High Aspirations

Originally published on fotocycle.net, 2006.

I had gotten to know the comfort limitations of my CBR by the time I had rolled into southern Alabama. Getting out of Florida always feels like a marathon ride from my home in Miami, and beyond the numb hands and sore back, I had picked up my first souvenir from the trip, a pricey speeding ticket. My gift to you, Madison County.

I made it to the state line before sundown, but wanted to get to Montgomery before packing it in for the night. That way I'd only have a short jaunt in the morning to reach the first destination points on my itinerary: Barber's Vintage Motorsports Museum in Birmingham, and my very first encounter with mountain roads. My first set of twisties, really.

I finally reached Montgomery well over an hour later, after pushing on past miles of intermittent fog and cold rain. Hilly country up there, more ba-da-dump than whoop- tee-do, but fun. I jumped at one of the first hotels I found, the Scottish Inn along US 231 in Pike Road. It turned out to be a good choice, with an understanding attendant that suggested I park my bike right outside my door. "Not that we have any problems here," he clarified, "but just in case."

Dinner was comprised of Slim Jims and some leftover Gatorade I found in my topcase. At that hour, it would have been hard to find a place to eat. After some serious rest, I checked out the next morning and headed for Interstate 65, which would lead to SR 25.

Some locals had recommended the highway as the "best road for bikers in Alabama." And that inevitably meant some technical turns and tight switchbacks would be involved. Wonderful! It was too bad I had to ride hundreds of miles to find some good curves to wean myself on, but here they were. I must admit that I wasn't ready. I had told myself, and friends, that I would take it easy on the first pass, then go another round much more aggressively. This way I would get to know the land I was to try to conquer.


But I didn't heed my own words, and the curves humbled me repeatedly as I took turns a little too hot and kept finding myself riding above my skill level. I eventually remembered the old adage, "With smooth comes fast," so I slowed down after a few miles. Good thing, as upon encountering my first-ever switchback round a blind corner, I ran so wide I landed in a driveway someone was kind enough to put there. I got off the bike and paused for a few minutes to take a breath and some pictures.

I made it to Barber's in one piece. A band of heavy rain kept me in there longer than I had planned, but really I could have stayed in that place for many more hours. Every bike of nearly every vintage of nearly every style was on display. I wanted to ride every motorcycle in there, especially the infamous Britten V1000 race bike. An excellent view of the raceway below only fueled the daydreams further as the raindrops pelted the huge windows.




A jump on I-20 later took me into the Atlanta loop, on my way to Suches. I'd been trying to avoid the rush hour, but instead ran right into it. I decided to get off and get some chow while sitting out the traffic. I found Moe's Southwest Grill in a shopping center on Roswell Road. Moe's made the food at the Taco Bells in Miami taste like government handouts. I hoped the franchise had plans to open in South Florida.

The road to Suches was paved with rain and traffic, until well north on US 19. After 19 turned into 60, I started riding through some of the most impressive scenery I've ever been lucky enough to see. The tall walls of rock that hugged the road were ominous structures no man could ever duplicate. After years of cruising through the flat swamplands of the Everglades, my mind was having a happy time trying to find words to describe what I was now seeing.

I had called in a reservation at Two Wheels Only, the biker resort in Suches. I was a little apprehensive about the people with whom I'd be sharing the night's living quarters, but I needn't have worried. My stay there was quiet and comfortable - all I ever ask for in a rented room - but it was the company that made it memorable. I swapped road stories with riders from as close to home as Winter Haven and Orlando, and a Tennessee dad traveling with his two sons on a trio of scooters.
After a full breakfast, we all bid our farewells and went off to answer the different roads calling our names. I had decided I hadn't had a proper mountain experience until I had looked out from the top of one, so I headed for Georgia's tallest, Brasstown Bald (4,784 feet).

A short stint along the fabulous Wolf Pen Gap Road got me to the mountain, where I rode up for three miles to reach the visitor parking lot. Almost as soon as I dismounted, I felt the effects of the high altitude. This flatland city boy thought he was a hiking badass, but the walk up the mountain's half-mile paved trail taught me some respect for such heights.


I found the rhythm of the Gap soon enough, though some of the sections almost got me. I kept expecting gravity to laugh and say, "Screw you, you don't belong on this bike, not here, not today," and dump me through a turn. But it never happened. I stopped at the popular overlook at the northern end of the Gap, got off the bike and pulled out the souvenir "I rode the freakin' Dragon" decal I had bought at Wheeler's Performance, a repair shop just south of the Gap. I had waited till now to stick it on the lid of my topcase; I didn't want it on there until after I had earned the right.

I pressed on till I hit US 411, down to Vonore, and headed south on CR 360 to the Tellico Plains. Curves almost all the way. It was hard to believe I was riding all those intimidating squiggly lines on my various maps - and I was enjoying the hell out of it. The roads made me feel like I was on a fantastic rollercoaster ride, but with me at the helm. By now, the locals were no longer keeping up, but I was still within my limits - my newfound limits, that is.

I refueled in Tellico and took CR 165 westbound to TN-68, which headed south to CR 294, and finally back on US 19 and into Georgia. After this, only the return to Miami remained, ending my sojourn into the mountains. I took a leisurely two days to return home, completing my 2200-mile ride. I reflected on the past few days while eating up hundreds of interstate miles. I know I could have tried taking every road much harder, but like one guy at the scenic overlook on the Dragon said to me, "That's how you'll live to enjoy it again."