Tennessee on my mind.......

[TexasShadow]

Flat Tire Mountain

I almost didn't get there from here.

According to the map I had, Hwy 143 split shortly after Thunder Mountain: veer left (N) and it intersects with 219, Tail of the Dragon and Deal's Gap. Veer right and it goes into Robbinsville. I wanted to do the latter because:
1. get a cup of iced tea or coffee,
2. look for a POI associated with Cherokee
3. just wanted to see what Robbinsville is like.

So I veered right and 143 just plain disappeared. I wandered around several rural backroads looking for SOMETHING! Anything that would steer me in the right direction. Nadda.

I pulled off the third time to check the map and my GPS. I followed the map; okay, the map is useless. On the GPS screen was a network of red broken capillaries of roads, like someone's bad case of broken veins spidering all over the place on their leg. *Sigh...*

I gave up and back tracked to the 'Y' near Thunder Mountain and took the left leg. We'll see where this goes. Oh look! There are highway signs with 'Hwy 143'! And 'This way to Deals Gap'. That's not where I wanted to go. But at this point, I had no recourse but to follow the Magic Signs. At least I knew what road I was on.

Miles, many miles, down the road I saw a directional sign. Hmm.... the arrow pointing ahead reads 'Deals Gap'. The arrow to the right reads 'Robbinsville 1 mile.' Well, Goooooollllly! I think we can get there from here!

I turned right and soon descended into a small mountain town with several streets going this way and that. And no signs. I rode slowly down the street scanning right and left.... Ah, there's a sign for Hwy 143 East! Yea!

I turned and rode on again, now with a bit more confidence in where I was going. Now I needed to find the way to Hwy 28. Wait, now where am I? This signs reads 'Hwy 143 West'. Huh? How did I get turned around?

I turned around and backtracked. I thought. And looked for the Hwy 143 signs going east. Found one, rode on and I was back on a road going west on 143. How the heck did this happen?

Okay, time to be stupid and ask for directions. I rode down a hill, back into town and looked for a likely place to ask for directions. I found a tiny gas station with three people sitting outside gabbing and smoking. I pulled in, flipped up my helmet and shrugged my shoulders, "Help!"

The woman took one look at me with my hands up in the air and laughed, "Are you lost, honey?"

"Yes! For the third time! I'm looking for the intersection of Hwys 143 and 28, called Stecoah."

"Honey, you're not far from there. Go down this street, turn left at the signal, then turn right at the next signal. It right near there."

Whew..... I was relieved to know I was back on track. However, I quickly learned that 'right near there' is entirely and indubitably relative. After my last turn, I found the relieving sign of Hwy143 East. That's northeast, of course. No matter, I was back on track. But I was worried that all this lost time made me late and the rest of the crew would be waiting for me, tapping their boots on the pavement and planning what to blame on me.

'Right near there' can be interpreted in so many ways: 1/2 mile, 1 mile, maybe even 2 miles. But many many miles, climbs, descents, windings and sweeps later, one has to wonder what she had in mind when she said that.

The weather was looking ominous again and I was hoping the rain would hold off. It had rained at least once every day, so I knew it was going to at some point. I was right, but I didn't know then how right I was. Or underright, if that is a word. If not, I'm using it anyway.

I finally reached another hill and a sign that read "Stecoah Gap 3,165 feet'. Wow, I was higher than I thought. And what goes up,must come down, including motorcycles. Rounding a curve and there was a looooooong way down pavement, and a dead end into another road. Luckily, a sign warned of junction Hwy 28. Yea! I'll be there soon and they won't have to wait anymore!

Wrong. I reached the bottom of the hill in second gear (it was that steep) and saw.............nothing. Road and trees that way, road and trees the other way. Shoot. Where can I pull off and wait? Another motorcycle behind me passed and shot off to the left....towards Deal's Gap. I spotted a meager gravel pulloff a few hundred feet on the other side of Hwy 28. Anyone coming from the west around that curve will see me. I'll pull off there.

Pulled off, removed helmet with relief, layed gloves on the handlebar, sat on the bike, and waited. Zooooommm........ cars, trucks, bikes went by. I watched with trepidation as long semis literally crawl up the steep mountain side going back the way I had just come. I hope those drivers know how to double clutch.

(The road is much steeper than it looks here)

Got tired, got off the bike and waited. It got dark. Started sprinkling. Pulled the raincoat back out and stood underneath a tall pine tree. I had to pee. No place to pee. Drank some water and ate a protein bar. It was now an hour. Bikes passed, waved, and went on. Three cruisers stopped across the road on another gravel pullout to check maps. I heard them discussing where to go, and something about "There has to be a town up ahead. My map is wet; I can't read it. 'Ryson' I think is the name."

I yelled across the highway, "Bryson City" Cherokee is just beyond that."

"Oh! Thank you!!"

They left and I took off the rain jacket again, stuffed it in the tail bag. An hour and 1/2. Now I'm getting worried. What if....? Should I.....? thoughts streamed through my head. I was now worried. A woman in BMW gear stopped in front of me on her BMW sport tourer, asking if I was okay. "Yes, I'm waiting for friend who were supposed to meet me here. But I'm getting worried; I've been here for nearly two hours," I said.

"Maybe they got caught behind a truck," she replied. She nodded and sped off west. Towards the Dragon.

Two hours. Now I'm thinking maybe I should call Jack. My heart is beating fast. And I still have to pee. And it looks like it's going to rain again.

Then I see a black touring bike with rider in black, followed by a cruiser and.... it was the KLR that confirmed for me who this pack was. They pulled in across the road and chattered. Meanwhile, I clamped my mouth shut.

"Man, I'm hungry! Let's get something to eat!"
"Wow, did you.... blah blah blah"

"Um, where the **** have you guys been? I was worried sick! And I have to pee."

The plan at the beginning of the day was for me, Ed, and whomever else wanted, to continue east on to the town of Cherokee, the central main town of the Eastern Band of the Cherokee. I've been wanting to do this for years. Cathy and Tom voiced their participation and I think Janet was ready for anything. So we all geared up and I fell in behind, mouth still clamped shut.

They pulled into a small cafe about a mile down the road. I headed for the bathroom. We sat down and had a very good lunch and relaxed. I don't know how it happens, but I was worn out from waiting. I enjoyed my BLT and iced tea. Then the sky fell.

It didn't just fall, it was driven down. The rain was horizontal and the wind was furious as it pelted the little diner and its windows. Two other riders came in, soaked to their skin, to take refuge. We had finished our meals, but sat there and waited. And waited. It kept coming, now with thunder and lightening. This was a doozy!

The rain finally let up some and we decided to brave the elements and head back to base. The day was growing short and we had no idea what was in store for the weather. No Cherokee for me afterall. We debated the route to return: either the Skyway, which was probably being pelted hard in this storm, or a long southerly route, then west and north. The only straight-ish shot was the Skyway. So we decided to brave it and see how bad it was.

The rain was still falling and the wind was blowing. We ran outside and put on our rain gear, what little we had. I had the rain jacket and that's it. The MX boots kept my feet dry in the water crossings, I hoped it would keep me dry until we returned. I hoped for too much.

I warned the others about the steep hill and a few tight curves at this end of Hwy 143 and we headed back in the rain. We found a gas station with a roof in Robbinsville and most of us gassed up there. Then on we went. My feet were already wet then.

Back on the Cherohala Skyway and we could see how bad the storm was before we got there. Bad. Branches, leaves and debris were in the road and the newly paved section at the east end was slick as can be. We were all very conservative in our speed and curves. As we climbed the skyway, it got worse. More wind, rain, debris, cold, time to go into autopilot mode.

We finally approached the highest part of the ridge -over 4,000 feet- and the wind tossed me side to side, driving rain into my helmet. Everyone seemed to be doing okay, otherwise, and we rode on slowly and cautiously. I was the rear, following Tom with my sister on back, and they followed Ed, who was behind Janet. Janet did an excellent job of piloting the wet mopped crew through the storm until......

Ed swerved off the road to the right ahead and the two of us followed him onto a pullout. Not until I got off the bike and walked up ahead did I realize he had a flat tire. It blew on a curve. He proceeded to quickly remove the wheel and assess that it needed a new tube. Tom helped in is own way while the rest of us made jokes to keep everyone alert. We all kept our helmets on to keep the wind and rain out of our faces and off our heads (except when I shot photos, which I can't do with helmet on); I sang a song about my head being in a fishbowl.

And then I saw the sign, "Santeelah Gap 5,390 feet'. We were at the highest point on the Skyway.

"I dub thee 'Flat Tire Mountain'!!!!", I yelled. Glad I could get some of them to laugh in this meltdown. Man, it was windy........

I was amazed to see two other riders come around the curve from the west. 'So we aren't the only crazy dudes up here!', I thought. They waved, we waved. 'Carry on, Bro's.'

Ed got his tire back on, we settled our weary wet butts on our saddles and pulled out to head west once more. I settled my chest on the gas tank behind the windshield and occasionally swiped my face shield. There's no way I can keep myself dry in this, so I calmly accepted the wet and cold and gave in. "Autopilot, take me back."

The weather broke up as we descended the Skyway and into Tellico Plains. We all were bushed and wanted something hot, to sit on something that didn't glide on scattered leaves and rain, and to removed our soaked gloves and gear. We pulled into the Tellico Cafe again for coffee, tea or whatever felt good. I had a plate of spaghetti (a one or twice/year treat) with coffee.

We laughed, told stories, related moments we had just passed through and tossed around anecdotes. It was a good day, an adventure and we all made it through just fine (except my feet now in an inch of water). Janet headed back to Sweetwater and the remainder of us returned to camp to take hot showers and dry our gear/clothes/boots. Luckily, Jack and Lori stock boot dryers in the cabins, so I borrowed one to put my boots and Tom's on to dry overnight. Then we proceeded to retell stories to Jack and Lori, and we told him about the new Flat Tire Mountain.

I slept like a log that night.

 

[DLSGAP]

Great write up...

Having grown up at Deals Gap and living in Knoxville for a while there-after, I can assure you that while you hit many of the great roads of the immediate area, you missed ALOT of them as well... guess another trip is in order

 

[ed29]

That is understood, and embraced. It means that several trips can be made in the future with lots of exploring to do. Pavement is just the tip of the 'burg too.

 

[TexasShadow]

Mudholes and Snake Roads

Our second to last day Jack led us on another ride. This time we rode the back country north of the Cherohala Skyway. I can't remember all the roads; I was like the fly on a motorcycle: along for the ride. That's all I wanted to do: ride the back country and remove myself from time and space.

We began the day riding a narrow country barely-paved road (the one road for which I remember the name: Rafter Rd.) which followed the creek and snaked parallel to the Skyway.....above us. We stopped at a whimsical building for which his sister is responsible for 'decorating'. I like her sense of humor.

Like many of the country roads here, they snake in between farms, gigantic vegetable gardens, cow and horse pastures, small humble farm homes and lots lots of very green trees. Some of these roads are barely wide enough for a car or truck and 'pavement' is a misnomer. Invariably, many of them change into gravel roads, especially when entering the national forest land. We rode most of roads like these for the rest of the ride that day.

If there's anything I miss from the east it is the rivers, creeks and streams. Here they are pristine, clean and pure. We saw and crossed many of these.

We stopped a few times to just soak it in.

To be continued......

 

[TexasShadow]

We continued riding on these gravel roads. Contentedly.

And climbed higher. Stopping for a break and a photo op here and there.

The storm the day before had watered the gavel down really well. Everything was still moist, if not wet. My nose was inundated by moist earth and leaves. Debris scattered the roads here and there. A few mudholes appeared but nothing unnavigable. Best of all, dust was non-existent. This was the first day off-road I wasn't eating dust; I rode in the rear all the time, which I prefer to do. Then I can go at my own pace. It was only the last day off-road (Saturday) that my speed picked up; I wasn't in a hurry, I felt full of it (playful) for some reason.

Gravel roads snaked up mountain sides as if they were snake tracks in between giant trees. Occasionally a gap would present a view.

And then we rode the snake roads down. All through the week riding in these forests, I was amazed and enchanted by the dense stands of rhododendrons. Only in the Doug Fir forests of the Oregon mountains have I seen them so large and densely packed. They are easily distinguished by their large broad evergreen leaves, but clusters of their wonderful flowers were elusive. That day, we caught sight of a few, but they were difficult to photograph: either too deep in the forest, down or up a hillside, or way up high in the canopy. Finally Jack was able to bend one branch to his will, offering me an opportunity to capture their large flowers.

I love these forest roads. These back country roads here, and those in the desert, are really why I ride a bike. It's not the speed, the chase, or to see how many miles I can cover in a day. It is the ability and opportunity to immerse myself in the surroundings. To take the road or trail that is less traveled. To go where few wheels go. It's the stillness, the solitude, the remoteness and serenity; the pastoral and sublime. The only better way to traverse these trails is on a horse. And, in some respect, my two bikes are my horses.

Eventually we rode down near Citico Creek and Indian Boundary areas. These areas were once hunting grounds for Cherokees of the Overhill Towns. Many of the sites upon which those towns stood are now under water. Yet soon we would be riding on an old Cherokee trail, later used by the British and revolutionaries, the Unionists and Confederates, and now spinning wheels from all over the country.

To be continued.....Riding through history: massacres and the largest Cherokee nation-town

 

[achesley]

Great photos and story. Thanks for taking the time and efforts to share the journey. Been entirely too long since I've been in that area.

 

[TexasShadow]

Blending of Time and Space

One of the reasons -probably the biggest reason- I ride a bike is navigating through time and space -past, present, future- on the landscape. What is 'landscape'? It is the collective overlap of physical environment and cultural environment. Both have multiple layers of time in space. Many times the artificial divide between conceptions of 'past' and 'present' blur. Most of all, being immersed in the surrounding environment can facilitate meaning and place-making.

I've always been interested in how people view places and how people create meaning through places. I try to listen to the voices, the versions and the scenes. I don't restrict meaning to organized tours, glossy brochures and pamphlets, but try to really find and listen to the many voices of a landscape. Even the quiet one of the physical environment, for it is not really silent.

Several things struck me during both my visits to Tennessee; more pronounced this visit than the first. One was naming -names we attach to the physical landscape (called toponyms). They contrast like polar opposites to toponyms in Texas. Another is dominant voices in the past, and the present. The former amused me, while the latter was a source of disappointment. I'll explain why later.

Regardless, the last two days in TN both of these came to a head. It began earlier riding on the Joe Brown Highway, and continued growing to the surface. So my story begins here, at a site in Belltown.

 

[Stromboy]

That's what they get for tresspassing.

Randy

 

[TexasShadow]

Voices on the land

That's what they get for tresspassing.

I nearly spit out my iced tea......

In a sense, you are right. But, as with most human interactions (especially with many divergent concepts of right, wrong, land, values, etc), it's way more complicated that that.

But this is a good example of sequent occupance, the process by which a landscape is gradually transformed by a succession of occupying populations. All the physical environment on this continent has a human imprint at some time or another in space (here's that space and time continuum). Each population modifies the landscape left by the previous group. It's the landscape's dynamic character.

It's like biological genetics: any landscape has roots in a previous landscape and that is linked to it forbear and to its offspring. What interests me are they evolutionary and dynamic nature of the landscape as shaped not only the earth itself, but also by all living things, including successive human cultures and populations. (this reminds me of my studies in forestry and silvaculture)

Many times in Tennessee I found myself drawing comparisons -differences and similarities- to landscapes in Texas and Oregon. Tennessee is too much like Maine to tickle my deep curiosity, but one reminder that surfaced often was that many many settlers that came to Texas were from Tennessee. I often wondered.... why? (I still do)

Another interest was the Cherokee. My great-grandmother was Cherokee. That does not make me Cherokee or Indian, nor do I pretend to be. But I am curious not only about her and her people, but the interactions of the indigenous peoples on this continent and the Anglos. They were a world apart; in some ways, they still are. Like with my German colleague and his own country, the question remains: "Why??" I'm still trying to understand. In looking for answers, I learn more about people, why we do what we do, why we are what we are, who we might become, and our interactions with the landscape.

It all ties in, in various ways.

I learned some time ago that there were, and still are, Texas Cherokees. I thought that visiting the Nation in Oklahoma might enlighten me. Then I realized that they are too removed from their birthlands; the landscape that formed them as a large Nation in the southeast, and upon which they imprinted their culture for hundreds of years. There lies the origins of their mythology, beliefs, values, family histories, their pains and joys. When you want to know the 'truth', go to the source. But that can be misleading, too.

An archeologist/cultural geographer puts it in perspective: "Heritage sites are an organizing medium through which communities remember, consumed as place and experience by tourists seeking "authentic" "reconstructions" of the past. But heritage sites are always inventions, offering for consumption selective versions of the past. Definitions of authenticity and heritage, far from being politically neutral, hinge on who has the authority and power to define the authentic. Those who define authenticity will be able to have their account of history accepted as the public version." (Jakob Crockett)

So can one find the 'truth'? Or instead a construction of a 'less-false' reality? The keys in any landscape -both physical and cultural- are voice, authority and authenticity. A convergence of these concerns helps produce a meaningful history. That is what I sought in Tennessee. It is what I try to find where ever I go; even Terlingua and Big Bend. It makes it more real.

During this trip to TN I was fortunate to spend time with Jack, a Tennessee native boy whose family, and family's family, grew in that area of Tellico Plains. His voice, as well as that of his family by way of his family stories, enriched the visit. I learned more about the area than I could ever have as a typical tourist or vacationer. We rode through areas rich in history: physical remnants of previous occupants, their stories, his stories... voices. This was supplemented with quite a bit of reading before and after the week-long visit and from various sources. And maps. Lots of maps. And that is where the authority and authenticity come in.

I noticed last year and later that historical signs, brochures, articles, books and papers, (even maps) are many times inconsistent, sometimes even contradictory. I notice that here in Texas; a lot. But now I know why. So I wondered if anyone can ever know the 'facts.' But then, are the 'facts' the only important thing in history? In people? (harken back to sitting at your school desk reading about dates and events in history class, wondering why you had to memorize them, and who cares anyway?)

Facts are important, but only to pinpoint an event spatiotemporally; in time and space. The most important is meaning, the ways people have always created meaning through place and time. This develops meaningful history. People create history by things that they do, believe, say, sing, write, create and destroy: social action in time and in places. It engages people, elicits connections and incites empathy. Most of all, it shows people that many aspects of contemporary social and economic life that are taken for granted are neither 'natural' or inevitable. Rather, they are open to question, challenge and even change. As the old adage goes: 'Why don't we ever learn from history?"

So, from that long introduction, I introduce Fort Louden. It was a fort built by the British around 1746 when the southeastern indigenous nations -Cherokee, Creek, Seminole, and Chocktaw- were caught in the middle of a land lust and political volleyball between the British and the French. Both imperialists played the indigenous nations against the other with the same end in mind: to get their land. The ugly head of imperialism and land-hunger.

The Native Americans and the Anglo-Europeans -and later, the Euro-Americans- had more similarities than differences. (I refer those interested in this discourse to the most complete examination of this topic: A Strange Likeness: Becoming Red and White in Eighteenth-century North America, by Nancy Shoemaker, Oxford University Press, 2004.) The only great gap was in the concept of land. And the landscape. We're still far from settling this issue and bridging the gaps. Thus, in essence, Randy; you are right.

It was a time of tit-for-tat. The French built a fort, so the British had to build two forts. Both professed 'friendship' and trade relationships with the tribes. As long as they were loyal to one. Another bait was the Shawnees, who had aligned themselves with the French, and who were sworn enemies of nearly all the southeastern tribes. So it was like an eight ball game on a pool table of thousands of forested acres rich in game, timber and water. Just don't hit the white ball in the hole.

Fort Louden was built near the Overhill towns and north of Great Tellico, once the largest and most powerful chief town in the entire Cherokee Nation, and for a long time, amongst the Overhill Towns. Great Tellico was only a mile or so from the modern town of Tellico Plains. We rode through it, or on it. Nothing remains now.

Relations with the Cherokee were shaky and tense due to the current of power play between the British and French, and the fluctuating loyalties of the various tribes in the region. What neither the French or British understood was that loyalty meant different things to the natives. And loyalty from one local tribe was not loyalty of the entire tribal nation.

The native peoples had no central government or leadership. Each town had two chiefs: the war chief and the principle chief, who was responsible for civil matters. Sometimes they didn't agree on things, either. Regardless, the Europeans, and even the new Americans, couldn't seem to get it through their heads that the native peoples didn't share the same social and political structure that came across on the boats. They continued to see through European eyes. And they ignored the voices from the new lands. Never did the twain meet. Instead, they always clashed.

After a long series of tit-for-tat skirmishes - Europeans killing a group or town of natives, the natives retaliating likewise (another value intrinsic in all the tribes across the continent was clan revenge: tit-for-tat. But then, the Europeans proved to be no different in that respect, they just performed it differently and blamed everyone else)- a fox of a Governor (of S. Carolina) at another British fort, Fort Prince George, captured under ruse an invited delegation of Cherokee peace makers, imprisoned them, abused them and killed several.

A group of Cherokee warriors retaliated, killing a Lieutenant sent to meet with another Cherokee group outside the fort. The English then killed the remaining Cherokee prisoners in the fort. Of course, this incited the rest of the Cherokee nation and a large contingency attacked Fort Louden in 1760. After four days of attacks, the Cherokee fighters appeared to abandon the siege (a common Indian war strategy) and killed two soldiers when they left the fort to look for food.

Two Overhill chiefs agreed upon a truce with the Captain of the fort under the condition that all weapons of the remaining garrison be turned over to the Cherokee and they would be transported to Fort Prince George. The garrison left the compound, after they had buried their shot and powder and throwing most of their guns in the creek. They camped on Cane Creek, in the field behind where the historical marker now stands.

In the morning, the garrison troops found that their escort had disappeared and they faced a contingency of Cherokee warriors. They proceeded to fire on each other. Approximately twenty soldiers were killed. One junior officer who had befriended the local native people was spared and allowed to walk away with his life. In fact, he was escorted to the fort with provisions of food and blankets, in peace.

So, here on Belltown Rd, is one example of where one perspective of the landscape, one in time and space, is exhibited. One voice is heard. The others are silent.

Across from the now peaceful field and next to the shaded brook is what remains of an old grist mill. Jack told us stories about the mill and the local area.

We mounted up and rode to a high vantage point that overlooks the Tellico River Valley. It was also another example and perspective of sequent occupance: a subdivision in the mountains.

Here was the first subdivision I've seen during my stay here in TP. A developer bought this mountain and subdivided it into lots and building houses. There were only about five built, but they looked the same. It took me away from Tennessee and I was transported back to Texas. This is what we all see around here and are so used to it that we don't see otherwise. Frankly, I like the pastoral landscape. This seemed to just stir that old crackerbox-feeling I get when ever I pass by or through sub-divisions. Why? Because my concept and preference of the landscape differs from those living in them. Why else would I currently live in the middle of what was not long ago a large cow pasture? I even have a cow or two visit sometimes.

Regardless, the top of the hill was a vacant lot, and the most beautiful given the almost 360 degree view. We unsaddled, un-geared, opened water bottles and..... I don't believe it. There's an orange Port-a-potty. 'I'm going to use it since it's there.'

Below was a manicured hay field with bales dotting the greenscape. According to Jack, it is part of the estate of an actor, whose name I can't remember (I have name amnesia). (I really like the zoom on this new camera )

Turn your head and you are immersed in the waves of green mountains spiked with trees: Cherokee and Natahala National Forests.

A close (very close) look at the mountain in the middle background will reveal a shallow and narrow notch. That is the Cherohala Skyway on it's snake path through the mountains.

It was tough to leave this spot. But now we were starving. We planned on meeting Lori for a late lunch (early dinner?) at the Cat Cafe on the western end of the Skyway.

But first, a side diversion through time with an ironic twist.

 

[TexasShadow]

Ironies

As we headed back to Tellico Plains on Hwy360 (an old Indian and settlers road), Jack led us off the Cherohala Skyway for a quick historical diversion.

We turned right onto the beginning of a small rural road and stopped. Across the Skyway from us was a beautiful bridge. This bridge has been a siren to me since I've been coming here. I want to ride on it. But a gate blocks my way.

The bridge spans the river and leads onto a paved road through a green meadow. There's a few houses scattered in the trees and not far beyond the line of trees is Rafter Rd, the very road we began the day's adventure on. It's a colorful and quaint bridge, fairly new to replace an old one that deteriorated (and before that, it was a footbridge). I asked "Why the gate?".

"On the other side is a new 'subdivision'," he replied. I could sense in his voice the same attitude that I have for modern 'subdivision' communities.

Our attention was then drawn to a historical maker and what is left of the Tellico Iron Works. The text on the marker in the photo is pretty much most of the story. Of course, like most origins of industry in this regio and not related on most of the markers, it was operated mostly by Cherokee residents until 1924.

The large blocks of granite are all that remain of the foundry. The cute little confederate statue is quaint.

What the sign does not tell anyone is that General Sherman stayed in a huge mansion across the road, quite smug with himself and watching the foundry burn through the night. The mansion dominated this location for many decades until several years ago when it too burned, in a blaze of glory through the night.

Irony. In so many ways......

We rode on to Cat's Cafe, run by two charming ladies, and where the menu has creative sandwiches, supplemented by daily specials, and all very very good. And seating outside on the narrow deck over the river, you can watch the fish, birds and turtles.

Again, we ended another full day of riding just as gloriously as the days before. And slept well.

Next: Last day. A full day of back-country riding.

 

[Curtis]

Melissa and I just got back from Deals Gap on the 13th of June.
I would have flipped out had we run into you guys!
We got rained on so bad we gave up and slugged it out home.
But we trailered too as I was in Atlanta on Buisness the first part of the week.
GReat pictures, wish I had been with you guys.

Uh, How did you deal with the vertigo?
I'm still battleing it, but I think mine is more heat related.
Haven't felt well enough to trust myself riding my KLR to work.

Was even off work 3 days last week with it.


Sure do miss my riding.

 

[TexasShadow]

Curtis, we probably passed each other somewhere We drove back Sunday the 14th. Friday and Saturday we spent most of the days in the forests, but got caught in the big storm on Thursday. The crew rode the Dragon and the Gap that day, I meandered in the clouds on the Skyway and then got lost. We rode the skyway in that storm.

I didn't have vertigo despite my penchant for it with heights. I have learned to keep eyeballs on the road surface and ahead when on high narrow roads. But I did start the trip off with NO equilibrium at all. I think I had a pinched nerve (Oh, the nerve of it!).

Humid there, wasn't it? It reminded me why I vowed never to live in the East again.

We'll be going back! Not next year (got other trips in mind), but perhaps the year after that. Jack and Lori plan to bring their dual sports here for a visit, that is, as soon as Lori gets herself one

Don't push yourself with this heat. I remember your history with heat stroke.

 

[TexasShadow]

This day's ride was our last in TN. It was one of the best.

Our total mileage for the day was 112 miles; 80 or more was on gravel roads. It was also one one of my favorite roads: Kimsey Highway, aka FR-68. It used to be a major trail for the Cherokee and grew into a major road for everyone. I fell in love with this road, and the area, when riding the eastern part in October of 2007. This time we rode it in its entirety: west to east. (the map below is only Kimsey Hwy, not our entire route for that day)

We began not on Kimsey, however. We left Hwy 68 south of the river and headed west on McFarland Rd. (all gravel), entering the Cherokee National Forest, then north to the river on more gravel roads. I watched on the GPS where the road parallels the river and slowed down. Somewhere through the trees and down the mountainside was the Hiwassee River and a railroad track.

Finally I could glimpse through the trees something shiney. I stopped the bike, got off and walked the side of the gravel road. Trees crowded the road and it was so quiet, I could hear myself breathe. Searching down over the bank I found what I was looking for. The tracks and the river. Well, parts of it. The road was above both and tree hid each of us.

I wondered if the tracks were still used and while Ed was talking, I heard something. More like, felt it. It was like a glutteral short moan, loud but muffled, and in rhythmic pulses. My hearing and senses were pulled to the sound because I could feel it more than hear it. My head turned and then I realized what it was: a train. And a bright red train it was!! Chugging and slithering between the mountainside and the river, right underneath us.

I tried to catch the beautiful red and black engine but the light was too poor and I wasn't prepared in time. All I caught was the cars as they moved below, a spot of sun shining on the red side of a car. Next time we are back there, I want to ride the train!

We followed the maps to Lost Creek Campground, which is on, guess which creek..... We found it nestled under large trees on the side of a creek and found a campsite we liked (#12) right on the bank. Everything was still wet from the storm two days ago and that musky smell reminded me of so many years ago living and hiking in the forests. We decided to take a break here.

Only two campsites were full, one with a small RV. We chatted with an older man who was retired and spending most of the summer here. He's been coming here for many years. This is like home to him. While they were chatting, I went exploring.

The campground and most of the creek were in deep shade, but sunlight filtered through in a few places. Where it did, light glittered off the rocks and water, and the reflected trees turned the water green.

I could have spent several days there happily. Next time, we're camping here for a night or two on the bikes.

Then it was time to move on again. We would be riding west some more, crossing Hwy 30 and up on some big mountains, riding along a few ridges.

 

[RogerDe]

Great photo's & report , I've gotta go do the mountain's of Tenn. thank's for some great info. about the area...Ride On...

 

[TexasShadow]

Now I can breathe a bit and finish this thread (I hope....).

Our route for the day continued east and connected several ridges. The views were brief because of the dense tree canopies, but the relatively easy ride on those gravel roads permitted me to sightsee and hunt for vista opps as well as enjoy the road.

We rode most of that day in the far eastern area of the Cherokee National Forest, south of Hiwassee River and north of the Ocoee River. The area is covered with steep ridges and even an ancient volcano that has worn down like an elder's molars, ground down by weather, water and wind. This area is also rich in history as it was favorite hunting grounds of the Cherokee and other nearby nations (Creek). After deposits of copper and other minerals, even some gold, the Europeans and New Americans forced the Cherokee from their homes, ironically, after many of the Cherokee were conscripted into building roads and foundries. Many of these roads that the Cherokee built were the same that they were marched on during their displacement to Indian Territory.

Oswald Dome Rd (aka FSR 77) runs south-north on the east side of Oswald Dome, a flat mountain that peaks at 2200 feet with McCamy Ridge. The road follows the edge of the dome at 2000 feet, then heads down the edge of the dome through a gulley (a rather big one) on Benton Springs Rd. Which ends up in Benton Springs. A few miles before the turnoff is a national park campground and recreational area on a reservoir. From that point the road is paved. The campground was absolutely packed with kids and weekenders playing in the water. The closer we rode the bikes there, the more the line grew to enter the campground. We decided to do a U-turn as fast as possible and get away from that.

On the ADV threads (and Jack's recommendation) I had read of a special place to stop where the views were pronominal: The Benton Springs Gazebo. I kept a look out for it and nearly passed it; no signs warned passerbys of its presence. I did a quick right turn into a pull off when I spotted the stone form that looked like it might be a gazebo hidden under trees. I found it!!!!

After stopping to ohhh and awe, we geared up and continued on, winding our way down the side of the ridge towards the highway. Pulling into a lookout area we were treated to magnificent views of the Ocoee River and the lakes below. The ridged undulated with velvet verdure; I wanted to reach out and stroke it like the back of a stretching cat. Birds soared on the thermals below and in front of us. It was an absolutely awesome view.

We reached Hwy 314, the eastern most paved road along the edge of the national forest, going north and south. Turning left we headed south to the Ocoee River and the Ocoee Lake. Turning left heading east on Schizophrenic Hwy (aka Hwys 40, 64, 70 AND also known as Old Copper Rd [the old historic Copper Rd, which the Cherokee constructed for copper miners, runs alongside the new modern highway]). This highway follows the river; many many rafts, canoes and kiyaks dotted the clear blue-green water. It made me want to go in to the water myself.

We then turned north again on Hwy 30; a paved but narrow and very winding road that begins the climb back up into the mountains and national forest. We were looking for the head of my favorite road, Kimsey Mountain Highway, another one of those misnomers. The road is gravel, winding and spiraling up, down and through the mountains and forest. It is so sweet that I wish it was all mine. Again, another road full of history, it used to be an ancient Indian trail that connected the western towns with the middle and eastern settlements. It became a trading trail and road, wagon road, and was even a state 'highway' before the modern highways were built. It used to be State Highway 68 (and is now Forest Road 68).

Kimsey Mnt. Rd has two access roads: the most southern access is Greasy Creek Road. A small gas station/general store sits nestled into a bank on the corner of Greasy Creek Rd and Hwy 30. We decided to find some lunch and ice cream there. I just knew they had ice cream somewhere in there.

Folks were very friendly inside and outside and traded greetings while we sat outside to eat. After we regained some of our energy, and me with a lot of excitement, I was itching to move on and find my road.

To be continued.....

 

[TexasShadow]

Re: Tennessee on my mind.......The End

​

We began the ride on Kimsey Mountain Hwy fed and happy. The road quickly turned into not more than a two-track with tall grass on the sides and middle of the gravel. Sunlight filtered through the leaves on mostly deciduous trees and wildflowers sneaked in and out of view as we rode.

This is what I remembered most about riding in Maine and it took me back decades to doing just that. I found myself snapping the throttle wide open and backing off, bouncing and bucking like a zesty pony in the pasture. I was chuckling and giggling with a wide sunshine-eating grin plastered on my face. Like I was a kid again. I rode behind Ed, but sometimes I felt like he was just in my way (though I didn't let him know ), and like a teasing colt, I would rush ahead and fall back, repeatedly. The only way I know how I can skip down the road on a bike instead of my own two feet.

The road widened and narrowed, sometimes getting a bit rough, more rough than most of the wide forest roads we rode with Jack. Occasional ruts and mud puddles, switchbacks, hairpin turns, ferns caressing your boots, and branches that slap your helmet.

​

As we gained elevation, the tree population switched from predominantly deciduous to mostly pine and the sun was more hidden. Shadows blanketed the road and soon my riding matched the somber mood of deep mountain shadows. Rhododendrons became dense thickets with their thick large leaves, ferns and moss covered the roadside rocks and ledges. I slowed down, assumed a quiet respect and puttered through the Elders, listening for 'voices' of the past and present.

​

Up on a ledge to the side was a sign for a cemetery. What I couldn't figure out was where the heck this 'cemetery' is or was. The ledge was at least 50 feet tall and topped with thick dense tree cover. On the other side of the road was another ledge the dropped below, again in thick dense pine and rhododendron growth. Was it just one grave? or several? Some time, I'd like to go back and explore.

The area of Frog Mountain intrigued me. It was this area, high atop the mountain and near a spring, that a group of Cherokee families hid from the soldiers to avoid the forced emigration to Indian Territory. They were so well hid that soldiers never found them. Long after the Trail of Tears, and politics settled down a bit, they began traveling down into nearby settlements to trade for provisions. Slowly and quietly they began to resettle themselves into these towns -Turtletown, Ducktown, Coker Creek, and others- blending into the communities. They chose to be 'white'. It was their only way to survive and avoid persecution.

Years later, when it was okay to be Native American, and Cherokee, they became more active in communities, working and living alongside their neighbors; building schools, churches, stores and local government offices. Finally they were accepted for whom they were. Many are still there, in their descendants, in the names of the landmarks and towns, in the roads and buildings they helped build, and in the cemeteries where they finally rested.

Somewhere -in that area, in North Carolina, in some small community- is my great-grandmother. Possibly laid to rest next to her German husband. I only hope that her life was full and finally happy. It was this trip that I commemorate to her. Her spirit seems to be there covering that entire area.

We navigated my favorite Horseshoe Bend and soon descended back into civilization and Hwy 68. Riding north toward Tellico Plains area, this all now felt so familiar to me, as if it was at one-time my home. Maybe part of me does live there.

I'll just have to go back and visit myself every other year.

I rode up the hillside to our camp; tired, but satisfied. A day's worth of 112 miles total with 80 miles of that on back roads and gravel/dirt. It was a grand way to end a week-long visit there.

I hated to leave, but the humidity and allergens made me glad I was going back to open land and sky with drier heat (but with the same allergies). I know I'll be back.

 

[TexasShadow]

Epilogue

We weren't in a big hurry to get up and pack up. After all, coffee is first on the agenda.

Loaded up (finally), we were ready to head back to Texas.

We took a few last minute photos. Wiley, of course, was his usual charming self.

And a few of our fellow campers and fellow ActualRiders: Ed, Bruce from Georgia on his Connie (Concours) and Tom from Michigan (rode his BMW GS down). The others were still in their cabins sleeping.

We shared driving duties. Not long after I assumed the wheel, the daily rain showers hit. This time, it was a doozy; much like the storm that hit the area a few days earlier. Traffic was slowed down to a crawl and the wipers couldn't keep up with the rainfall. I headed for an exit and took refuge in a parking lot until the rain let up a bit.

Next year we plan to meet in the mountains near Taos, NM. We're hoping that Jack and Lori will be able to load their bikes up for a visit to Texas this fall or winter. I think Big Bend is on order for that visit.

We pulled into DFW around 1am and I had an uneasy 3 1/2 hours sleep before getting up and dragging my sorry butt into work. As I entered the great city of Dallas, I knew again I didn't belong there.

Till then..... tornerai presto.

 

[Janet]

Re: Epilogue

Next year we plan to meet in the mountains near Taos, NM.

Your kidding, Elzi. Right?

My group that I was in Tennessee with has already voted for the Red River / Taos area for next year. Same time.

Pretty cool.

 

[TexasShadow]

Re: Epilogue

Your kidding, Elzi. Right?

My group that I was in Tennessee with has already voted for the Red River / Taos area for next year. Same time.

Pretty cool.

You haven't talked to Bob lately, have you.

Yup. It will be tagged onto your group meet. Care to take the Chama train with us?

 

[Janet]

Re: Epilogue

You haven't talked to Bob lately, have you.

Yup. It will be tagged onto your group meet. Care to take the Chama train with us?

Forgot about the common denominator.... he's on vaction.

 

[Janet]

You know I spent years snowmobiling all of those forest roads and old mine roads. I know them like the back of my hand (when there is snow on them. Don't have a clue what they look like in the summer time because it's been 30 years since I was up there in the summer

 

[TexasShadow]

Forgot about the common denominator.... he's on vaction.

He always is; he's retired!

You know I spent years snowmobiling all of those forest roads and old mine roads. I know them like the back of my hand

Maybe you can help me find some of those on a map I'll be looking for a cabin for all of us, too.

 

[Stromboy]

He always is; he's retired!

Maybe you can help me find some of those on a map I'll be looking for a cabin for all of us, too.

I'll get you guys my maps of some of our DS routes in the Chama area next time I'm in Tyler. I'll also send you the contact info on where we stay when I have a little more time. The unpave portions include NFS, BLM and Indian Reservations.

Randy

 

[TexasShadow]

I'll get you guys my maps of some of our DS routes in the Chama area next time I'm in Tyler. I'll also send you the contact info on where we stay when I have a little more time. The unpaved portions include NFS, BLM and Indian Reservations.

Thanks, Randy.
Care to join us?

 

[Stromboy]

Thanks, Randy.
Care to join us?

Thanks for the invite, but it's too early for me to tell. More than likely I'll be back out at the ranch, but if I go to N.M. I'll likely be staying at the ranch in Mora with Rod. If I do that we could still hook up for some rides! Chama has been my absolute favorite area to ride for quite a few years now. I'll pass on the train ride though, once was enough for me.

Randy