The Smokey Mountains are a motorcycle Mecca for a reason.
Using a combination of motorcycleroads.com and Furkot.com I've been planning day trips from Pigeon Forge, which seems a sensible place to explore the Smokey Mountains from. The process can serve as escapism on a foggy, freezing drizzle Boxing Day, or it could be pre-planning for an inevitable trip. I've variously daydreamed about driving the Tiger down in a van over the Christmas break to New Orleans and Key West, as well as riding down to The Tail of the Dragon next August for a complete solar eclipse. There are a lot of good reasons to figure out possible rides for when I'm eventually in the area. Pigeon Forge is located just south east of Knoxville and offers a great launching point into the Smokey Mountains. The area around there is covered in desirable roads: The only trick with a winter trip is changeable weather. It looks like next week in Pigeon Forge would have been a bit challenging:
It's a roll of the dice going south in the winter but the summer's a sure thing. Maybe I'll find myself in the Smokey Mountains next summer when the moon hides the sun.
After a few days of R&R recovering from our ride out to the 1000 Islands and seeing the sights, it was time to pack up and prepare for our return home. The plan was to travel through the Halliburton Highlands, where it is claimed that Ontario's best roads reside. The Tiger morphed from light weight, single rider mode to two-up, full luggage touring mode in about ten minutes. The rear suspension was tightened up for the extra weight and we were ready to go. The plan was to cut north west from the Thousand Islands and get onto the twisties as soon as possible. It worked well. We soon found ourselves leaning into corners more than we were upright (a rarity in Ontario). When I'm in corners like that i don't stiffen up in the saddle and I can ride for hours without fatigue. Regional Road 15 got interesting almost immediately, weaving around lakes and pieces of the Canadian Shield peaking through the earth. As we travelled north those rock outcroppings became the norm rather than the exception and the roads only got better. 38 up to Highway 7 was a lovely ride with constant bends and big elevation changes as we bounced in and out of river valleys that had cut their way through the rock. If this road was a sign of things to come, then the riding the highlands was going to be special.
We stopped at Fall River Restaurant on Highway 7 because I figured it would be the last place with a busy enough road to warrant an open business, except it didn't. This turned into a theme on this ride: don't depend on the tourist trade to keep a business open, instead look to a stable community to keep a business open. The lady from the post office came out and told us only the post office is open, the general store, ice cream and restaurant are all closed and only open on the weekend. There wasn't even a toilet available. Three vehicles pulled in looking for a stop while we were there, but were turned away. We drank our own water and stretched in the empty parking lot before hoping on the bike and continuing up the winding country road 38.
In Elphin the plan was to turn with the 38 and continue west, and even though Elphin is a tiny place with only one major turn, we missed it. This spoke to another thing we learned on this ride; you'll see signs for corners and bumps everywhere even though these things are self evident, but navigational signs are small, missing or incorrect. I guess most people follow a screen telling them what to do nowadays, but for the rest of us, some accurate navigational signage would be appreciated. When I saw a second sign for regional road 12 which we weren't supposed to be on, I pulled over at the Mississippi River (when I take a wrong turn, I don't mess around!). It was a beautiful, shady spot and we had a good stretch and watched the kingfishers getting their breakfast before saddling up again and u-turning back to Elphin. Back on the 38 again, we wound around lakes before finding the 509 I turned left toward Ompah, but it turns out that should have been a right (turning signs around is fun!). When we arrived back at Highway 7 I just shook my head and made a right turn, figuring I could angle north again on either Kaladar or Madoc. By now the heat was back and moving at speed down Highway 7 was a nice way to cool off. This was the prettiest part of 7, with few towns and no reduced speeds, so everyone was clipping along nicely. We stopped in Kaladar for gas even though we didn't really need it and got sports drinks. By the time we got to Madoc it was wicked hot and we sought air conditioning in the only open restaurant we'd seen so far - a McDonalds. I was beginning to despair for local food in the Highlands.
Coe Hill Cafe - cool ceiling, good bakery and coffee.
After a much needed cool down and hydration we hopped back on the bike and hiked up highway 62 to Coe Hill, which is where we learned that you'll find local businesses, but only in small towns where people live year round. The cottage crowd and travellers are too fickle and passing to support a business up here. The ride up 62 had us stopping at various bridges for up to five minutes at a time due to construction, so we got into Coe Hill ready to get out of the sun for a few minutes again. Fortunately, the Coe Hill Cafe was open and got us sorted out even though we were looking a bit ragged. It's amazing what a good cup of coffee in a cool shady place can do to get you back on your feet. I missed the poor signage for Lower Faraday Road (the reason we'd come this way in the first place), and then missed another turn thirty seconds later. I cannot over state how random the road signage is up this way. I really wish the MoT would take the money put into redundant cornering signage and apply it to identifying the roads themselves.
They show a couple of sports bikes riding down Lower Faraday on the website, but the section they're showing is the last mile up to Ontario 28. While this road is indeed twisty, much of the surface is atrocious with big pot holes and gravel everywhere from the many driveways that feed onto it. You'd find it frustrating trying to explore any section of this road on a sports bike. Even with the big shocks on the Tiger it was a rough, perilous ride. You couldn't push any corners because of the debris, quality of the road and traffic. Lower Faraday has no centre line for much of it and every vehicle coming the other way was the largest possible pickup truck you've ever seen moving well above the speed limit in the middle of the road, and this was on a Tuesday afternoon. We road out of our way to see this 'ten best' road, and it wasn't. We headed in to Bancroft after the disappointing Faraday experience and stopped at the information tourism building. They have an excellent little mineral exhibit showing the various mining that goes on in the area, as well as being a cooling centre. Half an hour in the air conditioning with cold water and some cool rocks got us ready to ride again. Some of the best roads of the day were ahead of us. We took 62 north out of Bancroft and then cut across toward Highland Grove. This roller-coaster of a road was well marked, clean and had a consistent surface. Corners varied from tight switchbacks to long sweepers with big elevation changes, what a joy! We followed the 648 around to the 118, passing Old Ridge Authentic BBQ (closed) where I'd hoped to have dinner.
The bike looks fine, we were exhausted!
We quickly discovered that the 118 is no boring connecting road, with beautiful scenery and engaging corners all the way in to Haliburton. Even though it was heading towards evening the air temperature was still well in the thirties and humidity was high. We'd done over 400kms entirely on twisty back roads and were wiped. We limped in to Pinestone Resort just south of Haliburton and parked it up. The Pinestone offered a quiet room with good beds for a reasonable price. We went for a swim (salt water indoor and outdoor pools) and then had an excellent dinner at Stone 21, the onsite restaurant. By the end of the evening we were back on our feet again. I had us up early the next morning, hoping to beat the heat. I'd looked up good local breakfasts and found The Millpond Restaurant in Carnarvon, right on our way to Bracebridge. It was a short hop over there on very windy, but rough backroad for an excellent breakfast. Great price, great food, great service. If you're anywhere around Haliburton, give the Millpond a go, you won't be disappointed.
Outside afterwards the hydro line-men who were there for breakfast were curious about the bike. For the fifth time this trip I explained the resurrection of Triumph and how they are building new bikes. The general public seems to recognize the brand as historical, but our post-modern/art-deco Tiger raises a lot of questions. It was only just past 9am at this point, we were well fed, well rested and it was a perfect 20°C under a cloudless sky. We pulled on to an empty 118 and rode the weaving, smooth pavement in bliss. No sweat, no traffic, beautiful scenery, this was the moment we'd been searching for. We passed through Bracebridge and got into Port Carling about 10:30am. Traffic had picked up once we were into the Muskokas, so we pulled over at the information/tourism place for a stretch and a heads up on where to get a coffee. Stopping at the info/tourism spots on this trip was never a disappointment.
Port Carling is a pretty little place. We were told it was a short walk to the Camp Muskoka Coffeehouse which helps support a camp that teaches leadership to students. The coffee was excellent and the walk into town offered a good stretch. Back up at the info-stop we bumped into a fellow from Barbados who was puzzled at our very modern looking Triumph. He said there are lots of old Triumphs on the island, but they're very expensive. Once again I told the phoenix like story of Hinckley Triumph and how they are building some of the most modern bikes on the planet. He had no idea, but thought there would be a huge market for a modern, small Triumph (they have cc limits in Barbados). Perhaps he'll contact Hinckley and see about the 250cc little Triumph that hasn't happened yet. We saddled up and left the shade of the info stop. The sun was blistering now, but we were nearing the end of our Highlands road ride. We quickly got to Bala, but I missed the poorly marked turn out to the 400 (surprise, surprise). No worries, we just stayed on the 169 down the Gravenhurst. A couple of ten minute stops at bridge construction had us both sweating heavily by the time we got into Gravenhurst. I'd only ever seen the highway side of Gravenhurst, so I was surprised that it took us 15 minutes of traffic lights to get through it.
Ahhh.... air conditioning!
Once clear I hopped on 11 South and made time. We pushed through the heat and steady but fast moving traffic all the way past Barrie before stopping at an ONroute for gas, lunch and a cool down. I'd been getting over 49mpg solo without luggage. The astonishing Tiger was still getting 47.2mpg two up with luggage. We'd done over 430kms since our last fill up the day before in Madoc. I used every trick in the book to cool off, soaking my head and arms to let the water evaporate and drinking a lot of fluids. We took our time before stepping back out into the oven. It was over 40°C with humidity when we finally left. We bombed down the 400 and turned toward Orangeville on Highway 9, which was chockablock with traffic on a Wednesday afternoon. Aggressive drivers on the highway were lane changing without indicating around typically poor Canadian lane discipline (you're supposed to pass on the left). We got cut off a couple of times, once badly enough to prompt a salute from me. On Highway 9 with eighteen wheelers spitting hot gravel at us and cars sitting at green lights while staring at their smartphones, I was at the end of my patience. We finally got around Orangeville only to almost get hit by a car passing a line of traffic coming right at us on the Fergus Road. This was as far from the 118 on a cool, quiet morning as we could possibly get. We rolled in to Elora mid-afternoon. Once parked I pulled out the laser temperature tester from the garage. The driveway was over 50°C. A cold shower and feet up on the couch ended our 750+km ride through the Haliburton Highlands. The last leg back into Southern Ontario was the most dangerous part of the whole trip, and made me wish those sublime Ontario Highland roads weren't so far away on the other side of these overcrowded, frustrating and tedious Southern Ontario roads.
Things fell together just right for a ride out to the 1000 Islands in Eastern Ontario. My lovely wife had a conference in Ottawa, so we spent the weekend before where Lake Ontario empties into the St Lawrence Seaway. This meant, for the first time, I had a support vehicle! The panniers and top-box all went in the back of the car and I got to ride light and solo. It also meant I had a vehicle that could take pictures of me riding.
I'd dialed back the rear suspension for a single rider, so the Tiger was more compliant. The weather was, as it has been for weeks, sunny and very hot. It wasn't so bad in the morning, but by noon it was sweat-box hot. We dodged around the GTA, not trusting the crumbling infrastructure, overcrowded roads and distracted yet aggressive drivers. Traffic was light and moving well north of the city on a summer, Saturday morning. We stopped briefly in Schomberg at Main Street Powersports for a quick stretch and look around what may be one of the most eclectic motorcycle shops in Ontario before pushing on into the heat. Bypassing Newmarket, we found mostly empty roads as we wound our way down to Uxbridge where we stopped for a second breakfast/early lunch at Urban Pantry (having a foodie and professional researcher driving your support vehicle has big benefits!). Every time I got off the bike it was that much hotter suiting up again. It was just past noon when we finished lunch and the air temperature was in the mid-thirties with humidity pushing it well into the forties. It was just bearable in motion so we quickly got moving. Pushing down to the 401 meant more traffic, but once on the highway we made quick time and the hot wind was better than stagnant air at traffic lights. My support vehicle pulled off at Port Hope where we discovered a lovely, old downtown during a hydration stop. I thought it would be nice to take the old King's Highway (Lakeshore Road) along to Prince Edward County where we were going to check out some wineries and Sandbanks Provincial Park. At first this seemed like a bad idea as we were constantly stopped at traffic lights through never ending box store/strip malls in Coburg, but soon enough we left the last remnants of the GTA behind and found ourselves on a winding old highway that kept Lake Ontario in sight to our right. Crossing the Murray Canal Bridge, we entered Prince Edward County, which immediately impresses with a relaxed island vibe. Following wine and arts tour signs we meandered across the island enjoying light traffic and a stop at Sandbanks Winery, which not only had some wines on hand that you can't get through retail, but also appeared to be where all the pretty girls go to drink on a Saturday. The bachelorette party looked to be well along at two in the afternoon. They jumped into a shuttle and were driven to the next winery, which was about five hundred feet down the road. They must have looked like a train wreck the next morning. We rode into the afternoon, stopping at The Duke of Wellington Pub for a much needed cool down and hydration. The view off the deck into the harbour was lovely, as was being out of the relentless sun for a while. It was a short ride to Sandbanks Park, but getting in was tricky. After waiting in line for ten minutes I pulled up with the car and said I'd just park in the same spot as the car since were all here as a group, but the kid at the gate didn't know what to do about that and spent ten minutes calling people to ask what he should do... while I stood there on the bike on 50°C tarmac. He finally told us we had to pay two full vehicle admissions. It's things like this that make motorcycling in Ontario that much harder than it needs to be. We're not the same as cars or the massive SUVs most people like to drive around in, we don't require the same space or resources, but rather than honour that Ontario seems to do everything it can to ignore it. The park itself was nice and the dunes that make it famous looked like something out of the Caribbean. We stuck around for a couple of hours and even went for a swim to cool off. If you walk down the beach a bit the crowds let up and it's possible to find some quiet space to relax. Back on the road with sand in my everywhere and sweating freely, I was starting to feel this ride. Into the lengthening shadows we went, pushing across the length of Prince Edward County toward Kingston. I felt like I was in a sandwich press, the setting sun and the tarmac both pressing in the heat.
A welcome break came at the Glenora Ferry, which takes you from Prince Edward back to the mainland for free and runs every fifteen minutes in the summer. It's only a ten minute crossing, but it's a pretty one with beautiful views up and down the straights. The line up was a welcome fifteen minute break from the saddle that gave me time to change into some cooler jeans. Once on the ferry you can wander around and see the sights. Before you know it you're firing up the bike ready to go again. If you have to get to Kingston from Prince Edward County in the summer, go the Glenora way!
The temperature finally began to abate as I rode away from the ferry. Shadows got even longer and the bugs began to thwack off my helmet. We dodged and weaved across southern Lennox County, eventually finding our way onto the 401 just outside of Kingston. A stop for gas had the Tiger using 19.7 litres to travel 412kms. That's 4.78l/100kms or 49.2 miles per gallon on everything from urban stop and go to fast highway riding. Considering it's expected to get about 40mpg, I'm really happy with those numbers.
It might have been dehydration and heat stroke, but the final ride into the 1000 Islands was pretty magical!
After a stop for dinner in Kingston we got back on the highway for the final forty-five minutes to Gananoque and our hotel in the Thousand Islands. The sun was well down and the air temperature had dropped. Stars filled the sky and heat boiled out of the sun baked pavement. Tucked in behind the windshield as I thundered down the dark highway, it felt as though I was riding through VanGogh's Starry Night. We pulled in to the Glen House Resort just past 10pm. I immediately took a cold shower and flaked out on the bed.
Tree shade just outside of Newmarket
Downtown Port Hope, lovely!
Next to Lake Ontario in Sandbanks Provincial Park, where bikes pay the same parking costs as six thousand pound SUVs.
Making long shadows as the sun sets in Lennox County.
It's just past 8am on day one of the ride. Even this early in the morning it's already in the mid-twenties and the sun is relentless. The padding I thought I'd try in my helmet was a bad idea, and by the time I reach Creemore I'm working on a full scale headache. Thirty seconds after we stop the Roof lid is back to normal and it works like a champ for the rest of the trip. Motorcycle gear is an ongoing process of fine tuning, especially when you mess around with something that already works.
This trip grew out of a friend's cross country anniversary ride with his wife on his new-to-him Goldwing. We were originally going to drop down to the ferry on Manitoulin Island for the ride home after day one, but the ferry is booked solid during the day so I started looking at another way home. Having never been to Northern Michigan, it seemed like a good idea to wrap around Lake Huron. It's just over 1500kms of wilderness riding with few people in between.
The goodbye in Creemore went long as we'd been accompanied by friends out that far, so we got back on the road just as the sun was going fully nuclear. Day One was the longest of our trip, five hundred kilometres around Georgian Bay up to the small town of Massey, Ontario. A gas and lunch stop in Perry Sound followed by a couple of road side stops along the way made the heat bearable with lots of consuming of liquids at each stop. You know it's hot when you're sweating freely at highway speeds.
Mohawk Motel: clean, cheap & odd!
We rolled into the Mohawk Motel in Massey just past 4pm. The grass was brown and crisp, just like us. The motel was basic but clean with air conditioning. Everyone cold showered and relaxed for a while before we wandered out into town only to discover that the only restaurant was closed early due to it being hot. We were told to walk down the street to a variety store that also doubled as the local fast food joint. Forty five minutes of waiting in forty degree heat later I'd paid forty bucks for a cheeseburger, fries and a couple of slices of pizza. We staggered back to the hotel and called it a day. The next morning Massey totally redeemed itself with a fantastic breakfast at the Back Home Bistro. As we finished up the eggs and bacon, rain moved in. It was still in the mid-twenties, but humid and wet. We rode into heavier and heavier rain as we traveled west over the top of Georgian Bay. A brief stop in Blind River to check on my stoic pillion had us bump into a couple doing a similar route to our Huron circumnavigation; it wasn't the last time we'd meet them. The rain came and went before finally relenting as we rode into Sault Ste. Marie. We parted ways after a surprisingly excellent and cost effective lunch at Pino's Supermarket where you can get a brick oven baked pizza and amazing sausage on a bun for next to nothing.
Jeff & MA were on their way to Wawa up on Lake Superior, while Max and I were headed over to the border crossing into Northern Michigan. After a day and half together we'd made good time, covered a lot of ground in all sorts of weather and everyone still had smiles on their faces (a good Italian lunch helped there). After a quick goodbye we saddled up and headed over to the bridge only to bump into the couple from Blind River again. We followed them up onto the bridge to discover a massive line up. Inching a fully loaded two-up bike five feet at a time up the side of a suspension bridge is about as much fun as it gets. Fortunately we had a great view of the river beneath us. Sault Ste Marie is one of those places that reminds you just how big the great lakes are. In the hour plus we were inching our way over that bridge I tried to imagine the tons and tons of water that rushed beneath us out of Superior and into Huron, it feels very powerful and boggles the mind. A highlight of the interminable wait was getting to the peak of the bridge. From that point up until the customs gates we were going downhill, so the bikes stayed off and in neutral as we glided forward, inches at a time. As I said to our doppelgangers, 'at least it isn't yesterday!' That bridge on a forty degree sunny day would be unhealthy. My magic power kicked in at the split into lines for each gate. Which ever one I pick will immediately stop, and of course it did. The couple ahead of us were down the interstate a good fifteen minutes ahead of us while we sat there pondering karma, or just plain old bad luck.
Once finally freed into Michigan we headed south into the tail end of some very violent
thunderstorms. The mist became rain, and then strong winds came up out of west. It was an hour of tacking against the wind down i75 to St. Ignace and The Breaker's Resort. We got in about 4pm drenched and weary after a long day in the rain broken up by the better part of two hours crossing the border in five foot increments. Java Joes provided a first class milkshake and coffee before we headed over to check in. They weren't ready for us, but housekeeping did back flips to get us into the room ASAP.
We enjoyed the hot tub and pool, but Breakers is a family resort, kind of like Disney World but with a great lake instead of mice. If you like screaming, unmanaged children and drunk, indifferent parents on smartphones, this place is for you. Max and I vacated the pool in a flurry of OCD after a kid pretended to be vomiting water out over and over again. Dinner was takeout pizza from Java Joes, and it was exceptional. With everything scattered around the room in a vain attempt to dry it out, we crashed on the beds and watched Seth Macfarlane cartoons as the fog rolled in outside. After two days and the better part of a thousand kilometres on the road, we were both pretty knackered. We woke up early in backwards world to blue skies and the sun rising out of Lake Huron (the sun goes to sleep in Huron where we're from). A savoury breakfast of heavily processed meat pucks and bad coffee with large Americans eating all they could while watching Trump speeches on FoxTV (we are far from home my son), had us ready to hit the road. I wiped down the trusty Tiger and we loaded up for a day that was more about exploring than making distance (though it eventually turned into both - you're always making distance if you're trying to get around a great lake). After a quick fill up and a slow ride around St. Ignace's lovely harbour, we got onto the interstate and headed for the Mackinac Bridge, it was spectacular:
The Mackinac Bridge is worth the ride!
We took our border-buddies' advice and headed over to the Tunnel of Trees. This put us on the shore of yet another Great Lake (Lake Michigan). The micro-climate on the west shore of Michigan's northern peninsula produces fast growth. As you ride onto that side of the peninsula everything is super green and the trees get Pandora big. The M-119 is a twisty little blacktop that runs through those forests along the shore. It's barely two lanes wide with no curbs or runoff. You need to keep your eyes on the narrow lane, but you're never moving that quickly. Surrounded by a sea of green, you quickly get into a meditative mood. The Tiger can be whisper quiet when it wants to be, and we purred through that green cathedral in near silence.
You can't help but get that look on your face on the M-119.
We ended up getting redirected off the tunnel road due to construction and never found our way back. We eventually got to Petoskey, which I was interested in seeing because it was where Earnest Hemingway used to spend his summers as a child. It's box stores and hotels bent under the weight of lots of tourists nowadays. If Hemingway were to return, I'm not sure much of it would ring a bell. Out of the heat in a McDonalds at lunch we ran into our doppelgangers again. They suggested an alternate route out of Petoskey and we wished each other a safe trip once again. A short time later one of the retirees working there walked up to chat about bikes, he had a big old Harley in the lot and couldn't identify the Tiger. When I told him it was a Triumph he got the same happy, nostalgic expression that a lot of people did when I told them what we were riding. There is a lot of good will and nostalgia around the marquee in the States. On the road again we struck east across the peninsula aiming for Alpena on the Huron coast, but between the heat, increasing traffic and the strong westerly winds, we were both losing the will to get there. We turned south on 65 and wound our way through Huron National Forest, stopping for an ice cream in Glennie. The lovely young lady who served us told of her hours spent horseback riding the day before, then three local farmers came in for a cone and were curious about the Triumph. It was all very nice. When we left she came out to her car that had a big 'Vote Trump' bumper sticker on it. I found it hard to reconcile how nice Americans were with the insane politics they practice.
Old Detroit charm - built back in the day when the motor city was a world traveller destination, the Bay Valley Resort reminds of the golden years.
When we finally turned onto 23 heading back out to the interstate I gave a barbaric yawp in my helmet, as it felt like we'd never get there. The final blast down the interstate in 60km/hr cross winds was performed using shear will power. We staggered in to the Bay Valley Resort after nine hours and over 450kms on the road in strong winds and relentless heat. Bay Valley Resort was a real treat. Cheaper than Breakers, but better in every way. If you like modern hotels, this isn't for you, but if you like character, Bay Valley has oodles. The doors are made out of wood (!), and the entire resort is situated in the middle of a golf course. It's much more adult orientated, but it had all the accoutrements my son loves. The pool is an indoor/outdoor design with a river between them, and the spa was a hard hitting jet affair with strong bubbles perfect for loosening up sore muscles after a long day in the wind. The whole thing was set into patterned concrete. The on-site restaurant was swathed in dark wood and was both classy and dated, I loved it! The food was chef prepared but priced very reasonably. We fell asleep feeling well cared for in the silence of a golf course at night - no sounds of screaming children anywhere. We woke up the next morning and hit the pool one last time. Max wasn't keen to mount up for yet another day on the road. Day one had been a high mileage sweat box, day 2 a rainy, windy ride with an interminable border wait, and day 3 was a high mileage meander across the peninsula in heat and high winds. We were both tired, and having to get my pillion in motion made it even heavier. After a late breakfast we finally got on the road just before 11am and I made a command decision to take the Interstate rather than head over to the coast on another back road ride. No wind and less heat made our interstate jaunt through poor, old Flint, Michigan a relatively painless affair. Flint feels like a ghost town at the best of times, but this year it felt abandoned. We stopped at a rest stop on the i69 on the way to the Canadian border when Max got a leg cramp, but otherwise high-tailed it home.
Distracted Stratford drivers put that look on my face.
It took all of five minutes to line up and cross the border back into Sarnia. Heading into The States was misery, coming home was a dream. We stopped in Sarnia for lunch and then hit the bricks for the final ride home. We thundered up the 402 on the long legged Tiger before angling off toward Stratford on back roads. After over sixteen hundred kilometres of riding, much of it through wilderness, it was the ride through Stratford and its dithering, well dressed theatre patrons that was the most dangerous. We were cut off and almost run over by people less worried about killing us than they were making their curtain call. It was the only moment on the trip that I was tempted to chase someone down in order to thump them.
Back in the stable after a flawless 1600+kms ride, what a champ!
We finally pulled into the driveway just before 6pm, sore but elated. The ride had its challenges, but the memories made were keepers. The road into Sault Ste. Marie is lovely and surprisingly mountainous. The Mackinac Bridge is a must-do experience, and riding down the tunnel of trees is like attending the best church ever. Java Joes makes a good food stop and Bay Valley Resort is a forgotten gem worth staying at if you're in the area. All in all it was a great adventure, albeit a trying one. Sometimes, usually when it's least comfortable, I wonder why I'm doing this to myself, but the memories sort out the discomfort from the awesome, and the awesome always wins.
Riding the Tunnel of Trees road in northern Michigan http://www.motorcycleroads.com/75/309/Michigan/Tunnel-of-Trees-Road.html#sthash.BxFBBpqw.dpbs - Spherical Image - RICOH THETA
