Tour de Parkway
by George Ivey
Daily journal of biking the Blue Ridge Parkway in eight days during the 2004 summer

Continued (Return to Day One through Four)

Day Five

As I sit with my parents in the coffee shop near Bluff's Lodge, eating my pancakes and sausage and watching another batch of rain dampen the world outside, I'm thinking about the 76 miles I have to ride - as well as the 8,100 feet of climbing. It will be a tough day to say the least. The numbers don't lie.

To make matters worse, my legs are strongly suggesting that I should take a day off. It's not just my aching muscles. My knees hurt down in the bones, and my left ankle feels gimpy. It takes a lot of effort just to stand up and walk.

By the time we check out, the rain has stopped, and the road has dried a bit. The first few pedal strokes nearly kill me, but I just hope that I can pedal through the pain - or maybe become numb enough not to feel it.

I'm going even slower today. I take it easier on the uphills. I coast on almost all the downhills. The first 40 miles or so are very pleasant though - and dry.

From the increasing number of cars and their faster speed, I can tell I'm approaching another urban area. In this case, it's Boone and Blowing Rock. To make matters worse, it starts to rain again. An impatient driver tailgates me as I struggle to see my way through a fast, curving downhill section. Soaking wet, I turn off at an overlook to let him by, then continue on.

The rain lets up again. Thick green leaves block almost all sight of the homes being built next to the parkway, but I can hear the hammering. And just like that, the parkway corridor gets a bit more narrow. When I reach Moses Cone Memorial Park, I'm more than ready to rid myself of those fast cars and encroaching developments.

At this point, the parkway becomes slightly familiar. I have been on this section of the road, but not often, and never on a bicycle. Soon I am heading up the side of Grandfather Mountain. It's a steep climb, but not so bad - until a storm hits. The rain comes down at angles or nearly sideways, blown by a strong and gusting headwind. As I approach the Linn Cove Viaduct, the storm starts to clear. By the time I reach the other end of the viaduct, the air is calm and the sun is out.

I meet up with my parents at the visitor center there. Mom reports that the Rough Ridge Overlook near Milepost 303 has a great trail. I make a mental note of that, re-fuel, and change into a dry pair of cycling shorts and dry socks. The last ten miles to the town of Linville Falls are almost all downhill and sunny. It's a great way to end the day's ride.

I'm tired through and through, but my body seems to be adjusting to the strain. We find an Italian restaurant called "The Italian Restaurant," and I fuel up on pasta and feel pretty good. Maybe this parkway ride isn't such a ridiculous idea after all. 317 miles down, 152 to go.

Day Six

Another breakfast of pancakes and sausage patties dripping with syrup, all washed down with a big glass of orange juice. I'm looking forward to a slightly shorter ride of about 71 miles and a much better weather forecast. As I get back on the road, my parents backtrack slightly to hike to Linville Falls. I've been to the falls before, and I'd like to go again, but not today.

I struggle up to the entrance of Mount Mitchell State Park, but bypass the park itself. I've been there, too, and I've already got more feet to climb this day than if I climbed to the top of Mitchell from sea level. I think those other climbs will suffice.

I move on to Craggy Gardens and begin the long descent into Asheville. I don't see much of the fantastic views to my left, because the road itself has my full attention. It's the worst I've seen on the entire parkway - full of rough pavement and potholes. I weave my way through it all and coast nearly the whole way down to the Folk Art Center and then to the Swannanoa River.

I've dropped 3,600 feet in less than 20 miles, so I've had plenty of time to rest and recover from the big climbs earlier. It's a good thing, because the parkway traffic around Asheville reminds me more of a Nascar race. I go hard just to get these miles over with. As a teenager and amateur bicycle racer, I used to train on this stretch of the parkway at least once a week. It was more peaceful then - fewer cars, more careful drivers, lower speeds. Despite the challenges I face in relative slow motion, it's still an amazing place. I just hope it will remain so.

Day Seven

I start the day with my mother's home cooking, a bonus that few parkway riders can enjoy. It's a good way to begin the day, but the skies are dark. Nearly as soon as I am ready to go, it starts to drizzle. I had seen a big blob of green moving toward Asheville on the weather radar, but I was hoping I could get in a few dry miles before it hit. Maybe at least knock out the climb to Mount Pisgah.

The rain does not let up. I'm so close to finishing my goal, but I just can't make myself do it in the rain. I decide not to ride at all, and I mope around the rest of the day, finally driving my car back to my house in Canton. I start unpacking and doing laundry, anything to stay busy. I look up at the mountains around my house and realize I made the right decision. The cloud deck is down at 3,000 feet, where I would have been riding. I would have been nearly invisible to cars moving along the parkway - until it would be too late for them to brake or swerve away from hitting me. Being dry and alive provides a little bit of consolation, but I still want to be finished. I just have to wait.

Day Eight

I wake up early, fix my own breakfast, and drive back to Asheville. It's still damp and cloudy, but at least it's not raining. I'm ready to get this last ride over with, by far the toughest day I will have on the parkway: 80 miles and 10,000 feet of climbing. I roll down my parents' driveway and toward the parkway. Let the countdown begin.

It's a weekend again, and I see a handful of fellow cyclists already out on the road. I make quick progress to the French Broad River. 75 miles to go. I start the long climb to Pisgah. I have plenty of time to study the neighboring ridge, where I see large houses scattered along what I used to assume was protected land. Again, the parkway corridor gets squeezed.

Midway up the climb, the cold front is now blowing through, and I struggle to hold a straight line in the strong crosswind, which also carries with it the smell of the paper mill in Canton. My parents are waiting for me at the convenience store next to the Pisgah Inn (60 miles to go). The wind is blowing even harder and gusting, making riding more difficult - downright unpleasant! But I press on - first to Graveyard Fields (50 to go), then to Devil's Courthouse, then to Richland Balsam - the highest point on the parkway, at just over 6,000 feet (38 to go). These landmarks are among my favorite places to hike, but I am thinking only of the Oconaluftee River at Milepost 469.

I descend nearly 3,000 feet to Balsam Gap, in the process passing all the way through that long, dark, curving tunnel, which eventually ends, with me somehow still upright on the bike. Then I climb another 2,400 feet up to Waterrock Knob (18 to go), then descend again to Soco Gap (14 to go), then climb again. It's just like a stage in the Alps in the Tour de France. One mountain after another. A Tour de Parkway.

The last stretch is all downhill. My parents are waiting with cameras in hand to record the end of my journey. I wave nonchalantly, as if I'm always finishing an eight-day, 469-mile bike ride. I even continue a mile up Newfound Gap Road in Great Smoky Mountains National Park to the visitor center there, where my parents soon join me for a celebratory can of Coke. Mission accomplished.

Looking Back

When people ask me about my parkway ride, I find it hard to sum it all up. It is first and foremost a road of variety - forests, sunshine, creeks, deer, heat, farms, clouds, birds, calm, rivers, fog, log cabins, rain, groundhogs, millponds, tunnels, cold, wildflowers, wind, bogs, wooden fences, scenic vistas, and of course, uphill and downhill - and a rare stretch of flat. It is a road of constant change.

Some of that change is undesirable - hemlock woolly adelgids, exotic plants, subdivisions, overuse, noise pollution, and more. The employees of the National Park Service do a great job with their limited resources. Thankfully, groups like the Blue Ridge Parkway Foundation, Friends of the Blue Ridge Parkway, and the Conservation Trust for North Carolina are lending a helping hand. After the ride, I felt compelled to make a couple donations. How could I not give back? I wish I could give more. I'll work on that.

Most importantly, and most ironically, I've realized that the road itself is just a small part of the parkway experience, the means to other ends - recreation, exercise, learning, family time, history, inspiration, culture, wonder, solitude. Some of those you can't enjoy in a car; others you can't really access on a bike. I will have to go back to see it again from a different perspective - sometimes enclosed in a car and sometimes on two feet.

And I will go back on two wheels, too. Maybe not the whole thing all at once again, but I know I can't stay away from it for long.