Bill's arrival last night heralded a new era in photographic quality for the journal.  He had just picked up a new lens for his Nikon DSLR, and was roaming all over the place, taking pictures.  He is good behind a camera, as the shot to the left shows.  All the good ones are his.

Bill and I ate breakfast at the campground, then struck camp and were on the road by 9:30.  Today’s destination was Willville, about a 5 hour direct trip.  But we had all day to get there, so why go direct?  We started off on the Parkway, taking it north to where it was closed for repairs around Asheville.  We rode over Black Mountain on I-40.  Like yesterday, this section of Interstate was a lot of fun.  We ended up headed for 80, where we ran through a speed trap in Old Fort.  The city cop must have been feeling charitable…he didn’t even budge. 

We were headed for Mount Mitchell State Park (highest peak in the east), but we missed the turnoff.  I had told Bill (who was leading) that the entrance was on 80.  But I was wrong; we needed to turn south on the Parkway to get there.  Bill, following my directions, did not make the turn, and I followed him down the mountain at a breakneck pace, blowing my horn and flashing my lights, trying to get his attention.  Alas, Mr. Bill was in The Zone, so by the time he pulled over, it wasn't practical to turn around.  No worries, it will be there next time.

We took a break in a shady patch of ground in Micaville, chatting with an interesting couple from Connecticut who were wandering around sightseeing.  From there we headed north on 197 and 226, riding into an area that I had wanted to explore for several years.  The roads were great, but the traffic was horrendous.  This ended up being a day of excellent roads choked with snails-pace traffic. 

There was a festival of some sort at Roan Mountain State Park, with vendors, food, games, the whole bit.  Every soul in five counties must have been there, because it was CROWDED.  And the only road up there was the one we were trying to ride.  Headed downhill, the traffic was moving so slow that I got passed by a guy on a bicycle.

 
At the town of Roan Mountain, Bill took the lead and led us into Boone, where we had a late lunch at one of my favorite mountain eatieries, the Mountain House.  The spare ribs were excellent.

By the time we finished lunch it was nearly 3.  We weighed our options for getting to Willville.  There were several routes that we could take, and after some discussion, we decided to take the BRP all the way up.  It was a beautiful day, and I was sick to death of the traffic on the secondary roads, so maybe the Parkway would be better.  It was.  On this sunny Saturday afternoon, the Parkway was pretty much empty.

 

At Willville we were greeted by Will and the other guests, some of whom came over to talk bikes while we set up camp.  There was a married couple from Arizona on a Goldwing (him) and an ST1300 (her), another married couple on matching Connies, a V-Stom rider, and a guy on a Ulysees with a gray Mohawk haircut and a bluegrass-singer tenor voice.

 

After camp was up, we discussed dinner options.  There were several places around to eat, but neither of us was really hungry.  We decided just to head two miles up the hill to a little country grocery to buy some tuna and beer.

 

 

 

After we finished dinner, we strolled over to the communal campfire where about a dozen people were gathered.  Will’s brother in law was visiting from Seattle, and he pulled out a guitar and sang folk and gospel songs, while another camper blew some harp, and a third recited some homegrown poetry between tunes.  Will was kept company by his newest stray dog, Meer.  “He looks like a meerkat”, explained Will.  Smoke curled up into the still night air as the crickets chirped and the lightning bugs flashed, a sublime backdrop to the music of Kristofferson and Cash.

 

Campfire Video, WMV format, 5 Mb, 1:16 long

Will and Meer.

We had expected Marc to join us tonight.  The plan was for him to attend his son’s karate tournament in Louisville, break out about noon, and deadhead to our current locale.  It would be a long day, but he expected that it was do-able, weather permitting. 

Dusk turned to dark, and there was no Marc.  Cell service is pretty sketchy at the campground, but you can sometimes get a signal if you walk to the road and up the hill a ways, so we decided to try it.  The skies were full of stars and the woods were full of lightning bugs as I heard a scratch ring on the other end.  Static…then…

 ”Hello?”

“Dude, where are you?”

“Louisville”.

After four dropped calls, we finally learned that the tournament had run late, and Marc had decided to stay in Louisville with the family for the rest of the day.  He had left me a v-mail, but with the bad cell signal, it had never gotten to me. 

 We were disappointed that we would not be able to ride together tomorrow, but happy to hear that Marc was safe and sound.

Marc writes:

21 June (0 miles)

 Today was the day of Jacob's first karate tournament, the 43rd AKA Grand Nationals at the Galt House in Louisville, KY.  Jacob is a member of his dojo's competition team, The Thunderbirds, and expects to achieve his advanced green belt this summer.  He's been taking karate for a number of years and was very excited to be asked to travel with the national team.  He was scheduled to compete in two events, Weapons and Fighting.  His weapon of choice is the bow and had worked on his kata for some time.  He felt good about his routine and did well.  Tournament fighting was new to him.  He'd been used to fighting the local dojo kids but would find the skill levels much higher in KY.  He did well, scoring 3 points (6 to win) against the 2nd place finisher.  Not a bad showing at all, although Jacob was a bit disappointed.  He shouldn't have been, and can use this experience in the next event -- The Battle of Atlanta -- in early August.

I'll need to give props to my daughter, Grace, too.  She was with the Thunderbirds last year and kicked some serious butt at the 42nd Nationals, placing in both of her events.  Memo:  Don't mess with Grace....

 
After the competition, the family spent the day playing tourist downtown.  We were starving, so a visit to the Spaghetti Factory was in order.  This place is good, and was a welcome chance for us to unwind from the tensions of the competition.  I'll plan to go there again next time I'm in the area.  We had the pasta...

Pierce wanted to take the Louisville Slugger factory tour, so off we were.  I felt like I was filming one of those Discovery shows, where they expose the magic of factory processes.  Making bats is pretty involved, especially considering that many MLB players have their own custom formulae.  LS is perfectly happy to accommodate.  We were allowed to handle some of the pro orders -- I "shared" a bat with A-Rod.  Very nice.  --- Oh yeah, then there's the rather large bat out in front, ... , and the cool mini-samples they provide.  I'd read later that the source wood was in danger.  It seems that the ash trees in PA and MD are under attack by a boring beetle (emerald ash borer) -- and LS may have to adjust their approach to making bats (maple).  Not good news, in any case.
Our last stop was the Discovery Science museum where we spent several hours.  This place is amazing -- 4 floors of every conceivable science thingy you can think of.  All the kids enjoyed this and spent hours discovering new things about our world.  Pierce and I spent time in the triceratops simulator too, trying to avoid guys higher-up on the food chain.

Back at the hotel, we all made efforts to get packed back up.  I had to get to Willville, while Connie and the kids had to make it back to PC (~630 miles) -- both long days.

 

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