For those of you who don’t want to fool with my multiple flickr sets of trip photos from the Blue Ridge Parkway ride, you can watch a few highlights from the trip on this two-minute video.

Enjoy!

The final leg of the parkway yesterday proved to be some of the most beautiful scenery of the trip. We left Asheville under cloudy skies but as we rode south the sun came out and shone on us from blue skies as we climbed to the highest elevation on the parkway.

The most dramatic view yet came at Buck Springs Gap Overlook, just as slivers of the morning sun appeared from behind the clouds. It wold have been worth the ride just to see that.

We stopped at a few more overlooks as we wound up and down the mountains towards the end of the parkway, meeting a particularly delightful grizzled rider near the highest point. As we chatted with him he told us that he participates in Civil War reenactments.

“Which side do you play?” I asked.

His blue eyes made big “O”s. “The SOU-OUTH!” he replied, clearly incredulous at my ignorant question. I guess it was a foolish question at that.

We left the parkway a little after noon. I was sad to have finished this part but excited to finally ride the Tail of the Dragon at Deal’s Gap that I’ve heard so much about. I knew there would be a lot of motorcycles but was still pretty amazed to round a corner on a country road and come upon a sea of motorcycles in a little parking lot. Leather-clad men and women talked and smoked in little groups before (or after) taking off for the 11-mile stretch of curves we were all here for. I checked out the Tree of Shame, where bikers hang their souvenirs from mishaps on one of the 318 curves, and questioned our sanity for a second.

I went inside the store/restaurant to use the restroom and couldn’t help giggling at the continuous thunder of engines I could hear roaring from inside. I felt a bit like an imposter at this biker hangout despite my chaps and bandana (my biker ‘costume’). Munching on my picnic havarti and baguette sandwich outside on a bench didn’t make me feel any more like a rider. But what a show — one after another bikes took off up the first hill of the dragon.

After we ate it was our turn. The big bike growled up the hill and rounded the first curve. All I could think was how I wished I could drive. This wildly curving road is better than a roller coaster. I was tempted to hold my hands above me like you do going down the first plunge on a coaster. Too soon we came upon a slow truck and SUV and pulled off to let them get ahead. Little sport bikes (aka “crotch rockets”) screamed around a curve and blew past us, leaning into the curves until their knees almost touched the ground. What a blast that must be!

We got to enjoy of a few curves of our own until we got back behind the trucks again — on the bright side, we were behind them as we passed the police car shooting radar. We stopped at a pull-off near the end and gave police reports to the the riders waiting to tackle it from the other end.

From here it was on towards home. I rode in a t-shirt to catch up the color on my arms with my sunburned hands and cheeks. We avoided the super slab (that’s some of my new lingo) and rode home via state highways 411, 68 and highway 27. We outran some rainclouds in the last stretch and rolled into the driveway by 6:30, where my mom (bless her heart) had a home-cooked dinner in progress for us.

It was a great trip — fun riding, beautiful scenery, interesting people — my only regret is that I never did get to have the obligatory ice cream GoldWing riders are supposed to enjoy on a ride.

When Brian and I visited St. Petersburg, I’d see onion domes when I closed my eyes. In Istanbul, I saw minarets. On this trip I see mountains. Now that we’re in North Carolina, the ridges look less like really big hills and more like actual mountains. And today was a mountain day!

After another late breakfast –the Inn at Yonahlossee didn’t begin breakfast until 8 — we left Boone under abundant sunshine (as the Weather Channel described it).

I really geared up for the cold weather I anticipated atop Grandfather Mountain. I broke out the heated jacket for the first time on the trip. Wow — you could ride in Antartica and be ok with that toasty little thing on. But the additional cord (on top of the one for the helmet sound system), not to mention the camera around my neck, got to be cumbersome. I wish there was a way to have all these niceties without so many cords. I walked away from the bike at least twice today, forgetting I was tethered by my helmet mike cord.

One of the landmarks we’ve been waiting for on the trip was Linn Cove Viaduct, an S-shaped bridge hugging Grandfather Mountain. We made the approach from the north today and got to see this engineering marvel from a distance, and ride the most complicated bridge ever built.

We tackled Grandfather Mountain next, the highest point in the Blue Ridge Mountain range, and privately owned. The mountain is recognized as an International Biosphere Reserve. All that is great, but I mainly wanted to see the bears, and my dad wanted to cross the Mile High Bridge. I thought we may do neither when we pulled into the entrance gate and the attendant told us we couldn’t take the motorcycle trailer up. But no worries, she said to leave it in the parking lot and they’d watch it. Then she gave us a somber warning about the switchbacks and required us to read an ominous paragraph about the dangers to motorcycles climbing the mountain. “They have fallen down on the switchbacks,” she said. My dad, who has driven his bike up the half-gravel and guard-rail free Pikes Peak in the Rockies acknowledged her warnings but told her not to worry about us. I was a little nervous, but sat as if glued to the seat.

It was a fun trip up, and I needn’t have worried. We had the summit to ourselves, except for a work crew constructing a new visitor’s center up top, and made the obligatory bridge crossing. My dad of course strode across the squeaking swaying bridge like it was a sidewalk. It made me queasy but I crossed too, stopping to take pictures of the incredible mountain country around us.

We visited the animal habitat on the way back down, and I delighted in looking at the big black bears up close. While I have mixed feelings about them living in captivity, one of them had been rescued from a roadside circus, so I’m sure it has a better life now begging (park approved and sold) treats from the tourists. They acted just like overgrown puppies.

We checked out a bald eagle and white eagle, a cougar (!), an otter who stayed hidden in his trash can and the deer before going back down the mountain. I loved the sign warning visitor not to tease the cougar.

Back on the parkway, we headed south again and pulled off in Little Swizerland at lunch time. What a cute little mountain town, with a cafe, general store and fantastic book store. It was grilled cheese again for lunch today, but this cafe served a “grown up grilled cheese” of smoked gouda and blue cheese on marble rye. I also picked up a bread, cheese and fruit plate for a picnic lunch tomorrow. As we backed out of our parking space in front of the cafe and store everyone eating outside turned to look. I have definitely observed the fascination many people have with the motorcycle on this trip. But this was a first — one guy actually videoed us with his camcorder as we backed out and drove off. Seriously!

We soon reached the detour point where the parkway is closed, but on the advice of the MINI drivers we met earlier in the week, we continued south in order to take tiny route 80 to 70 and I 40. But we couldn’t pass up visiting Mt Michell, the highest point east of the Mississippi so we continued past our turnoff to go there. Even if we hadn’t driven to the mountain, the views alone on this stretch made it worthwhile. And the best part was we got to backtrack and see them twice. We must have looked like a pair of those bobble-head dolls as our heads swiveled left to right to take in the mountain views. Of course the views from the top of Mt Mitchell (6.578 feet) were just stunning. But we had to go back down the mountain and resume the ride.

It’s too bad about the detour, but it turned out that route 80 (a little squiggly grey line on the map) was a blast — switchback after hairpin turn after switchback. My dad leaned that bike into those curves util his foot peg scraped the ground. It was a “wheeee!”-inducing ride.

A quick stretch down 70 and an eyes-squinched-shut 10-minute-hop on 40 and we were back on the parkway. We stopped in the new Destination Center where I’d heard about a movie they show that tells the story of the Parkway through a father/daughter motorcycle trip. How perfect for us to watch that! However they had just screened it for the last time today, and despite my plea (”but we’re on a father daughter motorcycle trip, can’t you play just a part of it for us?”) we didn’t get to watch it.

We cruised the last bit of our route today, arriving below Asheville early enough to walk to dinner near our hotel (yes, I ate at a chain restaurant, but at least I didn’t have to put a helmet back on after my shower) and relax a while before our last day.

Tomorrow will be a long one. We’re finishing the parkway, riding the legendary Tail of the Dragon, and heading back to my parent’s house avoiding Knoxville and I 75. You probably won’t hear from me again until Thursday.

I’m cozied up on a lovely soft bed with a down blanket, I’ve just had a delicious dinner followed by hot cocoa and there are mountains outside my window. I can’t see them but I have the curtain open anyway because I like knowing they’re there. I’ve decided I was supposed to live in the mountains.

So to catch up, last night my dad and I hung out in our ramshackle little pieced-together cabin in the woods at Miracle Farm B&B. It looked like something some kids might put together for a clubhouse with a leftover garden shed and chicken coop, decorated with the stuff your weird aunt Ethel collected before she got sent up state and the things your hippie neighbors left behind when they packed up to walk across the country.

With no tv or other distractions, we played cards after I wrote up a long blog (that I posted tonight when we got back to the wired world). I thumped my dad soundly at poker — he seemed surprised when I took hand after hand with flushes, straights and four of a kind. I’ve always been lucky at poker. Then he beat me at blackjack so we called it even.

Breakfast was delivered in a basket at 8:30 this morning — we were waiting a bit impatiently as we’d been packed and ready to go for some time. The daylight coming in the curtainless windows woke me early. I enjoyed a berry-loaded scone though, and some fruit and juice, leaving my mushroom-laden breakfast tart (I’m allergic to mushrooms) in the compost heap. This was among the more, umm, unique places I’ve stayed. The guest book was full of rave reviews — my best guess is they’re from urban dwellers who’ve never stayed in the country. I’m no stranger to derelict mountain houses and didn’t find a lot of charm in the lodging, though I appreciate what they’re trying to do with using what they have.

Anyway, we hopped on the bike shortly after nine and headed south on the parkway out of Floyd. Our plan was to visit Grandfather Mountain before checking into our rooms at the Inn at Yonahlossee, but we took our time on the 130-mile drive and didn’t come into Boone until after 3 so we’ve moved that until tomorrow.

We stopped at any number of overlooks on the way down, each one with ever more grand sweeping views, and chatted with some more bikers. Today we met three Harley riders from the UP of Michigan and listened to their riding stories in their fantastic “yooper” accents. They’d ridden in every state. I enjoyed hearing the guys and my dad share stories and consult their map, giving advice on great rides. Bikers meet no strangers.

We stopped for lunch at a coffee shop — one of the very few dining facilities we’ve seen on the parkway. Some more bikers, Harleys again, pulled in not long after us and of course made a beeline for the chaps-wearing diners to chat. One of them is writing a book on the top 20 overlooks on the parkway and pointed us to one we didn’t know about. We checked it out after lunch and were glad he told us about it. Besides the now-expected dramatic vista, we saw a teeny cabin waaaay below. (It’s at milepost 241 in case you want to see for yourself). The cabin (Basin Creek Homestead) was one of an isolated community destroyed by flooding in 1916. The cabin in one of the few that survived.

We stopped a few more times after lunch, and good thing — the sunshine, pine-scented air and roar of the wind were lulling me almost to sleep. Stopping to stretch and take pictures woke me up. We made it into Boone where I wanted to visit Mast General Store. A review on RoadFood.com claimed

Note that there are several Mast General Stores in the North Carolina Mountains, including ones in Hendersonville, Waynesville, Asheville, and Boone – all of them located in historical buildings. The one in Valle Crucis is the original and most colorful, but the one in Boone features a turn-of-the-century soda fountain, staffed by soda jerks who know how to squirt a vanilla Coke

Guess what? You can’t always believe what you read on the internet. I looked forward all day to that vanilla coke, but there was no soda fountain to be found in the store, and the employee I asked was baffled that I’d even heard such a thing. Ah well.

By now it was raining so we wandered through an antique store across the street. I picked Brian up an antique railroad tie — a nod to his job, and a good souvenir for this area. The lady at the store said she thought it may have come from the Tweetsie Railroad. We couldn’t stay in the antique store all day, so we donned our rain gear and headed towards our inn. I realized for the umpteenth time on this trip that it’s a whole lot different travelling on a motorcycle. We came up a road and had to turn left onto a busy road. Well that’s ok, but it was raining and we sat on a steep hill. I willingly followed instructions to “sit really still” as my dad balanced the bike with one foot on the slippery hill.

I was so, so happy to check into our lovely rooms at the inn. After our “rustic” lodging last night and a grimy roadside Day’s Inn the night before, this mountain lodge with spacious rooms, huge cushy beds and a powerful shower feels like the lap of luxury. It’s not quite the tourist season yet so we got a good rate. If you’re in the Boone or Blowing Rock area of N.C., I highly recommend it.

We met a local couple for dinner — I know Ann from the Slow Travel boards, and she kindly asked us to join her and her husband for dinner, and picked us up! We ate at Bistro Roca & Antlers Bar in Blowing Rock. I’ll food blog it later, so I’ll save the details, but I’ll say that I tried grits for the first time (with my grouper and fresh grilled asparagus), and did I ever like them! After dinner Ann and her husband showed us around town and drove us past some breathtaking views. I really must win the lottery so I can move into a house overlooking these mountains.

[posted a day after the fact because I had no internet at the farm]

We left Bedford early (I wasn’t in any hurry to linger at the affordable but grubby Bedford Days Inn) and took Big Island Highway back up to 501 to rerun a few miles of the Parkway. It was so rainy and cold yesterday when we hit the highest point on the Virginia part of parkway we didn’t catch the pull-off until we’d passed it, and had missed some great views.

We stopped at H&H market, where we’d coasted in on fumes yesterday (ok I exaggerate, but not by much). The same woman working behind the counter last night and the same older man hanging out at a table were both still there and evidently recognized me without my “frog togs” (rain gear). I had asked the woman yesterday if she knew who won the Derby, to be met with a quizzical look. You’d have looked at me too if I’d walked into your teeny one-stop-sign town got up in many bizarre layers of clothes and urgently asked you about a sporting event you’d never heard of. “Did ya find out who won the Derby?” she asked in her Virginia lilt. I told her I did, smiled at the man from yesterday, and went back out to gear up. We were headed to 3900 feet - no real mountain, but bound to be cold on the back of a bike at 9:00 in the morning.

Over my light leather jacket I pulled on my loaner leather jacket and began the rather undignified process of climbing into my chaps in the middle of a parking lot. Shoving my booted feet through the legs was the hardest part but I only almost wiped out once. I really looked the part then, clad head to toe in black leather.

We set out, up, up and away for Apple Mountain Orchard, the highest point on the parkway in Virgina, stopping for some breathtaking scenery. I curse my laziness at not learning how to properly use the camera because my pitiful snapshots can’t begin to capture the sumptuous waves of hills blanketed in a thousand and one shades of green.

We reached 53 degrees at the top - I was happy to be in the gear, for sure. Apple Mountain Orchard is not - as I thought when I read it on the map - an orchard at all. According to the plaque up top, the raging winter storms bringing wind, snow and ice have pruned the lichen-covered red oaks, giving the gnarled trees the appearance of an orchard.

After our photo-op we descended to the lowest point of the parkway in the state, at Otter Creek, where we pulled off for Bedford last night. Following my iron-clad rule to never pass up a bathroom, we stopped at the Peaks of Otter Creek Lodge for a break. We’d had dinner here last night - mediocre fried catfish and acceptable macaroni and cheese and sweet potato fries for me (I can’t complain for $6.95 though) and something called a hamburger steak with mashed potatoes and gravy for my dad.

It was much nicer to leave in the bright clear morning air than it was to leave last night in the dark amid sprinkles. Deer-spotting for 10 miles in the dark was not a relaxing after-dinner pastime.

I wanted to check out the City Market in downtown Roanoke - it looked to contain a thriving farmer’s market and a number of interesting shops. Well that was a bust. Perhaps on the web site that says the market is open seven days a week they could mention there are about three stalls open on Sunday. We did get to enjoy a couple of white-haired fellows playing four-string tenor banjo. They performed a toe-tapping Suwannee River and Oh Susannah before we left the lackluster little market to get back on the parkway.

We pulled off soon for lunch. My dad, full of confidence in the capacity of his bike’s trailer, and foresight in the lack of picnic tables, brought along two camp chairs. We pulled them out, plopped the cooler between us and munched on sandwiches in under the warm blue sky, with a view to die for. I still had some yummy homemade cheese and bread from the farmer’s market in Staunton yesterday so I had an apple and cheese sandwich. Yum!

We swung by the visitor’s center at Explore Park (see ironclad rule above) and checked out a full length topographical diorama of the parkway. It’s hard to image when you see how the road runs along the ridges how they could have engineered such a thing.

We meandered on down the road, stopping every so often to stretch. I’m getting a little more used to the seat and the spraddle-legged position but I still have to stand up every half hour or so. I also have to tear the helmet from my head and rub my scalp - where my hair lies flat in one place under the bandana and helmet it becomes tender and painful.

We talked to a Harley rider from Maine at Pine Spur Overlook and swapped travel stories while he admired the Goldwing and all its accoutrements. Then a couple guys in a MINI headed north gave us some detour warnings and shared their detour map with us.

A few miles down the road we stopped at Rock Castle Gorge (my dad said, “there’s a GoldWing, let’s stop”). We met Carlos and Pam who recently moved to Floyd. More travel tale swapping ensued. They had our stories beat all to pieces though, with stories of racing camels in Qatar where they’d spent some time with the military. We traded photo-taking duties and chatted with them for a while before hopping back on to head for Mabry Mill.

This Appalachian heritage site is known as the most-photographed place on the Parkway and for good reason. I burned through the memory card like everyone else there. There was no rush to get anywhere so I took my time playing with film speeds and got some nice shots.

We had set up for the obligatory motorcycle-in-front-of-the-mill shot when a couple guys and a woman stopped to ask if we’d like our photo together. Considering that all but one picture we have so far is of only one or the other of us, we were thrilled that he asked. These guys were on Harleys so of course we chatted with them for a while too, comparing IronButt stories. (I have half an Iron Butt for my 500-mile ride on Thursday.)

We turned around and headed back north a few miles to turn off on 8 for Floyd. Like all the roads around here, this curving, hilly road seemed made for a motorcycle.

We stopped at the Old Country Store in Floyd - unfortunately their bluegrass jamborees are only on Friday nights. Then we headed for our B&B (Miracle Farm) another few miles outside of town. I was a little nervous about the gravel drive but we made it. Karen and Ed welcomed us and Karen showed us to our “Creekside Rustic” cabin. This crooked little cabin sits on a creek, which I can hear now as I type.

We decided not to venture back out and risk being out again after dark, so I went up to the main house to borrow some butter to make grilled cheeses with our picnic supplies. “Do you want anything else?” Karen asked. “A pickle would be nice,” I promptly replied. Naturally they had a big jar of homemade pickles, so back to the cabin I went. After a shower in the teensy bathroom I wandered around the property and played in the creek. Not the way I played in the creek when I was a kid, though this reminded me of it. No, I stuck the camera as close to the water as I dared and took pictures of the water cascading over the rocks.

We cooked up our simple dinner and sans tv, radio or internet, I sat down to label photos and work on my blog. And there you have it - the reason for my 1400 word opus. Breakfast arrives between 8:30 and 9 tomorrow so we can’t go to sleep early. Better to write and stay awake as long as I can. The sun will come early through that non-shaded bay window.