I had been planning to document my trip much better than I did. I was in a terrible hurry to get home so I didn't stop often to see or take pictures of anything. I wish I'd had more time. As it is, I'll just have to tell you what I can about my travels...
I left Charlotte around 10PM (8PM MST) on Thursday night, heading west on I-85 to Gastonia, then north on NC-321 to Hickory and the I-40 junction, although I overshot 40. Rather than backtrack I stuck to the smaller 70 just north of the interstate. It meant slower speed, but that wasn't such a bad thing for my first few real hours on a bike in years. I had hoped to get as far as Asheville, but I got tired less than an hour short. I found a campground near Old Fort, where I parked, unloaded all my gear, set up my tent then promptly fell asleep.
I woke later than I had planned. I found the campground was actually someone's property -- there was a mobile home where the owner lived, a central cinder block building with bathrooms (complete with showers), a covered area with several picnic tables and a BBQ grill, a small playground, and RV campsites with electric and plumbing hookups all round the circle drive. There was also a small creek running right near where I set my tent up, although I must have been too tired to notice it when I got in.
The owner came around as I was packing up. He asked me for $20 to cover the night of camping. I pulled in around 2AM and was packing up at 7:30 and he wanted $20. Call me crazy, but that seems a bit excessive for 5 hours of tent space. I talked him down to $10 and then we talked about motorcycles for a few minutes. He says "the Cong" used to chase him on his old Honda around Viet Nam. Don't know if I believed him or not, but I found this to be the first of many strange conversations that I wouldn't have had if I had been in a car like everyone else. It seems my motorcycle is a pretty good conversation piece.
Having consulted the map, I found I-40 and made much better time than I had the night before. I stopped for breakfast in Asheville's historic village — McDonald's. But in my defense, it was by far the coolest McDonald's I've ever been in. They had a grand piano in one corner that was programmed to play over and over a small, presumably Victorian, snippet of "live" music. I ordered an orange juice and the big breakfast — pancakes, egg, bacon, the trademark McDonalds hash brown patty thing and a biscuit. Didn't quite finish it all, but it sure hit the spot. And I must say it tasted better for the "live" music accompaniment.
I had hoped to drive by the Biltmore Estate but I didn't want to pay the fee to get in since I just had time for a drive by. The very apt security folks weren't allowing any exceptions, either. Oh well, I tried. The grounds to the info center (much larger than my house) were beautiful.
Back on the road and on through the Smoky Mountains to Tennessee. Amazing. I wish I had more time to take in all the scenery I rode through. Or that I had stopped to take more pictures. I can't believe how green everything was. And all I could see from the road was trees. I-40 takes me all the way to Nashville, and honestly I feel like Tennessee went about as quickly as it does here in this travelogue. I can hardly remember anything after the Smoky Mtns. I would have to check my receipts to even tell you where I stopped for gas or food. I do remember the day started very comfortably (although humid) as I left Asheville, but then quite quickly grew to bloody-well hot and even more humid.
My plan for Nashville had been to make one stop at
Hatch Show Print -- what may be the oldest operating letterpress printshop in America. It's also part of the Country Music Hall of Fame. As it turned out, Nashville has a similar "belt route" freeway (155) around the city so I ended up skirting Nashville almost completely and saved myself hours, although I would really have liked to stop. Now I'll have to go back, you know?
From Nashville, my course heading changed from West to Northwest as I took I-24 toward Clarksville and on to Kentucky. At some point on the road to Kentucky it started raining just a little, and you can't tell it from these photos, but I was bout to hit the worst weather I've ever driven any vehicle in. The clouds opened wide and all I could think of was a waterfall. I kept on, though, passing other motorcyclists who'd sought refuge from the downpour under overpasses. When I started passing 4 x 4's that were pulled over to the side of the road I decided to get off the freeway myself. I took the next exit and pulled into a truckstop, where you'd think I might have the sense to pull the camera out, but you'd be wrong. There was an older couple who were heading the direction I'd just come on their Honda Goldwing. Everyone else I encountered there was driving a 4-wheeled vehicle, and none of them could believe anyone would try to drive a motorcycle in weather like that.
After a while one of the UPS drivers who'd come from the Northwest said it was clearing so I ventured back out. My goal was to make it to St. Louis before bedtime. I-24 took me to I-57 which runs due North to I-64 which leads to St. Louis. In St. Louis I needed to stop and buy a charger for my phone because I'd been planning to plug it in on my motorcycle but it didn't have an electrical accessory charger. That also meant I'd have to stay at a hotel rather than camp as I'd been planning. Oh well, I guess there's nothing wrong with sleeping in a bed and having a hot shower. I found the charger I needed at Target in O'Fallon, Illinois, just a few miles East of St. Louis, and just an hour or so before sunset. Then it was across the mighty Mississippi and a quick wave to the arch as I experienced the only really frightening part of the trip -- merging the freeways of St. Louis. I had decided to get as far West of the city as I could so as to not have to fight any rush-hour traffic the next morning, and I'm not sure if it was just the fact that I was trying to read the signs so I got on the right freeway, if it was the fact that it had just gotten dark, or if St. Louis drivers are just crazy, but that was very literally the only time I'd been even slightly nervous about being on a motorcycle. Not even the torrential rains of a few hours earlier were as bad as that. I ended my day's ride in O'Fallon, Missouri, which is just about as far West of St. Louis as O'Fallon, Illinois is East. If that's not confusing, I don't know what is.
