In absolutely uncommon-for-me fashion, I arose at four o'clock in the morning to pull off a 6 a.m. meet-up with my fellow travelers so we could begin our day-long sojourn to the mountains of northern Georgia.
Keeping to the agreed upon schedule, I arrived at the rendezvous point about ten minutes early, gassed up the Triumph Trophy SE, and then waited for the others to arrive.
Sitting out in the cool morning air of the McDonald's parking lot I was feeling pretty smug about being the first one to arrive. This was a real accomplishment for me as I'm usually pushing the schedule to the last second...and sometimes beyond. So, it was truly satisfying to be sitting there as the first-to-arrive, the trailblazer, the trendsetter, the man who...and that's when I looked inside the McDonald's and saw Mr. Sarcasm in there calmly sipping coffee and reading a newspaper, the crumpled remains of McDonald's food wrappers littering the table before him. Oh, well, maybe next time!
The others arrived, we knocked out the small talk and reviewed the ride plan in short order. We went kickstands up and rolled onto Interstate 4 just about six o'clock in the morning. Things were off to a good start.
3.2 miles up the road, Eddie called for our first break of the day. Okay, maybe it was more like 20 miles up the road -- it was Pasco County, afterall -- but it sure felt like less than that. Let's call it a luggage check. Yeah, that's it, a "luggage check"! This too-soon-in-coming break was, thankfully, kept to a minimal amount of time and we were soon winging our way northward once more.
The darkness still enveloped the land as we rode north on I-75 from the Tampa area. Our goal for the day was to make it to Blairsville, Georgia, and the Copperhead Lodge, where we were slated to spend several days exploring the area and experiencing a loop-ride that has been dubbed, “The Gauntlet”.
As the minutes and the miles ticked by, I saw the first signs of the rising sun off to my right; a thin sliver of light tracing the horizon and backlighting flat, featureless land east of the highway. Off to my left the mist of early morning ground fog was clinging to the bases of trees like cotton batting. Sunrise is never so beautiful as when seen from the saddle of a motorcycle.
By ten in the morning our little band of motorcycle travelers crossed the state line into Georgia. The trip was in full swing as we were officially out of Florida. My thoughts began to drift ahead to visions of twisty asphalt and scenic mountain vistas...what the hell?!? Another break??? Yep!
Just a few miles over the state line into Georgia, Eddie signaled another departure from the Interstate and a halt to forward progress. This time it was for a little exercise I like to call "smuggler's run". In homage to Dragnet, we'll skip the details so as to protect the not-so-innocent. They know who they are and they know what they did. And they know they killed my forward progress to do it, dammit!
Finally back on the road, my thoughts returned to the mountains and the days of great riding that lay ahead. Motorcycle riding may be about the journey, but this time it was the destination that beckoned to me like a siren’s song, calling me closer and closer to a place where my soul would be renewed by cool air and curvy roads.
There were other diversions along the way. We got stuck in downtown Atlanta post-crash traffic for every bit of an hour. We lost Mr. Sarcasm. Mr. Sarcasm found us. Or, perhaps, we found Mr. Sarcasm despite his best efforts to the contrary. We stopped for someone to eat brought-from-home, picnic chicken that was consumed in the parking lot of a Chic-fil-a restaurant. And, of course, we stopped for the periodic and necessary refills of our gas tanks.
Twelve hours and 566 miles later, we finally pulled into the parking lot of the Copperhead Lodge in Blairsville, Georgia. It was time for some much needed rest.
Thankfully, getting settled at the Copperhead Lodge was a non-event. We were greeted by friendly staff who were expecting us and they had everything ready for our arrival. Within minutes I had keys to a cabin, a map of “The Gauntlet”, and a full briefing on what was available for dinner in the Copperhead’s restaurant. I smiled to myself as I realized that we had arrived at a place where the people not only understand motorcyclists, they are motorcyclists, and they use that shared perspective to ensure their guests will have an enjoyable and satisfying stay.
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