sure. Results will likely vary by bike, rider, and the helmet in which the units are installed. But these are niggling complaints about a product that worked very well indeed. (Danny and I recently tried the BlueAnts with our dirtbikes. Our range in the trees was reduced to about 100 yards and the wind noise through our dirtbike helmets at anything over 30-40 mph made it really difficult to understand the other rider, but they still added an entertaining and useful element to the offroad experience.)
That morning, of course, leaving Dallas, what I was getting in my ear was "I'm hungry. When are we gonna eat?" Heh heh.
We actually didn't hit the road until sometime after 5:30, despite the Alien's foot-stomping and threats. I-30 carried us to Little Rock, where we hooked a hard right on I-40. Cruising through Memphis, I was reminded that I'd been run down and had my leg broken in six places there in 1981, my first Kawasaki totaled in the process. Salvage yard for the bike, seven weeks in traction for me at the Community Hospital downtown. Nearly a year in a cast. Good times -- not! Other sites in Memphis stirred memories, nostalgia niggling my cortex: Memphis State University (now the University of Memphis, but I refuse to update my brain cells), Raleigh Springs Mall (where I'd managed an imports store while going to college to get my engineering degree), Oshman's Sporting Goods in Germantown (where I'd managed the Guns, Camping, and Fishing Department), Millington (where my father had been stationed at the Navy Base), and so on. It all slipped by in the mirrors pretty fast, though; we were making time.
This was not a day for pictures or much of anything else. Just a lot of miles rolling past my wheels. We had lunch at a Cracker Barrel (the first of many, as the Alien had recently discovered that he really likes their food -- or maybe he just has stock in the company; I dunno). Around 7 that evening, as it was getting dark, we stopped just east of Nashville for dinner at a Ruby Tuesday. The hotel at the same exit was full, so we backtracked two exits and got a room at a Best Western for the night.
We'd done 700 miles. (Greg says the odomoter on the Wing registered 749. I have no idea whether the Wing or the Tiger is correct, but I'll be using the Tiger's mileage throughout this report.) My longest day ever on the Tiger. We were all tired from the mind-numbingly boring day on the Interstate, but Asheville was well within reach.
(Click on Tigger to continue the adventure...)