Friday Fast Lane

Bright and early at 0800 hours, we met up at Hellbender's Gas Station in front of Fontana Village with the group to venture on a ride down to Georgia to pick up streetbike legend Chuck Graves (think Graves Yamaha). We took off in a pack of 20 bikes, 19 of the riders in full knee-draggin' leathers, and only Johnny and I rode two-up.

We rode through the twisted mountains of southern NC, whose road pavement plans must have been pulled from a preschool writing tablet for practicing the letter "s". I don't think we saw a straight road until we were well into Northern Georgia. We stopped off at a gas station after an hour and a half of riding to give all 21 of us a rest break. The mountains were cool and breezy, but the afternoon sun of the open Georgia four-lane began to wear on all of us. The guys in full leathers were just starting to feel the intense Southeastern summer heat and 20 minutes in the shade was just enough ease the numbness in the throttle hands and then it was time to gear up and continue on.

The YZFR1 performed solidly as we ripped up I-85 toward Atlanta. The Interstate resonated with the sound of prime street-tuned custom R1s, the dry-clutch rattle of a race replica Ducati, a sweet sweet 1198, and a single Suzuki (courtesy of our friends at SportBikes4Hire). Heavy traffic on I-85 couldn't slow our steady travel for too long and we hit the I-285 bypass toward Augusta within the 45 minutes. Before long, we were on the heels of I-20 toward Conyers, Georgia, where our fine friends at Mountain Motorsports awaited our arrival.

We rode 190 miles expecting to pick up a second group of riders and head to another Yamaha dealership for lunch, but there ended up being a problem with the ancillary dealership. At Mountain Motorsports, we were introduced to the mechanical ingenuity of Graves Yamaha before we met the man himself, Chuck Graves. We marveled at his fierce track-ready bike for over an hour before we charged on through Blood Mountain on our way back to US 129.

This time, we traveled through the stop-and-go traffic of Suwanee, Georgia. Construction to widen the roads also held us up and before long, we were a group of famished and exhausted riders. We stopped off at a Wendy's about 18 miles from the top of Blood Mountain for a quick bite to eat and a half-hour of rest.

Heat and fatigue barreled down on us as we climbed to the curvy peak of Blood Mountain. As scenic as the mountain-scape was, we were unable to absorb all of it because the curvature of the mountain roads required expert skill, proficiency, (and since we were riding two-up) synchronization, teamwork, and 110% of our already-exhausted concentration.

The group split off as Chuck Graves and Shane McCoy raced a different speed and route down the mountain and back to US129. A close group of nine of us stuck together through the tight spiral down of Blood Mountain. There were several curves where the bike got squirrelly and a chicane which nearly claimed us. A brief sprinkle of rain had cooled us down some, but left the roads slippery and the painted lines wet. We came in hot to a right-turning corner and almost immediately had to bear a sharp left with the curve. The front tire hit the wet line in the road and started to wash out. Immediately, Johnny's motocross instinct kicked in and he slid onto the tank--covering my forward-momentum braced hands-- and stuck a foot out to stabilize the bike. His brilliant dirtbike maneuver saved us with about a quarter-inch of sidewall on the tire left for lean room and we continued on for another twenty minutes for tanking up.

It was then, at that gas station just before the end of that mountain, that one of the riders in the pack informed us that our slow-leaking rear tire had gone flat. It's highly likely that we took the downside of the mountain with a flat tire and definite that the pressure in that tire was beyond low for performance travel down a mountain! I have to give credit to Johnny-- it takes intense skill and experience to ride down a tight, curvy mountain, let alone with inadequate pressure in a tire AND a passenger.

218 miles later, we arrived at Fontana Village just in time to see the rest of the party and be assured that everyone in the group made it. We got some victory ice cream after the long ride, then set out for another 27 miles back to the campsite to turn in for the night!

Altogether, we put 500 miles on the bike that Friday. I won the Ironbutt award for riding passenger the whole way (I knew that butt was good for something!) Man, was it sore the next day!

(Blog posted from my mobile phone using AndroBlogger. Pictures from the camera will come later.)