Maggie Valley

With the camper parked we sat down with a nice cool drink and relaxed. Next thing we see is a slightly mangled bike being bought into the camp on a tow truck with two other bikes following closely behind. A casualty of The Dragon we thought but as we discovered later it was a casualty of the Blue Ridge Parkway. The rider had missed a sign that said “Bump” lost control and gone over a bank. We found a couple of these signs and to be honest I don’t think we would even have a sign for a small bump like that at home. Anyway it put an end to his weekend of riding as his mates went out each day without him. A reminder to us, we would need to be careful.

We had planned to make an early start on our trip to the Dragon but early and us just doesn’t seem to happen!! First delay was when Marty tried to pump up the rear tyre using our cigarette lighter activated pump. It worked in reverse and let the remaining air out. He had to steal 75 cents from the laundry jar and ride up to the garage and buy some air. Our new friend Bob the Harley rider told us a short cut way to get to the Dragon and we were off. It was a beautiful ride thru Cherokee (Indian Reservation territory) and then up into the Smokey Mountains. These are so beautiful that the pictures we took don’t do them justice. Somehow we missed a vital turn on the way down and ended up in Pigeon Forge Tennessee. This town has to be seen to be believed. The main street is just a parade of amusement parks several miles long. The famous Dollywood is here but we weren’t in the least tempted to stray from our mission. I asked a local how to get to Townsend and by the time he had figured it out Marty had sussed it out on the map, so after promising him we would be careful on the winding road that lead to the Foothills Parkway we left the mayhem of Pigeon Forge behind. This road was glorious. Spectacular views over the mountains one way and over the valleys and towns the other. Not to mention the beautiful winding roads and almost no traffic. Before we knew it we were at SR129 – alias The Tail of the Dragon. The fun was about to begin. How I wished I had my own bike

The first few miles up to a lay by where there are stunning views of a lake and dam was a bit ordinary and we both hoped things were going to get better. We weren’t disappointed. No super tight corners but a good curvy road (318 corners in 11 miles). There were heaps of bikes, some going very slow but on the whole they would pull over and let you pass. We had a close encounter with a red Leadwing which came around a corner on our side of the road. He got an earful but I doubt he heard us. We arrived at the end and Marty pulled into the parking area then pulled out even quicker. I was not happy as I had wanted to stop and get the T Shirt so he got a severe bashing both ear and leg. It was ok, he assured me we were just going to ride it again. About ½ a mile into the return run we were passed by some young blokes on sports bikes and a chook chaser. Two corners later the chook chaser was in the bank. His mates had stopped and he looked ok so we continued on. Another contributor to the “Tree of Shame”.
We took a scenic route home following the Fontana Lake and back through Cherokee. About 250 miles of absolutely fabulous riding. God I wished I had my own bike. (But like the moose it is not something he is going to come up with.)

Back at camp Bob came to see how the day had gone. Two hours later he was sharing his peach moonshine with us. It was delicious and two glasses later I had an attack of verbal diarrhea so I was so glad to get to the bar where we had tea, best burgers in the USA, but more importantly lots of coffee to quieten me down. Man that was good stuff. At 10.40pm we were asked to leave as they had shut 40 minutes earlier and all wanted to go home. We returned to camp and had a “rum” nightcap with Bob before calling it a night. It had been a good day.

I had a very quiet morning – blogging and resting. Marty was occupying himself chatting with the guys arriving for the Jampot Rally. Early afternoon the first of the 6 rally rides got underway. 3 Matchy’s and a Norton Commando amongst the BMW’s, Triumphs, Guzzis and even a Harley. We had a great ride over part of the Blue Ridge Parkway. This route follows the Appalachian Mountain chain for 355 miles then skirts the Black Mountains for 114 miles. Elevation ranges from around 650 feet to 6050 feet and the scenery is mesmorisingingly beautiful. The 45mph speed limit is not a hindrance, in fact if you go faster you see nothing.

Friday saw a few more rally participants arrive and we went on two more great rides. The morning ride lead by Horace on his Matchy was over some beautiful quiet back country roads. At times we felt like we were back at home. The afternoon run was through Cherokee into the Smokey National Park where we had a stop. Stopping old bikes once they are going is not always a good idea as Bruce found out when his lovely G80CS refused to start. Marty eventually managed to get it going. I told Bruce he should be glad that Marty wouldn’t be asking the same sort of payment he asks from me when I can’t get my old AJ started. Once we were all going we headed out onto another section of the Parkway. Passed through three tunnels all with strange names. One was Rattlesnake Tunnel and I sure hoped we didn’t run across one. We made a stop at the Masons Monument which was erected in the 1930’s and is still the place where the Masons hold their summer meetings and do the secret hand shake thing. Bruce’s bike refused to start, this time taking a bit more coaxing before it fired into life. Again Marty was the rescuer.

We opted out of the ride on Saturday morning and instead went to the “Wheels thru Time Museum. This is an amazing private collection of American Motorcycles. Some really neat stuff but I found that after two hours all the Harley’s started to look the same so I went into the shop to browse which soon had Marty scurrying out.
Another ride on the Blue Ridge in the afternoon then it was off to Waynesville for the main dinner of the rally. Marty was given a really nice club sweatshirt – a white one so that will be a challenge on wash days. We had traveled over with Bruce and Horace in Bruce’s car. Horace suggested a short cut on the way back and we ended 10 miles up a no exit road, then past a funeral wake in progress which Horace said we could all gate crash and have some more to eat if we wanted. We declined, returning eventually to his campsite for a few beers and lots of tall stories.
Only 5 bikes remained for the Sunday morning ride thankfully one of them was a Matchy so it was still a legitimate rally run. The roads in and around Maggie valley just make you want to ride and ride and ride but all good things come to an end and before we knew it we were the only ones left. Despite being very different from a NZ Jampot Rally we had a great time, meet so many lovely people and were made to feel very welcome. It was worth the “Hanging around” to be here.

Had a lazy afternoon which included riding up to the local trout farm with Bob and his wife Nancy so she could catch a couple of trout for their tea. So easy. Within half an hour she had 4 in the bucket and we were ready to leave. You pay for the trout by weight so the more you catch the more it costs you. State law prevents the farm from beheading the fish but they do gut them and give you a permit to transport them to your dwelling. A little weird we thought but hey we are amongst the hillbillies here.

Our trip to Maggie Valley ended with a visit to the Maggie Valley Opry to see and hear Raymond Fairchild play. Raymond is a 5 times world champion banjo player and is in his 80’s but still plays a mean Banjo and as a sideline makes Moonshine Jelly which I (of course) had to purchase after first having a few free samples before the show. Just as well as he had us and two guys from Peru up on stage singing and clapping our way through a couple of numbers. (Thank goodness it wasn’t pole dancing like Vietnam). I even managed to win a raffle – a Raymond Fairchild CD – a fitting memento to a fun night and stay in a truly wonderful part of the country. It was a great show with the supporting musicians all very accomplished especially the fiddle player. They were real country boys. A support artist, almost as old as Raymond looked very much like our friend Hutch but we knew it wasn’t as he was singing and dancing. I tried to capture this on my camera video, but wasn’t completely successful as I turned the camera around and now all the action is upside down so we have to stand on our heads to watch it.

Next morning we said our goodbyes to Bob and Nancy. Bob gave me a bottle of Moonshine to take on our travels. How lucky was I!! (Speaking to Marty Dickerson a few days later I told him if he was lucky I may still have some left by the time we get back to his place and he replied “You mean I may be lucky if you don’t!)

Too bad we were leaving with so many roads not ridden…………