She is riding a motorbike for the first time. It turned out to be the aftermath, but my aunt Muriel was on the bus, her ashes secretly kept in my top container.
Muriel is not a fan of motorcycles. She noticed that they were too fast and noisy and that their riders were too careless and selfish. For decades, she lived near the coast in southern Florida, where a network of busy, congested streets put motorbikes right next to her. The ones she encountered, at least the fast and loud ones that stood out in her mind, didn’t interest her much.
While she loves hearing stories about my long-distance adventures on motorcycles, she’s always made one thing clear: “You’ll never get there. I on a motorcycle! ”
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Now, as the kilometers are increasing, a thought keeps popping into my mind: Will Muriel find this ride okay?
Her attitude about motorcycles and the people who ride them evolved after she retired and moved to the mountains of western North Carolina – one of the best motorcycling areas anywhere. When Muriel first came to reside in Franklin Township, my wife, Sheila, and I drove down to visit. Muriel drove us to lunch at one of her favorite barbecue places in Highlands.
As we moved south on Highway 28, the road became huge, with slick asphalt and continuous narrow turns, nicely channeled. On one side of the road are jagged cliffs, on the other side is a fast-flowing river in a rocky ravine. She pulled over and drove us to the back of a waterfall.
Muriel isn’t what you’d call an adept driver, but to her credit, she’s been in her own lane on this twisty road. Sheila was pregnant at the time and nervously sat in the backseat, clutching her full stomach and hoping our destination was near. Quite the contrary, I’m thinking how amazing this road would be on a motorcycle. I mentioned this to Muriel, and she suggested I go back to riding one. “Bring a friend,” she said. “More than one if you like.”
This invitation, I later learned, was in defiance of homeowners association regulations that do not allow motorbikes in Muriel’s neighborhood. “I don’t have a motorbike,” she explains, “but if guests come to see me and arrive on their cycle, there’s not much I can do about that, can I?” Muriel believes that it is easier to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission.
Over the next 15 years, I took every opportunity to visit her with one, two, or three friends on motorbikes. We would arrive in quiet Hondas and BMWs, walk slowly through her neighborhood, and give a friendly greeting to anyone we met. Forgiveness is never asked.
Muriel’s house sits atop a hill, offering an impressive view of the mountains, where the roads we came to ride lie in wait. Her neighborhood is empty on 28th Street (aka Moonshiner 28), and gems like Wayah Road, Cherohala SkywayUS Route 129 (Tail of dragons), and Blue Ridge Parkway had to be enjoyed. On each visit, we discovered new avenues.
We’ll return from a day of rides filled with excitement and stories, then take Muriel out to dinner. Through these meals, she became acquainted with an orthopedic surgeon, an army logistician, a power plant engineer, a metal fabricator, a warehouse manager, and a truck driver. truck – each a gentleman, a gentleman guest and a motorcyclist.
One time Muriel happened to ask if we could help her replace the storm window for a screen. “You’re going to keep an old lady not a stepgirl,” she explains. We installed those screens, and on each subsequent visit we asked for her to-do list. Leaky faucets, towel bars and uncooperative wi-fi never stood a chance. Muriel appreciates that not every motorcycle is so fast and noisy, nor is every rider so careless and selfish. When she talked to her lady friends in the church, she called us her gentleman friends on the motorbike.
Now, on a warm Sunday in late summer, I set off home to western Massachusetts and just BMW car R 1200 RT south and west. Weaving through Connecticut’s Berkshire Hills, I searched for places Muriel would enjoy: Saville Dam in Barkhamsted, East River Road overlooking the Farmington River, and the historic covered Bull Bridge over the Housatonic River. At the New York border, the road becomes Dogtail Corners Road… Muriel would giggle at the name. She’ll be less amused when she sees the 10-mph hairpins on Dutchess County 22nd Street east of Pleasant Ridge Road, but I lean over to enjoy them.
I glided past Bear Mountain and Harriman State Park into beautiful northern New Jersey, where Steve Efthyvoulou joined the ride. Over the years, Steve has come to Muriel’s house by motorbike more often than anyone but me, and on this ride, he is helping me fulfill a request: Muriel has instructed that her ashes be buried. “scattered in the mountains of North Carolina”. No specific location was indicated, so I asked Steve to join me to view this appropriately. He agreed without hesitation.
The next morning, we were rolling from the first light. Steve plotted a route to keep us off the main roads, so we would pass through small New Jersey towns, cornfields formerly ready for harvest. We crossed Pennsylvania, and in Lancaster County, there are many different attractions of the Dutch country Pennsylvania. Amish farmers with a team of four mules are harvesting the first row of corn, right by the road. A teacher in a cap was standing outside as the children dressed in shirts at home sat attentively. Further afield, a group of older boys enjoy taking a break on a baseball diamond. I was told Monday was Amish laundry day, and countless clotheslines filled with union suits and pantyhose gave anecdotal evidence. At an intersection, a young buggy driver struggles with her entanglement. Steve points out that teenagers are often not the best drivers – even when riding a horse.
On 372 Pennsylvania Road, we passed the expanding Muddy Run hydroelectric project, which uses excess energy from the grid to pump water from the dammed Susquehanna River into a lake. During times of peak electricity demand, water flows down from the lake through turbines that generate electricity. Basically, the lake is a battery. It is also the center of an area that acts as a park.
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Midday found us in Maryland, and what would a lunch stop in the Free State be without crab cakes? Muriel must have raised two claws. After a short run through West Virginia, we continued through West Virginia to Harrisonburg for the night.
In the morning, we hit the Skyline Drive to pass through Shenandoah National Park. On a dull weekday after Labor Day, very few vehicles we encountered were bypassing the very slow 35 mph speed limit. After we joined the Blue Ridge Parkway, the rain started. Beyond Roanoke, we turned to US Route 221, and the rain continued to fall hard and evenly, but as Steve reminded me, a great road in the rain is still a great road. In the town of Boone, North Carolina, we call it a day. Torrential rain and flash flood warnings will continue for the next 36 hours, so we opt for a day off in this happening college town in the mountains.
A day later, the morning comes with a bright sun and low temperatures in the 40s. With the heater plugged in, we’ll start early. The branches, pine branches scattered on the roads are proof of the fierce storms that have rolled over. Steve shares warnings about dangers on the road ahead, a great benefit of bike-to-bike communication. Especially in this region of Appalachian, the mountains form a twisty and wrinkled landscape, and the roads built within it zigzag and zigzag like a roller coaster ride that you steer. . Protruding outcrops of rock are common, and some are very intriguing, such as the one on US 221, west of Blowing Rock, which looks like a face jutting out of the mountains. Beyond North Cove, we turn right on Highway 226 and left on Route 226A to join another asphalt masterpiece.
Then, somewhere outside of Little Switzerland, a suitable location in the mountains of North Carolina appeared on its own and Muriel’s final request was fulfilled.
Professionally, Muriel has served as city secretary, certifying elections, organizing weddings and serving as president of the international association of city registrars. She travels a lot for work and in retirement. A simple woman who goes to church, she likes to chat, voice strong opinions and agree to disagree (completely easily). One thing Muriel and I disagreed on was motorbikes, although curiously they brought us closer together. She knows how important motorbikes are to me and she lives in a special place to enjoy them, so of course I should visit with friends.
On this trip, I gained the satisfaction of making sure that Muriel’s desire to find a resting place in the mountains of North Carolina was fulfilled, and in the process, Steve and I enjoyed a number of animals. great road. But it was impossible to escape the irony that Muriel’s last ride was also her first time riding a motorbike.
