Motorcycle Trip on the Blue Ridge Parkway
by: Nick Wilhelm
Is a moment of profound peace ever worth a thousand miles of hardship?
A last minute motorcycle trip with a friend turned into a torrent of foul weather, mechanical problems, and just plain bad luck as we toured most of the southern and central Appalachian Mountains. It was early November of 2017 and I was living in Chattanooga, TN when I received a phone call from my good friend and adventure riding buddy Aaron. We had known each other for several years and the times we were together were almost always spent exploring new places on our nearly identical (I swear we didn't plan it that way) Blue 2007 Suzuki Vstrom 650's, decked out for adventure riding. We both had similar riding styles and had been on numerous motorcycle adventures together, he was my trusted riding partner and one thing rang true: When Aaron calls, you pick up the damn phone! Chances are, a real adventure was about to start.
It turned out that our schedules just happened to line up so that we each had the next four days off. We instinctively started pouring through our mental lists of motorcycle trips we had wanted to attempt. After a few ideas were tossed around we had a winner, the Blue Ridge Parkway. This is a 469 mile roadway that carves its way through the Appalachian Mountains starting in northern Virginia and ending in the southern portion of the North Carolina border with Tennessee. It is a famous road packed with stunning views and the peace and quiet that we were always searching for. It was destined to be an action-packed four day trip. Our plan was simple, we would take interstates on a mad dash to get as close as possible to the northern end of the Parkway the first day, the two following days would take us south through most of the parkway camping as we went, then the last day would finish up the remaining bit of it and we would head home. It was going to be an excellent ride through one of my favorite parts of the country. If the trip went as planned, it would total well over a thousand miles when it was all over.
The next day, after a night of last second motorcycle packing, refitting, and maintenance, I met up with Aaron outside of Chattanooga and we immediately took off north towards Knoxville. Almost immediately, we found ourselves stretching our bikes to the limit to out run a heavy thunderstorm system that was chasing us Northeast almost as fast as we could ride. Of course we had rain gear, but this wasn't the type of squall you want to get stuck in. At times we could see the storm clouds in our rear view mirrors swallowing up every mile of road we left behind. It caught up with us a few times but we were spared the brunt of it. Exhausted, we put our kickstands down at a cheap hotel just outside of Staunton Virginia having ridden hard for over 450 miles in the first day.
The next morning was luckily sunny and dry, but the temperature had dropped considerably. This seems to stop most people from riding all together for obvious reasons. But the advancements in heated gear and an understanding of thermal layering can really open up riding to a year-round activity for the adventurous. I have found there is a clarity in frigid mountain air that you just don't get in T-shirt weather. The bikes seem to run smoother and the sun rays cut sharply through the trees and rest on the frigid asphalt as if to lead the way. Not to mention you get to skip the crowds and endless lines of RV's that plague the warmer months. We bundled up and rode east toward the beginning of the Blue Ridge Parkway. We topped off our tanks, snapped the mandatory selfie at the entrance and took off down the twisty roads toward or next adventure.
Off the interstate, or bikes came alive. With each twist and turn, a new section of roadway challenged us. We met it with the orchestra of engine sounds as we would brake, down shift, rev match, and release the clutch to the tune of the roadway as if it were the sheet music and our bikes were instruments in a traveling duet. We kept this up as the morning light melted into a sunny afternoon. It was shortly after we stopped for fuel and lunch that I began to hear the unmistakable metallic grinding of a loose chain getting increasingly louder as the miles wore on. I didn't seem to be coming from my bike though, but as we rounded the next corner that I noticed that the sound was coming from Aaron's bike. His chain was sagging and swaying dangerously as he rode. I immediately told him to pull over and check it out. Once we were stopped, we puzzled over what had caused it. Before we left for the trip, we each checked and adjusted our chains like we had done a thousand times before. Second to the brakes and tires, it is one of the most crucial parts of any chain driven bike. We even make it a point to check the chains each morning before we set off during any of our trips. It was fine earlier, so what the hell happened?
It was shortly after we stopped for fuel and lunch that I began to hear the unmistakable metallic grinding of a loose chain getting increasingly louder as the miles wore on.
We shrugged off the incident and made the necessary adjustments and we were soon on our way without thinking any more of it. We couldn't have been happier as we rode on. As the the afternoon turned into evening the already cold temperatures plummeted to well below freezing. As the last bits of light were peering through the trees, we decided to camp on a small lake nestled in the hills. On the opposite shore from the campsite was a popular lodge that looked like an oasis to us as we set up both our tents in the freezing air. Once we got our gear sorted out and made dinner. We both found ourselves staring at the warm glow of the lights as they shimmered on the icy pond. "you know" Aaron mumbled, "the sign on the way in said there was music at the tavern tonight". A quick glance and a smirk was all it took and were back on our bikes headed for the lodge.
Walking inside felt like entering an alpine cabin straight out of an old story book. the slight scent of a fire, warm lighting and a small number of guests wandered through the tiny foyer. We quickly found our way to the tavern area and were greeted by an old couple seated in front of a fireplace playing traditional Appalachian tunes on a fiddle and a dobro. A quick visit to the bar left us both with two pints of incredible local brews and we planted ourselves each in our own large comfortable leather chairs. We melted into them as we drank and thawed out as the old couple played late into the night. The smiles couldn't seem to leave our faces, we probably looked insane. But the bitter cold we pushed through to get there made that evening the moment of bliss that it was. We didn't know it, but that was the moment that defined our trip. The part that we held onto the closest and I revisit it often and it brings a smile. The difficult parts of a journey that you fight through only work to make the good parts seem better. This is especially important on trips like ours that were, sadly, only going to get worse.
The next morning was overcast and bitter cold. We suited up, warmed up our bikes, and started down the road. The following hours were spent much the way we expected, gliding through the turns and over the hills. We made it to lunch time without much trouble when Aaron checked his chain and noticed it had become loose again. That was really weird, we had just checked it that morning. Once again, the tools were brought out and we tried adjusting the chain. It was then then we became even more puzzled. The chain tension mechanism was at its limit, it couldn't pull the chain any tighter. This was a big issue because the chain was still too loose. Knowing we were pretty far from any place to get a new chain, we resolved to clean and lubricate it as best we could and try to get down the road carefully and just keep a very close eye on it.
A chain-drive is the most common type of drivetrain for motorcycles. Usually incredibly reliable and affordable, they come with inherent downsides. Though they are cheap and easy to work on, chains need simple but frequent maintenance such as cleaning, lubrication, and maintaining proper tension to keep the chain lasting a long time. The drivetrain consists of a smaller front sprocket that attaches to the driveshaft of the engine, the much larger rear sprocket that is attached to the rear wheel, and the chain that connects the two transferring the power from the engine to make the bike move. Without a chain, the bike is just a well-insured paperweight. So it’s kind of a big deal! Depending on the bike, a well maintained chain and sprocket set can last anywhere from 10k to 30k miles before it needs to be replaced, sprockets and all. A big downside to chain drives is safety. If a chain is to break, its usually quite the spectacle. Chains are usually under pressure, like a TON of pressure. A poorly maintained chain can break and will likely damage your bike, but can easily cause damage to vehicles and people around you. Not to mention it could take your leg off (imagine a weed wacker spinning around a 6 foot long iron string, ouch. All this to say...don't skimp on chain maintenance!)
For the next few hours, my eyes were fixated on Aaron's chain. It looked pretty loose and I could still hear it, but I told myself it wasn't too bad. I have seen worse... I think. As the afternoon wore on the sun began to peak through the clouds and I had all but forgotten about the wayward chain. Aaron was riding behind me for quite a while and the serenity of the late afternoon was interrupted when we went through a large tunnel and the sound of his chain became amplified and it sounded bad...REALLY BAD. We pulled over and quickly realized the gravity of the situation. Aaron's chain had become so slack it was practically hanging off the back of the bike. We were amazed it was still functioning. A closer inspection revealed that the excessive chain slack had eroded the teeth of the rear sprocket nearly down to nubs. We immediately started mapping out a solution. There was a cross road a few miles back that could take us out of the mountains and if the chain could hold we could get to Asheville, NC about 50 miles away. Hopefully we could track down a new drivetrain there and get back on the road. But the sun was getting low on the horizon and we had to get moving. We abandoned the Blue Ridge Parkway and headed out of the hills, Aaron was careful not to jolt his bike and skillfully kept his throttle steady and shifted extremely smoothly as I nervously watched the chin lazily sway and bounce with the motion of the bike.
It took an agonizingly long two hours, but we finally made it to the outskirts of Asheville in the dark and tracked down a cheap motel and a even cheaper pizza. The next morning brought us sad news, no one in the surrounding area had the proper parts to fix the bike. We begrudgingly admitted defeat and called a friend with a truck to leave work early and drive all the way from Atlanta to come pick up Aaron and his bike. Several hours later, he was loaded up and we parted ways vowing to return and finish the parkway. I was happy that we had gotten him and his bike rescued, all that was left for me to do was to drive home on the amazing mountain roads between Asheville and Chattanooga. It wasn't the worst news in the world.
The weather was excellent and I gassed up and headed through the mountains solo to enjoy what remained of my trip. The sun was out and it was just starting to warm up as I was speeding up a mountain road just shy of a summit when suddenly...BOOM, BRAAAAP! The bike felt like it jolted in the air as I tried to maintain control. I had no clue what had happened just that I was pretty sure my engine oversped so much my tachometer needle was broken. In that split second, I happened to notice in my rear view mirror the unmistakable sight of my chain skyrocketing from the back of the bike. It flipped and flailed through the air and came to rest in the ditch on the opposite lane. My chain had also failed.
The next few hours were spent hiking to a place where I could get cell service, a laughter filled phone call to get Aaron and his friend to turn around (they were over halfway back to Atlanta), and ripping my bike apart on the side of the road so that it would fit onto the truck. Several kind strangers stopped to offer help as well as a local police officer who ended up bringing me water and talking about bikes for a while. Aaron arrived a few hours later. We loaded up and headed for Atlanta. I dropped the bike off at my parent's house and finished the final leg of my trip in my dad's minivan all the way back to Chattanooga and immediately ordered a new drivetrain. Not the ideal way to end a motorcycle adventure, but it was still totally worth it!
