We rode through the sky. Gods who've never felt so mortal. It was 10pm, and it would have been pitch black if not for the walls of fog that stood before us. A faint red light in front of me let me know that Puck was still leading the way. Waves of dense fog swept along the roadway, lapping at the light cast by my motorcycles powerful headlights. We dredged along at fifteen miles an hour for over an hour and a half, cutting into the clouds slowly, each moment seeming to stretch on into eternity. Occasionally, an overlook road would materialize from the fog, but by the time you realized what it was, it was too late to turn. I desperately wanted to stop and stretch. Being in such a high stress state becomes difficult after a while, you can feel it in your knees, wrists, and mind.
It's not as if the situation was really that dangerous. There was the off-chance of someone plowing through, but in the thick fog, with visibility less than 20 feet it wasn't a huge concern. We pulled over finally, to discuss the possibilities at hand. The fog was virtually impassable, everything was wet, but there was nowhere good to camp for the night. We laughed about the situation, but failed to see a definitive solution. So we carried on, slowly working our way through dark, cold tunnels, and on through the winding roads, cut into the mountains. The Smokies truly do own their namesake.
We finally reached the base of the mountains and the fog retreated. We slid through Town mountain and on into downtown Asheville, NC, at the peak of a Saturday night. Such a strong contrast existed between the desolate, worried, isolated feeling up on the mountain, and the slightly awestricken gaze that I now held. Women in short skirts walking to bars, drenched in the yellow lights of the street lamps. We reached Chris Regec's house at about midnight, and I can say that I have never been happier to lay on a couch.
Glad to have you on the trip :)
-Allen
