4.Interstate Flight

From Corpus Christi, TX we have traveled and seen some of Arkansas, cut off Missouri’s boot heel and come to rest in the thriving metropolis of South Fulton, Tennessee.
..................................................................................
Shaking the dust of South Fulton from our feet, our short-term goal is to cross the great state of Kentucky. Having ridden across her a couple years ago, we are familiar with the parkways. The roads are good and the scenery lush, but if you would miss gaudy billboards, fireworks stands, cloned motels and trucks, then the parkways are not for you. Jill set the pace somewhere on the fat side of the posted speed suggestion and it wasn’t all that long till we found the end of the Cumberland Parkway, just outside the town of Somerset.

We stopped at a way station. With a lusty laugh, brandishing my saber, I shouted, “Regular for my men and Premium for the horses!" No, wait… that’s not what happened.
At our fuel stop in Somerset I did meet Monty, a polite and confident young man who expressed interest our travels. While not attracted to street riding, Monty owns a dirt bike and rides it on Granny’s farm and riding out there ain't for sissies. He told me to watch for him on TV because one day he’ll be a motocross champion. “I like it, and I’m good at it”, he told me. Judging from our brief encounter, and by what I’ve seen of the terrain, I’m inclined to believe him on all counts.

The terrain becomes increasingly vertical. The Hal Rogers Parkway is fantastic, sweeping through the towering forested hills.

We fuel near the town of Hazard; a coal operation is white against the hillside, powdery black, beneath. The road gets steeper and seems to wind down and down.

There's a hillbilly song that begins, “I’d rather live in some dark hollow… where the sun don’t ever shine…”
We could see that hollow from the road. Our larger map begins to read like a history of country music. Hazard, Harlan and Pike County, Kentucky are names familiar from songs and legends. We have heard "Cumberland Gap" sung “Knoxville Girl” and played the “Black Mountain Rag”.

I am far away from Texas, yet, close to home.

What a ride! I didn’t know whether to have a smoke, cuddle and talk about my feelings, or just roll over and go to sleep. I have this rule about sleeping behind bars, though, so we found our way to Jenny Wiley State Resort Park.

We pulled up to a closed ranger station and sat for a minute, taking stock. Directly, the Park Host rolled up in his personal golf cart and welcomed us. Such nice folks, he and his wife; they made us feel like we were long awaited guests. He and Jill carted off to inspect available tent sites, returned, and soon our summer home was erected. We rode over to the park lodge, walked in past a guitarist singing to a cozy group of guests about how “There ain’t one hammer in this tunnel that rings like mine, that rings like mine…”, and into the restaurant.

Our waitress was impressed by the length of our travels. She and her husband had been on her first long ride the previous weekend. On a Honda VTX 1300, it took them two days to ride to the Virginia coast. Being short on time, they made the six hundred mile return trip in one day.
It was my turn to be impressed.

Having tended to the needs of the flesh, we stopped in the parking lot to admire a copperhead snake that was chasing a girl, then fired up the bikes and returned to camp for a shower and shave. We wanted to smell our best, as the following day would mark one of the high points of our ride. Then, I rolled over and went to sleep.

.............................................................................

..

Morning found us on the road, bound for a rendezvous somewhere south of Pikeville. I had the Valkyrie in 5th and my mind in neutral when a rider on a black Valkyrie passed headed north. As recognition dawned, a Valkyrie trike piloted by a lovely woman with a winning smile followed. They are our friends, Highbinder and Lady Draco, come to meet us and guide us to their home hidden in the Virginia hills.

They opened their door, showed us around, fed us, entertained us and made us feel comfortable and welcome.

You know, life on the farm is kind of laid back. Having met the cows, we watched the sun set, and then took hay to the pasture for them and the horses. All I lacked having a hayride was a guitar player singing about stripes on the highway.

The following day, we went for a ride and stopped near a farm where fighting cocks are raised. On the chicken ranch, the hens roam around while the cocks have to stay tied to their coops. That just don't seem right, but otherwise the roosters will do what comes natural and attack each other.

It was interesting, all right, I'd never seen so many cocks hanging out in one place, but the real attraction is the countryside, itself. Southwest Virginia is a beautiful place.

We follow Highbinder and the Lady on SH 16, the most dangerous road in Virginia, and US 421, “The Snake”. Jill enjoyed chasing the Virginians, giving her Magna a workout in the twisties, but the time came that we had to part ways.

As beautiful as Virginia is, and the people in it, we'd promised to meet a brother rider in Asheville that evening.

Having said our goodbyes, our friends followed the winding back roads to their hidden farm, while Jill and I found our road had to be the super slab. We set our wheels on Interstate 26 bound for another reunion.

More follows.