Where did we eat that morning? I forget. Elaine could probably tell you, though! Wherever it was, I remember the Alien eating oatmeal. (Remember, we always tease those we love!)

This was another day chalked up to the mindless devouring of miles, primarily on the Interstate -- totally atypical of mine and Gregger's roadtrips. While the miles ticked away, I talked to Elaine via the BlueAnt Interphone, listened to my iPod, and winked at pretty ladies as I passed their cages (not that they could see me through my tinted visor, but on some psychic/pheromonal level, I think they knew -- ha!), and before you knew it we were in Asheville. It was less than 300 miles after all. Hell, I've been known to ride that far for lunch on a Saturday afternoon. I think we rolled up the dirt and gravel road to the aptly named Tranquility Knoll (a rental cabin built by Carl and Linde Lutz) before 3:00 that afternoon.

The cabin was absolutely gorgeous, inside and out, situated among the rolling green Appalachian hills. My first thought was, I could LIVE here! I kept meaning to take some pictures of the inside of the cabin, but I guess I never did. Shame on me. Linde Lutz had done a really nice job of decorating. Rustic charm oozed from every nook and cranny. Not only that, but the cabin had just about every amenity. For this reason, we decided we would do some cooking at the cabin rather than run into town for meals.

After unpacking, Elaine and I took the Tiger into town for groceries. Winding our way along the twisty blacktop back into town, wouldn't you know it, it started to rain! First time I'd ever taken Elaine for a ride, and here we were with the roads turning slick and treacherous. I was more than a little nervous, because I have very little experience riding with a passenger. I could see the oil coming to the surface of the road, shimmering in threatening rainbow hues. This was no straight road; it featured a number of tight curves rated at 20 and 25 mph. Add to all this the fact that neither of us had rain gear. Fortunately, it was a brief shower, passing over completely by the time we got to the grocery store.

"What should we buy?" Elaine asked me. "There was a grill behind the cabin; should we get some steaks?"

I explained what it was, totally amazing Elaine with my secret knowledge of campfire cookery. In the years that I've known her, I've kept my culinary talents under wraps. It's well known that I avoid kitchens. Frankly, I am a consumer, not a provider, when it comes to vittles!

We bought a couple really thick flank steaks, two boneless seasoned chicken breasts, and a buncha fresh vegetables: onions, peppers, string beans, potatoes, mushrooms, etc. Butter. Tin foil. Charcoal. Mountain Dew. Wine. Banana pudding for dessert. Eggs and sausage and biscuits for tomorrow's breakfast. Orange juice. What else? I forget, but it amounted to quite a load for the Tiger. We got some strange looks in the parking lot of the grocery store as we stuffed the Tiger's hardbags to the bursting point and beyond. The ride back to the cabin was a nice one, the pavement having mostly dried out while we shopped.

While Greg started the charcoal, Elaine and I cut up the steaks, the chicken, and the vegetables, then wrapped them in tinfoil with a generous helping of butter, salt, and pepper -- one nice big hobo dinner for each of us. I plopped them into the glowing coals.

"You're putting those directly on the coals?" asked the Alien, taking notes to be transmitted to his home world later.

"Yup. That's how ya do it. You can even cook 'em on the header of your motorcycle if you don't have a fire."

We sat back and sipped our wine, watching the sun take its curtain calls as the tinfoil bundles sizzled merrily.

Thirty minutes later, I dragged the hobo dinners out of the coals. We tore them open on the picnic table and went to feasting. They were absolutely, indescribably delicious. One of the best meals I've ever had outdoors.

The stars came out and blanketed the sky. Crickets sang. The air was fresh and clean, and everything was just ... perfect.


(Click for larger image.)	(Click for larger image.)

A reminder that it really is a small world: the windmill came from San Angelo, TX.

Did I mention that Pierre was along for this trip? Here he is keeping watch over the Tiger. He spent most of the trip clinging to my clutch cable ... except for that time we passed two hot women in a convertible and he leaped off the bike to visit with them for a while, catching up with us later at a fuel stop. Pierre is quite the ladies man -- er, mouse, I mean.