The Call of the Dragon: Part Two

I’m 60 miles from Roanoke and the rain isn’t going to stop anytime soon. Being cold and soaked to the bone, however, are the very least of my concerns. I can barely see the road through a foggy, rain-blurred visor, the brakes are not responding well because they are wet, and the turns that were so much fun earlier are now treacherous. I take the first outlet I come to off the parkway, which still puts me 20 miles away from the nearest town, but it’s better than 60.

I whip into the first motel I see and before I go to my room, I jog to the Food Lion across the road in search of something I can microwave later. Just as I find the soup aisle, a woman pushing a grocery cart and surrounded by a gaggle of young children says to me, “Why bless your heart, riding a motorcycle in the pouring rain. My, my.”

I’ve been around enough to know this is how a southerner calls you an idiot without actually calling you an idiot. Smirking and shaking her head, she says, “Bless your little heart.”

I return the smirk and say, “Nice hat.”

Her hand automatically goes to her yellow rain hat. She starts to say something—probably “What’s wrong with my hat?”—but then doesn’t.

Actually, there is nothing at all wrong with her hat, but I can guarantee she’ll spend the next little while wondering why I said that and feeling self-conscious about it. Bless her heart! Bless her little heart.

 

The next morning, the sun is out and the day is clear and warm. No trouble sleeping last night. Back on the parkway, I take my time, enjoy the ride, stop at the overlooks, and take a short hike. I see a lot of people alone. They get off their motorcycle or out of their car and just look out over the mountains, literally breathing it in. I talk to one guy who says he lives nearby. “I try to get up here every so often,” he says. “I never get sick of looking at it.”

I love that people are still drawn to nature in this way, still seek it out, appreciate it. When I lived on the east end of Long Island, I saw people do the same thing with the ocean. On their way to work, I saw them drive to the edge of the beach, shut down the car and just sit there in silence, watching the waves for five minutes or so before getting on with their day.

Once I get back on the road, I realize I have drifted further south than I’d originally intended and need to start heading northwest tomorrow morning if I want to ride the Dragon in Deal’s Gap, which is how this whole thing started.

As the sun starts to set, I stop for the night in a small North Carolina town. It has two motels, a gas station, a chapel, and two bars, all clumped together right off the exit. I get a room, shower off the road, and go into one of the bars for dinner where the bartender calls everyone “honey” and takes pride in knowing what her regulars drink and just how they like their burgers.

I ask her if there is a downtown area.

She laughs. “You’re in it, honey,” she says in a southern drawl. “This is all we got.”

“Works for me. Beautiful country.”

“Why thank you. Lived here my whole life. Couldn’t pay me to live anywhere else.”

She sells me on the barbecue mushroom burger and I wash it down with a couple of cold beers.

Back at the room, I break open the map and figure I am about 3 ½ hours from the Dragon. I could sleep in tomorrow and still be there by early afternoon. Except for one thing: rain.

According to The Weather Channel, it is not only raining in Deal’s Gap at the moment, but it’s supposed to continue off and on for the next several days.

If I weren’t alone, I’d consider waiting it out. But spending three days in a motel room by myself, waiting for it to stop raining? No thanks. There are much better ways to spend that time and money. Besides, the rain is coming this way and the sooner I head home, the closer I’ll get before it catches up with me.

But that’s okay. These trips are much more about the journey and the things I think about on the road than the destination. In fact, I got the idea for A Noble Story–which is very much on my mind as it will be released within the next week or so–on one of these bike trips. If you read it–and I hope you do–you’ll recognize how writing this blog influenced the book. Not only the ideas of freedom and the open road, but in the style of the writing itself.

So…the call of the Dragon will have to go unanswered this time. But this is not a forfeit, Dear Dragon. Oh no, it is merely a rain check.

I shall return…