Norden, nord, norte, north, is the cardinal direction I have piloted the Rhino, my BMW GSA, for the last four hours. I certainly have direction but not yet destination. Southern Georgia and Alabama have their unique appeal, but I am all too familiar with those landscapes. If I lived in Kansas or Ohio, I might think this green dusty (it is dangerously dry) agrarian space is beautiful in part because it is different, unfamiliar. But I live here and as Chaucer is credited for writing, familiarity breeds contempt. My contempt triggers a flight response to flee north.
I crave topographic relief, steep grades and roads affixed with yellow warning signs that look like arrow headed snakes. I want, no, I need mountains.
We were somewhere around Wedowee, Alabama, on the edge of the mountains when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like “my hip and lower back hurts.” Unfortunately, it is not what you think. In this case the “drugs” are ibuprofen. Certainly not the fun kind, but my 60-year-old body needs some help. Almost simultaneously with the reduction in pain I notice that I am no longer in the flatlands and there are green tree covered hills all around. This sight and the anti-inflammatory lift my spirits immediately.
Normally to be in the mountains, I have to flog the bike for seven hours to get to my favorite spots in Georgia, Tennessee or North Carolina. Lots of slab and playing “Frogger” (‘80s video game reference) with 5,000-pound missiles guided by distracted Neanderthals talking on the phone, texting, posting on social media, getting high and all manner of other things that are not supposed to happen when operating a moving cage. However, I have discovered a closer alternative that provides similar mountain entertainment.
There is a series of imaginary lines or circles created by humans called parallels. These parallels to the equator mark the angles of latitude on a map. If you combine the parallels with meridians that mark longitudinal distance from the Prime Meridian passing through Greenwich, England, these lines make up the grid pattern that is draped over every globe and enables navigation around the world. This system is commonly referred to as latitude and longitude or the Geographic Coordinate System. These imaginary latitude and longitude lines are used to create a grid that pinpoints any exact location on Earth. In eastern/central Alabama at 33.32 degrees latitude north, I suddenly realize I’m in the foothills of the Appalachians. Firmly south of both Atlanta and Birmingham. Better yet, in about 34 more miles I will be in the Talladega National Forest traveling directly through the terrain and roads I have been seeking. A mere five-hour travel time from my home in Tallahassee, Florida. I wish I had known about this geographic oddity 30 years ago.
My destination for this day is a gem of a recreation area called Desoto State Park. Established in 1935, DeSoto State Park is a 3,502-acre public recreation area located near Fort Payne, Alabama. It is known for its dramatic mountain terrain, lush forests, and numerous waterfalls, most notably the 104-foot DeSoto Falls — one of the tallest waterfalls in Alabama. In 1935 the park was originally known as State Park No. 5. Later it was officially dedicated as DeSoto State Park in 1939. At the time, it was the largest state park in Alabama.
Like so many other public recreation areas established in that period, Desoto State Park was mostly built by the Civilian Conservation Corps. The park was primarily developed during the Great Depression by the CCC between 1933 and 1942. These “CCC boys” built the original lodge, rustic stone cabins, bridges, and miles of trails using native sandstone and timbers that are still in use today. The park is named after the 16th-century Spanish explorer Hernando de Soto, who is believed to have passed through the region in 1540. Of course, I would be remiss if I did not mention that this area was originally part of the Cherokee homeland before their removal in the 1830s. I sometimes take the opportunity to chide friends and acquaintances when they complain the government never did anything for them, and I mention many great recreational resources developed by the CCC that people utilize today. As far as I am concerned, the ROI was worth every penny spent during the Great Depression.
The park now has cabins, chalets, camping sites and a lodge reminiscent of an older motor lodge. The hotel is not lavish, but it is clean, most things work, it is relatively affordable and has a pretty good restaurant open Thursday through Sunday. I have stayed there twice and had good experiences both times. Upon arrival the parking lot was half-full of large shiny two wheeled conveyances. Unbeknownst to me there was a Honda Valkyrie rally going on that weekend and I acquired the very last room available.
The Valkyrie Riders Cruiser Club holds an annual rally at the park to memorialize a fallen riding buddy. I had the pleasure of speaking with Jeff McKay who hails from Walhalla, South Carolina. He rode his all-black Valkyrie dubbed, “Elvira” for five hours to get to the rally. I have been aware of the Valkyrie for many years and know it has a following, but this was the first time I really stopped to look closely and ask questions about these basically naked Gold Wings. Smooth, powerful and comfortable, these bikes can also be quite handsome as I observed here at this gathering. McKay told me that he went on a couple very agreeable rides and hiked down to the Little River and over to Desoto Falls. This was his first visit to this site, and he intends to return next year.
On day two the Rhino and I visited another natural space five miles from the lodge. I have looked at maps and passed by this area but never took the time to visit the Little River Canyon National Preserve. Little River Canyon National Preserve is a 15,288-acre National Park Service unit in northeast Alabama, famed for containing one of the deepest canyon systems in the Southeast. The Little River Canyon unit was officially established as a National Preserve in 1992, following years of advocacy by local leaders and celebrity figures such as country music star Randy Owen of the popular 80s band Alabama.
One of the things that makes this space distinctive is that it is a “mountaintop river.” The Little River is unique because it flows almost its entire length along the flat top of Lookout Mountain, which is rare for a river system. It is the deepest canyon in Alabama (reaching depths over 600 feet) and contains the seasonal Grace’s High Falls, which is the tallest waterfall in the state at 133 feet.
The preserve is also an important biodiversity refuge as a critical habitat for rare and endangered species, such as the Green Pitcher Plant and Kral’s Water-Plantain. Human visitors can partake in whitewater paddling, rock climbing on sheer sandstone cliffs and observing striking scenic views along Canyon Rim Drive, which I rode on a crisp, sunny, spring morning stopping at three of the eight major overlooks into the gorge. This road alone is worth the trip up from Florida.
On day three I head back to the canyon before pointing south toward home. There is a large bridge over the canyon on Route 35. You can park at the visitor center and go on a short hike to the river running under the bridge. Just past the bridge is a stunning double waterfall. Due to the current drought, water levels are low and yet the falls are still impressive. I need to come back during a wet period, and I bet they will be raging. A 10-year-oldf boy was playing on the rocks near the falls. He was hoping to catch some fish or tadpoles in the shallows. I helped him herd some minnows into a pool so he could see them better. He said he wanted to, “come back to the falls and swim with goggles to see the big fish better.” A child’s wonder at natural beauty gives me hope.
It is easy to forget the Appalachians extend into range in Alabama and feature wonderful roads, good food and natural beauty. I will certainly be back. y
