Autumn isn't always bright and crisp in North Carolina. Many days are gloomy as fall rains lead to cold weather and darkened skies. That's why all of us that ride check the weather reports frequently through the day. As soon as the weatherman says, "Warm and bright in the mountains," we are gassed up and gone as quickly as possible. Today was no exception for me. When the noon report said that Hickory was above 70 degrees and the clouds were clearing my wife suggested it would be a good day to ride. The next thing she heard ws the banging of the door and the starter engaging on the SilverWing. I wasn't foolish enough to ask if she had anything more important planned for me.

Usually I'm a sedate rider, strictly observing the speed limit and rarely risking a traffic stop and citation. But, I'm 90 minutes from the mountains and passing daylight doesn't care that I left two hours later than I should have to really enjoy 250 miles of roadway. Soon I'm cruising on US-601, northwest of Salisbury, and the fact that I'm bouncing along at 20 mph over the limit doesn't matter to me at all. It seems to fit the mood of the day, push the road and the bike to that converging point where the lean becomes all consuming and the thrill of the ride rises and falls with the sound of the motor. There is little traffic, a few farmers out surveying their harvested fields and that's it.

I reach US-64 at Mocksville and turn to the west, planning to parallel I-40 into Morganton. The road is in reasonable condition, but could use a bit of attention in a few spots. In light of my desire to push the speed, I should have gotten on the Interstate, but it didn't feel right to waste such a beautiful afternoon in the midst of a few hundred cagers that don't give a damn about the scenery and only want to arrive at some distant place sometime today.

Me, I didn't really care about 'arriving' anywhere. It's the trip that is important today and I wanted the solitude of the two lane road.

Approaching NC-901 I spotted the direction sign for Harmony, NC. Never been to Harmony, and I quickly abandon the plan for Morganton and opt for North Wilkesboro, about 30 miles north of Harmony. From there, I can have a quick sandwich and run up to the Blue Ridge Parkway for a few miles of 'leaf peeping' in the mountains.

In the midwest we call autumn riding days 'color tours' and it seems an appropriate term. There are colors and we tour around to see them. Very apt. Here in the Carolinas they use the term 'leaf peeping', and I think I object to that. It conjures up the mental image of some pervert stalking through the woods, using the available foliage to spy upon some hidden treasure. I've never been able to figure out if 'leaf peeping' and 'nekked' go together, but I'm sure the same mindset applies!

At Harmony I found a very small hamlet and a choice of roads. Continue on 901 to NC-115 and then to northern Wilkes County or turn onto US-21 and immediately head to the parkway. The need for food and fuel made the choice, as it has for most of this summer. If I ever get a bike with longer range it may have a serious impact upon my diet. NC-115 ends at North Wilkesboro and certainly is a fun road. It starts way down by Charlotte at W.T. Harris Boulevard and parallels I-77, running along US-21 for part of the route. If you aren't in a hurry, it's a pleasant ride on the southern end and the hills greet you on the northern end.

I got the sandwich and fuel and begin the 20 mile stretch on NC-18 to the parkway. I'm again delighted that NC-18 is such a great road. I've traveled most of it on various rides, and it's never a disappointment. Maybe it's time to designate it as one of my favorites.

That big wide grin factor begins to climb as I stop to take a few photos. This is pretty countryside. At one stop I look back toward the southern end of Wilkes County and I'm taken aback by the view. I knew I was in the foothills, but I didn't realize how far. The rippling landscape seems endless.

The first negative of the day has appeared in the form of Lady Bugs. These normally innocent creatures are filling the air by the millions...all flying around at helmet level. It didn't take long before the windscreen was a mess and my helmet visor was splattered by dozens of them. From the perspective of the Lady Bugs I assume I'm a mass murderer, but I consider it as their successful attempts at suicide - and messy ones at that! There are some moist wipes in my glove box and I make a mental note to use them during the first stop on the parkway.

Suddenly the Continental Divide is crossed, elevation just over 3,000 feet, and the parkway entrance just beyond. My banzai charge up the mountainside turns into a leisurely ride across the top of the ridge. The narrow roadway is bereft of any advertising billboards and each new turn brings another wall of color. Parkway riders rarely, if ever, reach beyond the 45 mph speed limit, and I'm content to confine myself to the posted limits. The reason is obvious, there are no appreciable guardrails along the road. Misjudge a corner at speed and the police may be able to find your body days later, several hundred yards down the side of the mountain.

I reach the first overlook and tend to the mess on the windscreen and helmet. From the east came two riders; one aboard a Sportster and the other on a slick BMW RT-1150. As they dismount I walk up and notice Maryland plates on the BMW. One question leads to another and soon we are engaged in a pleasant 10 minute visit between flyers . . . my two new friends, Pete Nevins and David Pine are Naval Aviators.

David is the Commanding Officer of the USS Shreveport, an amphibious assault carrier. Pete is a retired TWA Captain and former shipmate of David's father during his Navy days. Pete is as proud as anyone over the fact the little kid he once knew in diapers is now a Navy Captain working his way toward the command of a nuclear aircraft carrier and, eventually, an Admirals flag. Dave is an excellent example of the quality of our top military leaders; strong, confident, and outgoing. These two men, and those of several other groups I saw riding along the parkway, help define the mystique of motorcycles and motorcycle touring.

We all contend with the sterotypes attached to bikers. The one percenters are just that, about one percent of the entire community, which isn't a lot of bad ass bikers if you compute the numbers. Sure, hundreds of thousands of the community will gleefully wear the studded leathers; get the funky tats and piercings, use swords and knives as 'accessories' for their bikes, but that's just part of the suit they wear. We all wear a suit of some sort. Bad ass, world traveler, exotic and custom rider, fearless rocket rider. We all fly our colors as we ride. Maybe that's why I ride a ratty 26 year old SilverWing without leathers, boots, or other fancy regalia. The only thing I have that says Harley-Davidson is the tire on the back of my ride. I don't have a Honda T-shirt or even a wash off tattoo. It's my subtle way of telling everyone I just ride for the sake of being on the highway and I don't really give a damn about all the hoohah. Simple enough message, eh?

I stop a few times more before leaving the parkway at US-21 southbound. At one stop I pass out a few Roads And Riders cards and take a quick photo of a few riders from Asheville. These guys get to ride the mountains all of the time. It's not a long haul just to reach the parkway, it's just out their back door. So I ask, "Do you spend a lot of time on the parkway?" The reply was not what I expected, "Not enough," says one, "we are usually too busy working." Which leads me to another conclusion about the parkway. No matter who you see (including all the cagers), or where they are from, you have something in common. For the present moment they are not working. We are all tourists on this roadway and the desire to rush just isn't there. Maybe that's why riding the parkway is such fun. The common element of enjoying your time here is palpable.

The trip back home wasn't nearly as quick as before. The roads were a little congested with those poor souls that actually went to work today. The state police were out in force, collecting contributions to their charitable doughnut fund. I slowed down to avoid my own inadvertant contribution. As the mountains turned into big hills and then to gentle slopes at the creekside I began to lose my autumn euphoria. It's a shame that every riding day can't be like these last few I have enjoyed. Hey... the forecast for this weekend is clear and high's in the low 60's! I could come back up US-21 and take the parkway west to Blowing Rock and then putter on down to Maggie Valley . . .

Remember, "Ride today - Tommorow you may not be able!"

-LW