Enjoying The Tours

We've actually been doing a fair bit of riding lately. They haven't been jaw-dropping or awe-inspiring,but they have been enjoyable. And we have found some interesting things along the road.

A couple weeks ago it was a trip to the east. No destination, so we headed towards some unknown roads to see where they would take us. It was a quiet, leisurely ride just choosing roads at random. As lunchtime neared and I came to an intersection I recognized, I knew Subway's was just down the way. Let's see if we could get some Subway's and see if we could find a park.

Ok, the park was out, but Elder Mill Covered Bridge was just down the road. I think the garden club might have a bench to sit on in their little gardens.

Missed out on that score too and wound up spreading our jackets on the gravel. Oilburner wanted to go sit on a rock in, or by, the water...

But I nixed that idea when I discovered all of the paths down were overgrown with poison ivy. I can't help it, with all of the poison ivy in this state, I am always singing the Coasters song of the same name throughout summer.

Much greener now than when we have ever visited here in the past. It was nice and overgrown. But definitely not a forgotten road by the locals. And I wouldn't have minded owning the house right above the river.

Heading home on yet more previously untraveled roads we spotted some insanely ornate structure surrounded by a fence. The slightly run down appearance had me thinking it was some old school. But I wanted a closer look. We found the main entrance to the "Church"...

This structure wasn't the church itself, but rather was originally built to be the pastors residence. When it was completed he said it was too large and ornate and became the "guest" house. This place was a marvel. I just couldn't get over all of the wrought iron, staircases, walkways...everything!

Some members came upon us as we were getting ready to leave. They offered to show us inside, which I readily accepted.

Wow! I was speechless. Thosed curved railings are a marvel. They had quite a few craftsman in the congregation. And the model house is actually of 'The Little White House', FDR's Georigia home in Warm Springs when he came to partake of the geothermal baths. The model is on loan from the state. Why? I don't know. And yes, there are lights behind all the white and red ceiling panels. ;)

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Yesterday was another one of those days that didn't have any hope of coming up with a destination, so it was another thought to just hit the back roads. Oilburner didn't know where to go, and all I knew was that I wanted to leave the state. He was thinking Lake Hartwell on the border of South Carolina. And I thought I would rather enjoy it from the other side. (I was right. The SC side was more likely to follow the river and lake line. GA reserved that for the rich on their dead end streets, or the hill people they were never able to evict and their land would be a superfund site with all of the dead and rotting cars slowly sinking back into the ground.)

We hit the highway (the paved one) to get out of dodge and make tracks towards the border. Close to 40 miles up the road Oilburner's bike and my tummy both need fuel. Two birds, one stone when we stop for bike fuel and there is an attached cafe. Yes, the cafe was on the corner...

After filling everyone up we headed out to find our adventure. I took the GPS out and selected to just head towards a road that sat on the lake, crossed the state line, and wasn't an interstate. This was interesting. I enjoyed turning down a first never traveled road before. Enjoyed going through town, by the newer looking courthouse and along the back of the businesses on Main Street. I don't think we were missing much being on the "wrong" side. I think most of those businesses were empty.

However, I kept seeing a sign for "Traveler's Rest State Historic Site". And it just happened to be in the direction we were headed. So when the sign deviated from our path I had a decision to make. It was actually quite easy...

This place was AMAZING!! The Traveler's Rest was an Inn to service the travelers on the Unicoi Turnpike in the early 1800's. The initial portion of the inn was built in 1815. The size was doubled in 1835. And 85% of that wood is original. Wow!

Now these are rules that I can live by:

The hidden drawers where the owner kept his gold were a little more hidden before someone in the past put drawer pulls on them. Can you identify the hidden drawers?

One of 11 fireplaces in the Inn that are not safe for fires.

How do you make cranberry colored glass? Mix a little gold in during the manufacturing process, of course.

Interesting little bathtub, completely with curves for soaking comfort.

Handrail was carved from a single log.

The cradle was carved from a solid log of Black Cherry

Ghost in the mirror. But I'm more interested in the men's [top] hat box. Never seen one before.

No more than 5 to these beds? No problem!

It's the little things...I've never seen window locks like these. I want!

I uploaded tons of pictures of the Traveler's Rest to Flickr.

We hit the road again and took a wrong turn. Actually...didn't turn, and that was the problem. But the road meandered along the river and I hoped it would be a nice opportunity to cross over into South Carolina. Yeah, that wasn't in the cars, but we stopped to turn around at the old power plant.

So serene!!

The ride through South Carolina was peaceful. We were amazed at how low the water level was. The GPS said we were supposed to be over water. The long grasses convinced me there hadn't been water here for a season or two. We didn't stop for pictures. Wasn't much interesting to photograph, but the views will live in my mind.

The return trip home still held something in store for us. The long way home took us through the granite capital of Georgia...and again past the Guidestones. We were up for a quick stop.

Remember, it's not the destination...it's the journey. Hope you find some special places on your adventures.

Highway Fines

Unfortunately some people can't seem to be responsible and dispose of their waste in a reasonable and adult manner.

No. They have to take their crap to the nearest uninhabited, or merely unlit, road and quickly offload. Therefore I agree with trying to curtail activities like this along beautiful back roads.

But seriously...would you call this a highway??

Wandering in the North

"If you are going to ride naked make sure you have a clean can" the voice intoned.

"The Voice" belonged to Oilburner, and he hadn't quite realized what he had said until it was out and ringing in our ears.  I immediately busted up laughing.  He might actually have blushed a little at that one, if his face could have been seen through the helmet.

I was riding as close to naked as I ever had.  No saddlebags, no top box, no luggage except for the tank bag.  I did still have the luggage racks and windshield, so I wasn't completely bare.

The topic of conversation was the stainless steel "can" (exhaust).  My bike and I had ridden in the rain since the last washing.  And my dogs nose had left slime trails.  The can was desperately dirty and didn't look like the lovely shiny can it can be.

Who cares?  Not me.  I wanted to ride, not was my motorbike!

This was the first perfect autumn weekend and I wasn't wasting it.  Daytime temps were supposed to peak out at 77F (25C).  Humidity should be around 45% mid-day.  It doesn't get much better than this.

Unfortunately I also had an invite to make jam.  I was interested since I have never made it before.  But this day was not made to be spend indoors.

Oilburner and I saddled up and met up with a friend on the road.  No one had a clue where to go, so we just figured "north" into the mountains.  We wound up on some beautiful scenic byways and headed towards Hwy 60, a notoriously enjoyable twisty road up here.  The day was complete with perfect weather, beautiful blue skies and leaf litter scattered across the road.

Our lack of destination gave us roads to head towards, but no restrictions on how we arrived there.  I tried to navigate on the less traveled roads.  I was plagued by slow drivers whenever I had to take the well-known roads.

Our food goal, for lack of finding another place, was the marina at Lake Burton.  The food is good and the place can not be beat for ambiance.

It was a lovely day with no particular place to go.  Such fun taking turns at random.  Sometimes it back fired and we ended up somewhere we had just left.  Other times we were introduced to roads we had never yet met.

I did force us to take the long way home.  Adding a couple extra miles pushed my year-to-date mileage over 9,000 (14,484 km) to keep up with my goal of 1,000 miles (1609 km) per month.  And it also kicked the odometer of the bike to 41,000 miles (65,980 km).  Small victories.  :)

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I knew this trip was more about the ride and less about the scenery.  I knew I wasn't going to be able to play with the cameras, so just brought the point and shoot. I also discovered a way to attach it to my tank bag.  Therefore I was free to learn the complicated art of photography while riding.    I wasn't so successful all of the time.  For not taking many photos, I can't figure out how I had so many to upload.  You can view the more successful ones on Flickr.

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Work has been keeping me tied down lately. We've been working on a product release...that finally occurred last Sunday.  I've been absent in the blogosphere, but look forward to catching up on all of your adventures.  :)  Chat with you soon!

Do They Have One Hell of a Band?

I don't know about you, but I am an horror genre fan from old.  I couldn't tell you which Stephen King book was my first, or even how I got my hands on it.  It had to have been Carrie or Cujo or something.  But I've devoured King's books whenever they become available.  Of course, I do prefer his earlier works more.

Christine will always hold a dear place in my heart.  My dad had a good friend that owned an auto junkyard and his yard contained the wrecks that came out of the movie.  He even had some of the rubber parts from the car that "came back to life".  I must have been about eleven when I crawled through those cars and picked through the junk inside, snooping along floorboards and in trunks for some forgotten treasure.  I might even have a memento or two stashed in a memory box in the garage...

Plymouth Fury.  Photo from web.

I also enjoyed Hell Night with Linda Blair.  That film was shot at a mansion within a couple miles of where I grew up.  I would sneak through the property from the park next door to see the pond and curving staircase in the garden.  But never at night!

Photo from web.

Then there were the Friday the 13th standby's.  My uncle was responsible for starting me down that road.  To this day I still have a problem with murky water.  Canoeing, kayaking, swimming, it doesn't matter.  I get the heebie-jeebies when submerged branches poke up slimy tendrils and scratch along the underside of the boat.  Only able to see a foot down, the branches disappear into darkness.  Who knows what else hides down there?!?  Egads!  Just ask Mr. Oilburner about the canoe in Lake Mead...  He will have a good laugh.

I don't know what it is.  It's some irrational, primitive fear. I can think logically and know I have nothing to fear.  But as soon as I see those wispy branch fingertips grabbing from some unseen depth and scratch along the bottom of the boat like skeletal fingers on a chalkboard all I can wonder about is the dead body snared in the branches just out of my sight.

What does this have to do with riding?  Read Stephen King's short story "You Know They Got a Hell of a Band" in Nightmares & Dreamscapes.  Then ride around the South.

In a nutshell, the story is about a couple, long married with each typifying standard male and female stereotypes.  The wife thinks her husband has to prove he is always right, at any cost.  And the husband thinks the wife harps too much and gets the megrims too quickly.

While take a mini-vacation/road trip they get off the beaten path and find themselves on murky, dark, swampy two lane "trails" without any ability to safely turn around.  Any chances to turn around occurred while the wife slept.  And always one road ahead look promising...until after the next rise when it returned to two dirt lanes with grass growing in between that whispered along the undercarriage of the car.

When hope is waning a sign post appears.  It simple reads:

Welcome to

Rock and Roll Heaven, Ore.

We cook with gas!  So will you!

Then a beautifully paved and painted road rolls out.  And you just can't refuse the enticing asphalt.  

The next rise reveals the perfect little slice of "earth" that is Rock and Roll Heaven, Oregon, complete with perfect church steeples, clean shops along Main Street and even smoke curling from a couple perfect chimneys.

It is always too good to be true...

Mr. Oilburner and I took a relaxing ride along some quiet, almost forgotten back roads.  The kind of roads that no GPS would take any well-apportioned, immaculate Mercedes down.  Roads that any self-respecting yuppies would ever want to see.

Luckily we aren't those.  We took turns that led us in the general direction of our destination.  Roads that weren't traveled, except by the cars that lived on them.

But that is the crux.  Not many people lived on these roads anymore.  It was a little eerie traveling along these roads of second or third growth forest.  Every once in awhile a house would pop up.  It could have been a wood house that was quickly decaying into the trees and vines, left to die of neglect.  It could have been some single-wide trailer that had died in a fire, with insulation stuffing oozing out of the remaining walls.

 

Interspersed within these derelicts would be a house that was still lived in.  Occasionally the dooryard was swept nicely and the porch had rockers and pretty planters.  More likely the property was littered with long planted Detroit iron that was sinking back into the earth with exploding bags of garbage piled around.

People standing around in these yards or walking along the lanes would turn and stare as we passed.  There weren't smiles and waves, and there weren't malicious overtures.  There were unsettling, suspicious stares of people unaccustomed to strangers coming down these roads.

I'm not necessarily a city girl.  But I would probably not be a great rural girl if the rural were of this caliber.  Traveling down these roads made me start thinking Twilight Zone or some Stephen King dimension.  Had we slipped into one?  I always have my suspicions of these dirty, sinking back roads.  Afraid that I will zip around some curve in the road to be presented with the perfect little community...  And wonder if I will have the guts to stop.  Or just continue on through before I become caught in someone else's dream.