Motorcycle Trip - Day 2: Blue Ridge Pkwy - Tunnels and Fog to Mr. Pisgah

Overlook near beginning of Parkway

Personal Note:  I took the Labor Day motorcycle adventure recounted on this blog with Steve Winters, my good friend and riding companion.  Steve died just over two weeks after our return in a motorcycle accident.  He was 68.

It's difficult to write about the rest of the trip because Steve was such a part of it.  On the other hand, the story of this trip is in large part the story of Steve's sense of adventure and his determination to live out the dream he had for more than 40 years to travel the Blue Ridge Parkway.

I've decided to go forward with these posts detailing our trip.  The posts are taken from the notes I kept in a journal memorializing events of each day while fresh in my mind -- sometimes adding reflections in the morning while drinking a last cup of coffee before hitting the road. 

These posts are dedicated to Steve, his memory and his spirit.

Day 2:  Tunnels and Fog to Mt. Pisgah

Parkway Overlook reflected in my motorcycle

We entered the Blue Ridge Parkway at mid-afternoon on Friday.  A rustic painted sign declared "You Are Entering the Blue Ridge Parkway."  The first mile post read "469."  

The first impression as we road the two-lane ribbon of blacktop was that it was everything we were looking for.  The sun was bright, bathing the valleys below in glorious afternoon sun.  Clouds were building over the mountains, but that was for later.  For now, we just enjoyed the beauty before us.

It wasn't long before we encountered the first of 25 tunnels on the Parkway.  All but one are in the first 100 miles.  Riding through tunnels in a motorcycle is a different experience than riding in a car - particularly tunnels like those on the Blue Ridge Parkway that have minimal lighting and often curve through the mountain.

Afternoon clouds build over mountains

It is not like riding at night.  The darkness closes in.  You can feel the dampness around you.  The bike seems to move across the road surface, not unlike when riding across a steel grate on a bridge or grooved payment under construction.  And while not getting a good look at the road surface is not particularly important in a car, it is a bit disconcerting on a motorcycle.

But riding the tunnels had the thrill of a new experience. Eyes up. Focus on the light at the end of the tunnel.  And you're through.  And you're smiling.  It's fun - until you ride in a tunnel filled with fog. But more on that later.

We made our first stop at an overlook and just took in the view - and absorbed the fact that we were actually on the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Maybe 45 miles down the road we stopped at a rest area
with a magnificent view of the valleys and mountains.  It was there that we met Myra and Michael, and their friend.  We talked for probably 20 minutes, Steve making new friends as he did everywhere we went.  

Myra and Michael live "just over that mountain."

When Steve asked where the couple was from, we were surprised by the answer.  "See that mountain over there," Myra said. "We're from just on the other side of it."

It seems that for Michael and Myra, the Blue Ridge Parkway was their local place to ride.  They were out for just a short afternoon ride.

When we left the rest area, the clouds were beginning to build.  I put rain covers on my saddle bags, but did not bother with putting on rain gear.  

Fog rolling in across mountains

But it wasn't rain the clouds were bringing.  It was fog. 

Our first night on the Parkway we were to stay at the Mt. Pisgah Inn. Named for the mountain from which Moses saw the Promised Land that he could never enter, Mt. Pisgah is the highest point on the Blue Ridge Parkway.

With late afternoon starting to move toward dusk, we stopped briefly at an overlook about 15 miles from our destination.  We could tell the fog was closing in quickly.

Riding through the fog

We started out on those last 15 miles of the day and suddenly we were enveloped in dense fog.  We rode slowly, visibility down to maybe 50 yards.  Keep in mind that on the Blue Ridge Parkway, you will seldom, if ever, go more than 50 yards without a turn. 

At times the road seemed to momentarily disappear.  We had to touch the brakes just to make sure that we could tell which direction the road was turning. 

Then we came to a tunnel.  A long tunnel.  A long tunnel that curved.

Riding through a tunnel in dense fog is a unique experience.  The fog invades the tunnel.  Your lights reflect off the tunnel walls and into the fog giving it a nearly incandescent look.  You can understand how they could make a horror movie titled "The Fog."

Riding through tunnel in fog

Even more disconcerting is the end of the tunnel.  As you approach the end, it looks like a solid luminescent impenetrable gray wall.  You cannot see anything beyond that wall.  It is not until you are only 20 yards from the end of the tunnel that you can begin to faintly make out that there is something past the end of the tunnel.

We were chilled from the mist in the fog.  We made a short stop to put on our jackets.  We pulled out behind a pickup truck, and his tail lights helped us move through the next stretch of road.

With darkness nearing, we cleared the last tunnel, then just a few more miles down the road pulled into the Mt. Pisgah Inn.  

Exiting the tunnel

We both had a sense of relief, but also of fulfillment and exhilaration.  We had conquered the Dragon, had ridden the first stretch of the Blue Ridge Parkway, and gotten through our first weather challenge.  

We celebrated and relaxed at the Mt. Pisgah Inn restaurant.  Our waitress was Fie (pronounced "Fee"), short for Sophie.  She was probably in her early 40s, but you could tell only if you looked closely and saw the small wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.  She was coolly professional, but as Steve joked and grinned, she warmed up to us.  

Fie was from Huntington Beach, California.  She cam to the area earlier this year to visit relatives.  She intended to do a lease with an option to buy a nearby house, but the deal fell through.  So now she lives in a small cabin with a tin roof that sits by a creek.  She likes the area but is home sick for the sun and ocean in California.  She will work through the hotel's "season" (it closes in November), saving her money for her return to Huntington Beach.   

Steve and I tried local beers: Highland Pale Ale and Mocha Creams Stout.  I had fresh local whole brook trout. Steve, an avid fisherman, made fun of the head and tail on my fish, but admitted that he was impressed with my ability to leave only a cartoon-like skeleton, head and tail attached, when I was done. Though we knew we shouldn't, we both finished up with coffee and the restaurant's desert specialty: French Silk Pie "All In."  It was dense chocolate pie with a delicate graham cracker crust, served with real whipped cream, ice cream and fresh berries.  

No, we shouldn't have eaten it.  But with how everything turned out, I'm glad we shared that desert - and that time together.  It was the best meal we had on the trip.

That night, after dinner, Steve came to my room.  We sat on the balcony, sitting in wooden rockers with a wooden table between us.  I brought out the large plastic flask of Makers 46 bourbon and two glasses -- real glass.  I poured a bit in each, then set the flask on the table between us, within easy reach. 

Rocking chair and view from my room

And we sat.  Sipping bourbon. Listening to the quiet.  Looking into the darkness.  We talked a bit.  About the trip.  About our grown children. About taking a return trip to the New Orleans Jazz Fest this spring.  About Steve's desire to bring his wife Diana back to this place.  

But mostly we just sat.  In the silence.  In the dark.  Neither of us knowing what the future held.