Will Chris ever come back?

Not much mountain biking in Chicago. So when our family trip took us to the Smoky Mountains this year, Chris left home his recumbent, and brought along the Slingshot. Technically, mountain bikes are not allowed inside the National Park, but they are permitted on automobile roads within park boundaries. Not all automobile roads are heavily traveled or even paved, so that was all right with Chris. What was not all right, was getting him to the point where he could begin his ride, and keep it to a length and duration that he could manageably do during daylight hours.

We loaded his bike, gear and provisions in a car, and followed the Foothills Parkway around the western edge of the park until it met up with Route 129. We were looking for a seasonal car trail called Parson's Branch, hoping that it would be somehow designated and recognizable when we got there. The road is closed in winter, and we weren't even sure if technically it wasn't still winter...

"How far from here?" I asked as we turned south onto 129, and proceeded along the bottom of a sheer rock face.
"Dunno. Maybe four miles? It should be a gravel road."
We started along a road that had a posted speed limit of 20mph, and looked like this:

In reality, it was probably not much further than a few miles. But the turns, dips and switchbacks made the trip seem interminable, especially with stunt motorcyclists making their appearances on curves at speeds decidedly higher than the posted limit, often seeming to take curves lying sideways along the pavement.

We came across a couple of iffy looking service or fire roads, but there was no sign of a marked trail. We were almost ready to give up, as we were now approaching the North Carolina border, when a small gated road appeared on the left. The gate was open, and the sign proclaimed it to be a one-way road heading the wrong way. This matched the description of the trail. The presence of a small creek was also consistent with the map. However, there was no official sign or marker indicating the name of the trail or it's probable terminus on the other end. It could be going anywhere...

We walked a little ways down the trail, and we did find something that looked like a mileage marker, so Chris decided to chance it. I had no choice but to take the hour-long twisty-turny trip back to the National Park visitor center. We had no cell phone connection, and no Plan B in case this trail did not turn out to be what we had hoped.

So there goes Chris, armed with a tool kit, spare tube and pump, two fat sandwiches, Girl Scout cookies, an apple, an orange, extra layers and a Camelbak full of water. Will he ever come back?

Comments

[ishkadebble]

Gorgeous.... who would want to come back to the flat urban cityscape that is Chicago when watching dusk fall over the Smokies? Thank goodness Chris has 3 kitties, 2 gardens, and a shop full of pesky employees awaiting his attentions here on the prairie!

Cheers from your Numero Uno Mostest Pesky One

[Justyna]

Aaaahhh, yes. The tug of war. Business or pleasure? City living or bucolic landscapes? Urban grit, or pastoral?
Yes, though the country idyll beckons, we'll be back to and for all the things you mention.