Sights like these are the rewards for exploring the back roads. So few ever see them.

“Turn around. Go back. You’re missing something”. The signs were there, little hints and clues that more was going on than meets the eye. It was near time to head for home but I couldn’t shake those compelling thoughts and I swung the motorcycle around.

I’m not unfamiliar with the area. I’d studied it in depth and detail and ridden through it seeking out great motorcycle rides of which I’d already found a slew. I was on such an exploration now following a road I’d selected as having a good chance of being a decent ride, and it had rewarded me with a nice twisty rolling romp through the foothills of English Mountain in Tennessee that my motorcycle seemed to enjoy as much as I did. Still, I felt there was more here.

My travels included a stop at the Douglas Dam near Sevierville. While not very scenic in winter, it's a nice place for a break.

I wasn’t sure exactly where I was. It’s not that I was lost, I knew contextually where I was in relation to other roads and landmarks. But the road names were not familiar anymore, they didn’t match what I had planned out on paper. That happens often enough as I don’t so much ride by the suggestions on the map but by how the roads flow one into another – the natural route. I’d turned left at the stop sign to see where this new road connected to the main artery, but I’d seen it maintained it’s character to the right as well, and it was calling me back.

The natural flow of a ride is something thats very hard to pick out from a map or satellite imagery.  When a web of roads connected and intersect, there’s typically a path of least resistance. It’s the instinctual choice you make when two roads meet, the split second decision you make to follow the dominant or more interesting road as you cruise along. It’s the way that keeps you moving, keeps the ride going, it’s what you’re looking for.

It was a cool, damp, overcast day, a mood better captured without color. View from the Foothills Parkway on my way home.

I couldn’t ignore the clues. The old mill I’d stumbled upon meant this was a long established community that had been connected enough to support such commerce. There would be old roads leading to it. There was the sign for Hidden Caverns – roads to tourist attractions are usually well kept. As I started up the valley, the “Chains and 4-Wheel Drive Required in Winter” sign told me somebody had a reason to go this way, even when the snows come.

The climb was “steep as a mules face” and I expected the quality of the pavement to evaporate as I reached the heights, yet it maintained. Heck, there was even a painted line you could make out in places – that’s a good sign. I rolled on with pretty much certainty the road would just end when the mountaintop was reached, but it didn’t. It snaked around the crest a bit, then plunged down the back side. It was easy to pick the right path up high as all the connecting roads were unpaved, but as I cascaded towards the valley I went with the flow, following the natural course of one road leading into another. The lower I got the more certain I was this ride would lead to familiar territory, but where would it come out?

I finally came to a stop sign and recognized where I’d arrived. I knew this next road, it was one I’d already selected as a great motorcycle ride. It led to more. I then realized where I must have travelled, through an area where I didn’t think there was a decent paved road, an empty white space on the map no longer. It had already been a good day. This great motorcycle ride was the icing on the cake. I can’t wait to go back!

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