Three miles up 321 leading out of Townsend, the anticipated climb began. Our morning ride toward our first town, Pigeon Forge, included two squiggly lines on the map, and we were headed up the first. As we left the creekbed, the road grabbed the hill on our left, and we then cranked up from the creek quickly, soon in the canopy of the trees we'd just seen, then up and up each twisting rise from Townsend's coziness down below. Time after time, after each slow crawl up a bend, the mountain always on our left, the road would snap up sharp, sometimes left, with nothing in sight but upness. sometimes right, letting let us see and fear the switchback's dizzying upward progress. Looking up into the trees across a chasm and seeing a car twist nosedown from an impossible height shook each of us, each time. The cars and trucks that waited for a clear passing moment were patient, everyone knowing that each machine was working hard. Five miles up we broke out of the climb, knowing that we'd done something remarkable.
The climb out of Townsend delivered us into the Wears Valley, and we ripped along the rollers fast, glad of the freedom and the apparent declivity, mindful though of the next squiggle on the map. The Wears Valley narrowed soon, the hills on both sides focusing tighter, and we then began to swoop and fall with 321. Soon, however, it became clear that this squiggle was our friend, that the second climb we feared was a four mile cascade into Pigeon Forge. Cool. We may have missed Dolly Parton down in Pigeon Forge, but we liked our end of the deal.
The next few miles on 411 North was a five lane lesson in neon tourist attractions. A right hand turn onto 441 would have taken us to Dollywood and Gatlinburg, but the left we sought took us past miles of its buildup. Hundreds of new motels, franchises, Musicsl Attraction Tonight! dinner theatred, helicopter cum NASCAR entertainment complexes with Casey Kahne Appearing Tomorrow! flanked us, the momentary glitz startlingly close to ancient, dripping hills. At Sevierville we escaped the entertainment parkway, turning east along old friend 411 and heading northeast toward Newport, ten miles rolling, ten miles tight and a bit gnarly. When we crossed I-40 as it emptied out from the Smokies and Asheville to our right, we entered
the land of "Interstate Interchange," which soon gave way to 'Highway Leading into the Old Part of Town" and the entrance into the Newport / Gateway to the Smokies KOA.
After setting up camp, Charlotte, Caitlyn and I made a shopping run while Paige and Will napped, the shoppers being those most keen for our day off "fiesta and sugar fest," something that included 'SMores and Cosmic Brownies, each merely a vehicle for mainlining refined sugar. We ate an excellent dinner -- lots of salad, vegetables, pasta, bread -- and then headed straight for the campfire ring hoping for the sugarfest. A recalcitrant campfire disappointed us, though as whipped as we were, a "Well, that just means more for tomorrow night, PJC!" sounded pretty reasonable, and we all fell into our tents, the first week of riding and accomplishment behind us.
We're a week down now, having earned a sabbatical. A couple hundred miles, big chunks of two states, a legitimate piece of The South, the suggestion of mountains and a good start at highland culcture, freshly worn in butts -- our team has grown fit in body, spirit, and vision this week, able to camp, ride, cook, share, suffer, see joy in simple things, spread joy and wonder with friends and strangers alike. In our group, Will is the joyful glue; Caitlyn is the singling omphalos of energy; Paige, the flying ruminator; Charlotte, the Queen Bee, fluttering. They are a terrific ensemble, and they're getting it done. What that "it" is will differ one from the next, but we getting it all done together.
-- PJClements
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