Being an early riser, I get up and start packing. Guy is still snoozing, but I know the weather will probably be nasty and we've got along way to go at 45 MPH. I rouse him up finally, knowing it is in his best interest. We finally get all packed up and ready to hit the road again.

We head out and before long we're in the thick of it – drizzling rain, then fog, then really thick fog. I just zone in and click off the mile markers to the North Carolina Border. Having ridden in the rain and fog for hours before, I just ease along and enjoy the relaxing tape coming through my earphones. I'd much rather being doing this than on the slab being blown about and getting free baths by semis. Occasionally the fog lifts and I relish the colors around me, getting a shot here and there.

Not as spectacular as Canada or New England, but still a beautiful sight. The fog is so thick that we lose each other in it on a regular basis. But I still feel this is safer than getting rear-ended on some interstate. Finally we arrive at the North Carolina state line, and I manage to get a shot through the fog.

We finally pull into Doughton for breakfast. We chat a bit with a BMW rider who advises us that it's not much better the way we are headed. Over breakfast, Guy tries to persuade me to leave the Parkway -

"Brother I'm for gettin off the parkway."

"I understand if you need to go, but I am going on" I tell him.

"What's the point?  You can't see anything and its dangerous" he replies.

"Probably, but you know how it is" I add.

I understand his thinking, but I'd rather ease along on the Parkway than fight the cities and the traffic. Being a finisher by nature, I didn't come this far to quit now. I might me able to ride the Parkway later and then again I might not. I've got now and the peacefulness of the fog beckons me. Besides, I just have a good feeling that things will change. I wish him well, and we head out. As we part, I sing to myself -

“I'll take the high road, and ye take the low road, and I'll be on Scotland before ye!”

I set the restaurant at Mt. Pisgah as my goal, knowing they have wonderful steaks and it is only minutes from the Blue Ridge campground. As I motor along, the fog lifts and I have the Parkway all to myself. There's something relaxing about having the road to yourself. I grew up early on running the hills of Tennessee by myself, so lonesome is not a word I'm familiar with. Company's fine and enjoyable, but not necessary. Today, I've got nobody to please but myself. The peaceful music drifts through my headphones and I am completely relaxed and in my zone. What a joy to be doing what you love! I encounter little traffic as I amble down the road. Upon entry of every tunnel, I can't resist the urge to honk the pitiful stock horn on my ST. I encounter some more fog off and on, but it's just a peaceful old friend now. It is beginning to lift as I suspected that it would, which makes me glad I chose the path that I did. Rounding corners, it lifts and reveals the hidden treasures from the pinnacles.

I calculate the time and figure I'll have a great meal at Mt. Pisgah and still have daylight to set up my tent. Mt. Pisgah appears almost too soon, and I pull into the parking lot. I enter into the lobby to find the restaurant does not open until 5:00 PM, and it's only 4:15. Waynesville would be the next stop for food and it would take 30 to 45 minutes to get there. Since it's only me, I just sit tight and relax. I strike up a conversation with the hostess who's wearing a funny little hat. She's in her early twenties and not from this neck of the woods. She shares with me -

“This is my last day here. Two friends and I are going to drive back home West in a few days. I want to break into the movies.”

“Really? I did that back in 73 with 3 buddies. If you're not in a hurry, take the backroads not the slab. We just got back from a trip to Canada and New England and did mostly backroads. That movie business is pretty treacherous so be careful. But you've got to do what your heart tells you to do, or you'll regret it the rest of your days” I advise her.

When she finds out I started at milemarker 120 this morning, (Mt. Pisgah is about milemarker 420), she's amazed. The restaurant opens and I wish her well as I'm escorted to a great seat by the window. I sit down to a wonderful ribeye, salad, and potato. Then I polish off a ‘death by chocolate' desert, figuring I owe to myself. Today I'd ridden my dream – the rest of the Blue Ridge Parkway. Knowing the gang at the campground will be mounting search parties for me soon, I suit up quickly and head out. When I arrive, I greet my old friends from past rallies – Sal, Ron, Mike, Mark, Gene, Mac – to name a few.

I run into town with some of the guys to watch them eat supper cause I'm stuffed. Then it's back to the campground and I where I fall asleep listening to mountain stream running just outside my tent door. We will do several rides in the area before we head home, so I have more good riding to do yet. And as it turns out, if I had not stopped at Mount Pisgah for supper, I would have probably beaten Guy to the campground. All I can say is - What a day and what a ride.

THE END