Getting on the bike and underway early has many advantages; longer riding day, cooler riding for longer, wildlife viewing, golden hour of light for photos, things just look and feel crisper, you can knock off earlier in the afternoon when it’s hot, you beat most people to the roads, etc. Other than my forestry friend, I had seen no one else out on the double track forest roads.

This part of Tennessee is mostly national forest and when it isn’t, it is very rural. Poverty is widespread. All day I pass by dwellings that look as though they’ve been vacant for years, yet families still live in them. All manner of junk litters the yards – old cars calling for an end to their owners’ procrastination, old appliances awaiting pick-up, childrens’ toys probably belonging to children long since grown and moved out. It really is depressing. Appalachia has long been poverty stricken. Being poor mountain folk is no new phenomenon. There’s plenty of it where I live and I see it every day. But when you are far from home, and see that it isn’t confined to just your own neighborhood, it plucks a string you haven’t really heard before. Its intensity out here is really an in-your-face kind of thing.

As the sun gets higher in the sky, the temperatures climb. I keep seeing all of these mountain streams while I am clammed up in Gore-Tex from head to toe. That cool mountain water is calling my name. I’ll also take the opportunity to switch to my “hot weather ride configuration” which is just rolling my coat up and putting it into a dry sack and putting my riding jersey over my armor. 

I spot a picnic area next to the stream and no one is in it. Now’s my chance. Getting parked at a picnic table, I jump off the bike and immediately pull my pants down. Relief! Gore-Tex is great for anything up to – ooohhh – say 80F degrees. After that, it’s a steam oven back there. 

Reminds me of the time a friend and I were on a big tour out west on our motorcycles. It was mostly a road tour as my buddy was on my old Aprilia Futura. It was August and we’d decided since we were that close (Salida, CO), that we may as well ride to the Grand Canyon. It was brutally hot and my Tiger was cooking me. There was a gap between the seat and the tank that was just bringing hot air right off the engine like a purpose-built heater duct straight into my crotch. It was terrible. I had the worst case of saddle sores I ever had. In fact, I’d never had saddle sores in my life. Even having ridden centuries on a bicycle, being a bicycle messenger, riding to the beach on a bicycle, and tens of thousands of miles on motorcycles, I had never experienced anything like it. We were getting ready to hit a turn and I was just so uncomforable. I spotted a small spot of shade on the road and bee-lined for it. It was a desolate, high-desert road next to a small lake. One tree threw a small shadow on the road and I pulled into its shade, threw the kickstand down and dropped my pants right there in front of God, country, and the kids on the jetskis in the little lake. The wind on my rear felt great and I really didn’t care who saw me. I had riding shorts on, so it wasn’t like I was breaking any decency laws. Remembering that trip and how that happened, I wanted to stay ahead of a similar predicament. So letting it air out back there whenever possible was going to be the strategy this trip to avoid such a calamity.

Standing there with my riding pants around my knees, I hear a car driving by on the gravel above me. The driver gave me a look, but I wasn’t budging. That breeze felt too good to make me modest now! 

Stripped down to my undershorts and sandals, I went and sat on the rocks with my feet in the water. It made me miss my wife. She and I used to do this sort of thing when we’d go out on rides. I imagine there will be cool mountain streams in Oregon. She should bring a suit!

Back on the bike, the TAT leads me into north Georgia. Some of this section is familiar to me as it is part of the Georgia Traverse – a compilation of dirt roads and trails in north Georgia that I have explored in the Jeep. 

It starts getting late in the day and time to look for a place to sleep. I have a campsite saved in the Garmin that is free and right along the trail that will work just fine. Until….

The road being closed in this spot means my camp is past it and it will also mean backtracking after the detour to get back to camp. Many times a road closure means it itsn’t passable to cars and trucks, but a bike would be able to get by, so I ride past the closure signs to investigate and come up on a bobcat operator working on clearing what looks like a slide. He stops, giving me the “oh this again” look as he throws open the glass cabin door (are these things air condidtioned now?!). I didn’t even have to ask. “It’s closed, buddy.” 

“So no way I could sneak through on this thing?”

“Nah, man. I let you through there and the district ranger will have my ass in a sling.”

“What about if you didn’t let me through? What about if this crazy guy on a dirtbike just flew by you and there was nothing you could do?” 

“Naw, man. I can’t.”

“Ok. Can ya tell me how to get around it?”

He tells me how to get around the closure and still end up going the way I need to go, but it doesn’t solve my need for a place to camp. So I ride on into Chatsworth, GA to get gas, food, and to formulate a plan. The local burger joint was pretty good and while I’m there I find camp at Fort Mountain State Park about 8 miles away. It’s a fancy RV’er type campground ($30, two trees and a shower), but it’s cheaper than a room and it has showers. Once I have a site picked out and the hammock set up and I am gathering my things for a shower, the camp host drives up. He asks how long I’d been riding that day, how many nights I plan on being there and whatnot. He then mentions that they have a lot of people duck in and duck out without paying, etc. Then he warns me, not of their bear problem, but of their raccoon problem! Apparently they have some rogue, badass little raccoons that are terrorizing the campground. It made me laugh and then it made me paranoid. If those little guys tear my bags up trying to get to my soap, I’m coming out shooting! The night was crisp and windy, and every little noise had me thinking about raccoons, but otherwise it was a good night.