Yesterday I made the transition from biker to hiker as I set off to conquer some of the numerous trails in the Great Smoky Mountain National Park. I armed myself with a map of the trails, my hiking stick, plenty of water, and a complete ignorance of what I was getting myself into. For some reason, I did not equate the hiking trails shown on the map with the fact that I was in the middle of mountains, which meant that every trail went uphill!

In the mountains, there is no where to go but up and when you get there you go down. There is no such thing as a level hiking trail which really kind of sucked. By the time I climbed 2 miles to the top of the first trail, I was ready for lunch and a nap, but I took some pictures and went back down the mountain, determined to find an easier trail. The next one I tried also went up but there were two elderly ladies in front of me and I figured that if they could make it, so could I. Unfortunately, these women were traveling at a pace that soon outdistanced me and I could no longer see them. All I could see was more trail headed for the sky.

The third trail was listed in the guidebook as “easy” and if I ever meet the guy who wrote the guide book I’m going to smack him with my walking stick. It was uphill too but at a lower grade than the other two however it was a footpath that had huge tree roots crossing it which made every step a tricky proposition. As I traversed it I saw many signs that wild animals were in the vicinity which made me walk even more carefully because the last thing I wanted to do was to trip and break a leg, thus becoming a banquet for bears, wild boars, and scavenging birds. When I got back to my bike, I was thrilled to be able to ascend hills by simply twisting the throttle.

Today I am breaking away from the group I came with and heading to Franklin, North Carolina which I hear is very small. I don’t know what the population is but I’m pretty sure I will increase it by about 15%. I will be spending time with my friends Greg and Jane and their dog Milo before beginning my leisurely journey back home so if you live in Kentucky, Tennessee, or southern Indiana and would like an overnight guest that you could feed, let me know. I might just be riding through a town near you.

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I am coming to the end of my time in the Great Smoky Mountains and tomorrow it will be time to move to the next port of call but I must say that this place has been spectacular. Yesterday we rode the Blue Ridge Parkway, so named because it goes along a mountain ridge and it gets cold enough to turn your skin blue. I exaggerate, of course, but it was pretty darn chilly in them thar hills.

I did take a spill along the Blue Ridge Parkway, but don’t worry I was not injured. As our group pulled onto an overlook to stare at the scenery, I lost control of my bike in slow motion. If you are old enough to remember Laugh In and the old man character played by Arte Johnson, you will appreciate this. Johnson would ride a tricycle across the stage and then, all of a sudden, fall over. This is what happened to me. I was going slow, came to a stop, and somehow turned the wheel the wrong way and tipped over in slow motion. After we got the bike uprighted and it was determined that my passenger and I were OK, the laughing and mockery began. I can safely say that the only injury I received was a badly bruised ego, and if that’s the worst thing that happens, I will be all right with it.

Today I am taking some time to enjoy the Smokies from ground level by hiking in the woods. There are scads of trails in this park and they all warn you to look out for bears, so to protect myself, I will wear my Chicago Bears sweatshirt so they will think I am one of them.

Park officials said that if you encounter a bear, you should not run away but put your hands in the air to look bigger. Yeah, that should fool them. They also warned that you should not try to talk like a bear although I have no idea what that means. I guess you shouldn’t say things like, “Hey, Boo Boo, let’s get a pic-a-nic basket.”

The nice thing about hiking over biking is that you go at a much slower speed and falling over on the trail is almost expected. I will be carrying my walking stick which serves to steady my pace and can be used as a weapon in case I am attacked by killer squirrels.

I find hiking for a few hours to be a peaceful way to get exercise but I don’t understand the folks who hike the Appalachian Trail or the Pacific Coast Trail for months at a time. I’m sure they enjoy it but it’s definitely not for me because there is no internet, you have to sleep on the ground, and unlike wild bears, I can’t poop in the woods.

Stay tuned for the next episode, coming to you from somewhere in North Carolina.

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Yesterday was a day of rest for my weary posterior and I explored the city of Gatlinburg, gateway to Smoky Mountain National Park. Gatlinburg is a nice town but should be renamed Tourist-trap-burg. In a two mile stretch, there is every possible fast food franchise as well as touristy activities like a wax museum, a skyride, the world’s largest bowl of grits, trained monkeys playing bluegrass, and stores willing to do anything to get you to come inside. One advertised live alligators which were only 12 inches long, and another advertised live sharks which were guys from Brooklyn willing to lend you money at 50% interest. A few shops also offered “buy one item, get two free.” This, my friends is top quality merchandise. There were also two moonshine distilleries In Gatlinburg. Of all the choices available to me, I chose to visit the distilleries. I went to Sugarlands Moonshine Distillery because they offered free samples.

Moonshine is liquor, or licker as they call it here, made from corn. It is available in  two varieties, both sold in mason jars. One kind has no label, is only sold in the backwoods, and has the potential to make you blind. The other is made legally and sold over the counter. That is the kind Sugarlands makes. After a sampling of eight different flavors, I was a bit loopy and decided to buy some jars to take home. Later I discovered that Sugarlands Moonshine is distributed in Illinois and available at a liquor store about three miles from my house. Nonetheless, it’s a tasty drink if you don’t mind growing hair on your tongue.

Today I took the bike and rode through the mountains on Newfound Gap Road to the Cherokee Indian reservation in North Carolina. I learned a lot about the Cherokees who got royally screwed by the U.S. Government and only now are enacting their revenge by opening a casino.

I also hiked the Appalachian Trail. The Appalachian Trail is over 2,000 miles long and is featured in the new Robert Redford / Nick Nolte movie, A Walk In The Woods. I did not do the entire 2,000 miles because of time restraints but I hiked at least 2,000 feet and it was exhausting.

Most of the group I came with went on the legendary Tail of the Dragon, an 11 mile stretch of road with 318 turns and switchbacks. One of our group went off the road and dumped their motorcycle over a cliff. The rider is OK but their bike has a few battle scars. This information prompted me to avoid the Dragon all together and instead just purchase the T-Shirt. Who’s going to know, other than you people? But if you don’t say anything, neither will I.

Tomorrow I will be exploring the Blue Ridge Parkway which is a 469 mile stretch of road that connects the Great Smoky Mountain National Park with the Shenandoah National Park in Virginia. Again, I won’t have time to ride the entire length but I plan to ride until it is time for lunch.

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After spending the night in Kentucky, it was off to Tennessee and the Great Smoky Mountains. I was very curious about this park because 1) I wanted to know what made these mountains so great, and 2) I want to know why they are still smoking after all that has been written about it. It turns out that the Great Smoky Mountains are great because they are big, although not as big as the Rocky Mountains which should accurately be named the Greater Rocky Mountains. And they are still smoking because they tried both hypnosis and the patch and nothing seemed to work.

My lodging for the next several days is in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, so named because there used to be a big forge here where they smelted down pigeons and turned them into grits. Pigeon Forge is also the home of Dollywood, the amusement park owned by Dolly Parton. I am not planning on visiting Dollywood while I am here because I am not a big fan of either amusement parks or country music, but there is always the The Ripley’s Believe It Or Not Museum, The Hatfield & McCoy Dinner Theater, or the Moonshine Distillery. The real reason I came here to ride my motorcycle on the scenic roads, and boy did I find some.

The main road through the park is Newfound Gap Road and it was under construction causing major delays so I took another road and visited Cades Cove. The road to Cades Cove would give any roller coaster at Dollywood a run for their money and had the added value of imminent death or disaster on its numerous turns and switchbacks. To this you can add about half a billion tourists in cars, all trying to get a look at the black bears that populate the park. Unfortunately, the bears only work up until Labor Day and then take time off to relax. Many of them go to Dollywood.

My friends and I are staying in a huge luxurious cabin with an excellent view of the mountains and with the aid of binoculars, I can see into the cabin of the people next door. It was a good lesson in wildlife.

I also went hiking today on some of the many lovely trails. There are signs along the trails warning you that bears could be hiding anywhere and can pop out at any time and demand your money. I feel like I’m back home. Fortunately,I didn’t see any bears on my hike but just to be safe, I followed a group of rather large people who just had lunch at Aunt Grannie’s Chick’n Coop, figuring that the bears would find them a much tastier repast.

After a full day of adventure I parked my bike and reveled in the silence that comes when you turn off a Harley. (Tomorrow, more fun.)

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I woke up in Chicago this morning with a temperature of 50 degrees and a looming threat of rain, and thought to myself, I think I’ll go for a motorcycle ride. Actually what I thought was, “This weather stinks but I already told my friends that I’d go on this ride with them and if I don’t show up they’ll all call me a Nancy-boy wienie. So I hopped on my trusty Harley Davidson Electra Glide and met my riding partners. We were headed for the Great Smoky Mountains 700 miles away.

The ride started out in good fashion along Route 66 in Illinois where I saw the giant Rocket Man . I don’t know why he’s here but I took his photo anyhow. We turned east and headed into Indiana and that’s when all hell broke loose. Even though it was very cold when you’re on a bike doing 60 MPH, I told myself the I could handle the cold as long as it wasn’t raining. Then it started to rain. It didn’t drizzle, it rained, not dissimilar to the proverbial cow peeing on a flat rock. Welcome to Indiana.

I don’t know what it is about bikers, but when it rains, they stop to encase themselves in waterproof outerwear and then keep riding…in the rain. I guess we’re like golfers in that way, why stop what you’re doing just because of a torrential downpour. Plus, we figure, if we keep moving, lightning will never hit us.

We rode for about 200 miles in the Hoosier state and saw a lot of interesting sights. There was corn, more corn, and the occasional road kill. But Indiana is a very important state because if it wasn’t there, Lake Michigan would run into Kentucky.

We did see some interesting places that I have to make a point to revisit. There was Bone Gnaw Park, probably a popular barbecue place, and Big Bone Lick, which really speaks for itself. I’d have stopped to take pictures of these places but remember, it was raining and my phone is not waterproof.

After a long day of wetness, we arrived at our first stop, Florence, Kentucky, which should never be confused with Florence, Italy even though the people there seemed to be talking in a foreign language. I don’t know what it is about a southern accent but it just makes everybody sound like cast members of The Andy Griffith Show.

All in all, I had a comforting night’s sleep interrupted only by the sounds coming from the room next to mine. I can’t describe the sounds other than to say that they too had a southern accent.

The next day we all got on our bikes and headed to the nearest gas station to fuel up and that’s when I knew that I was really in the south. There were a couple of pick-em-up trucks flying confederate flags and all of the radio stations played country music, except the one that played the “best in gospel.” Welcome to Kentucky.

(Next, The Great Smoky Mountains)

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