In the quiet of the thawing winter on a sun-filled Sunday morning, I brushed the dust from the Bonneville and wheeled the machine into the light. My buddy Felix (the dog) sprawled out in the sun as I popped the center stand to free the rear wheel in the driveway and began the annual maintenance on the Triumph beginning with the chain, which included both a fresh cleaning and lubrication, before my battle with U.S. 276 and eventually N.C. 215 out of Waynesville, North Carolina.
I call it a battle, but when rides feel like missions, or as if there’s something I expect to get out of them, it can seem like the ride itself is a task. This isn’t to suggest that the ride is one I begrudgingly take, or that I am ungrateful for the opportunity I have in riding the Sunday cruise. I’m getting older. Time is a currency to spend, and I am continuously reminded of the beauty that Western Carolina graces us with, whether down in the valleys staring up at the purpling peaks, or ascending toward the Blue Ridge Parkway into the lonely winding air of the more challenging routes
The very act of preparing a bike and knowing the impermanence of time makes the ride seem more personal, as if each turn in the route is measured to success or failure, or as if the waterfalls need to flow perfectly pristine.
This sentiment is further stretched by the fact that I recently started shooting 35mm film, and I wanted to use my Nikkormat camera (special thanks to Ball Photo in Asheville for the help in steering me toward this rugged piece of film history). I don’t consider myself to be a photographer, as writing has always been how I have captured the sentiments of my life, but with shooting film, the mystique lives in the reality that one does not know what success they have when they shoot their shots until days, weeks, or months after the shots are taken. The light may leave the photo wanting, the story bruised by bleeds, the memory tarnished by blurs or a lack of clarity, but I wanted a road trip captured through that lens, and I brought three rolls with me.
I waited for the day to warm. Shortly after 2 p.m., I decided riding the Copperhead Loop from Waynesville to Brevard and back using U.S. 276, U.S. 64 and N.C. 215.
The most popular stop on the Copperhead Loop is Looking Glass Falls, which draws tourists in no small number each year, all year. There are several hiking routes along 276, weaving and winding ascents with plenty of views overlooking the Blue Ridge, and walking trails that parallel the road and river alike, but it is a route that, with all its traffic, can feel a bit pressurized at times, leaving a rider looking for something a little bit quieter, and a little more personal.
On this ride, I neglected to stop at Look Glass Falls and opted for the direct shot to Brevard, as downtown on a Sunday in the growing town is never not rewarding to all visitors- tourists and locals alike.
Just after midday in Brevard, the sun heated the pavement and softened the rooflines against the sky. Many of the town’s younger residents were outside at The Hub at the Pisgah Forest end of 276, a popular spot for locals and outdoor enthusiasts. Without stopping, I took a right and headed toward downtown to seek out one of the area’s newer businesses, Newfound Artisan.
Newfound Artisan, located on 22 W. Jordan Street, sits just a short walk from Broad Street and East Main, quietly in the company of other local businesses. If a visitor stays primarily on Main Street, it is possible to miss this slightly hidden gem, but it is unwise to do so.
I was fortunate to get an after-hours tour of the space and to shoot film of what boasts a wide array of both locally crafted and further-reaching American made goods. This is the core concept of the shop’s identity and, as a motorcycle rider, is one thing that continues to be of interest to me no matter where my ride takes me.
Local artists and makers, including metalsmiths, jewelry makers, potters and seamstresses, collide to contribute to an array of curated goods that live in the store. Upon entering the shop, a visitor is instantly brought into the story that unfolds, one that reminds consumers to slow down, to purchase with intent, and most importantly, to support the work of local artisans.
The founders of Newfound Artisan, Emma Zanetti and Doug Miller, opened their doors in December 2022 initially as a means to facilitate Emma’s longstanding jewelry and metalsmithing work. With the duo having recently moved back to North Carolina from Wyoming, their search began for a space that would primarily serve as the workshop for Emma’s creations. Emma recalls her own personal history in the trade, and the moments that defined her initial pursuits.
“I started with metalsmithing in high school. I had an art teacher who was a metalsmith, and for our senior project she had us make stacking rings. Once she pulled out her torch and I saw that, I was hooked. We moved to Jackson Hole after college. When we moved back to North Carolina, I got the opportunity to go to Penland to improve my skills in metalsmithing, and to learn new techniques,” she said.
The shop would not settle on the one craft. It soon morphed into a full-fledged storefront due to the amount of physical space they soon found themselves working with and, just prior to opening, Doug, who was working at Brevard College, began tinkering with the idea of incorporating leatherwork into the shop’s core concepts. In no small coincidence, Doug and Emma learned some local hobbyists were selling off their leathermaking shop, and the opportunity presented itself.
“We immediately began thinking that we wanted to incorporate that (leathermaking and leather goods) into the shop. Emma is a serial hobbyist, so we went for it,” he said.
Doug pointed out Brevard has a history in leatherworks.
“The town of Brevard really got a start from the tanning industry. The community became much more successful after the tannery opened and found success,” he said.
From their house, which is just a short drive from downtown, they can see the mill stack from that very tannery, harbored as a relic to a former era.
Not content to live in the shadow of the town’s past, both Emma and Doug began applying their hands-on skills to learning how to make belts, wallets and bags. They quickly ventured into making smaller goods as well, which include but are not limited to catch trays, journal covers and key chains.
The belts, which can be custom made to order, are among the shop’s most popular items. Leather continues to be a cherished item in Western North Carolina and is one of the items uniting the working world to the motorcycle world and beyond. It is not without this in mind that led me to exploring this shop, and being afforded the opportunity to meet such fine people who are proud to call Brevard home.
If leather and handcrafted hardgoods are not quite what you’re looking for, Newfound Artisan offers denim from the likes of Raleigh Denim Co., as well as workwear from brands like Bristol, Tennessee’s longstanding L.C. King. There’s a little something for everyone when they walk in, and that’s exactly the impression I was left with when I ventured out back into the rest of my ride.
Satisfied with having exhausted a film roll in the shop, I wheeled on over to toward the leather mill stack to try and get some shots with the camera, but was chased by a pit bull tethered to a tree on what looked like a thinning piece of string.
We stared at each other as I rode by. I ultimately decided to finish the latter leg of the ride without those shots, as the sun was in retreat and the pavement was cooling. The mountain air, in the elevation, can be unrewarding as the ascent to elevation becomes reality, and that thought haunted me as I left town.
I rode southwest toward Rosman on U.S. 64, a stretch of connecting road to take me to the start of N.C. 215 and complete the Copperhead Loop, a circle of curvy roads made up of 276, 64 and 215. Known as Parkway Road, N.C. 215 connects Haywood and Transylvania counties. It is a lonelier road marked by waterfalls, forests and foliage. Even the occasional house serves as a marker as to where one is on the ride. (I’m thinking of a little house hidden among the trees, childhood toys scattered along the yard).
The sun had since stopped gracing the road, and I was faced with the fact that the ride was going to be a cool one. As I rode miles, further into elevation, I began tightening my clasp around the heated grips and sucking in the cold air. When that cool air makes its way into your boots and jacket, it becomes your loyal companion for the remainder of the ride. All focus is then directed toward shedding the cool, or on getting away from its design, but it is to no avail. I only rode faster, and when I did, I grew colder. The colder I became when riding, the faster I rode. A vicious cycle was born. I still wanted to shoot film, as I was on a mission to give the road the respect it deserves.
I stopped at only a few points along the ride. There aren’t too many pull-off spots on this route, so it’s easiest to find some hard dirt or grass patches that test the confidence of leaving the bike on the stand. Or, if you can find a flat stone to place underneath, it’s more reliable.
I took some shots of the sun glazing the distant hills, and I took mental notes of the waterfalls. Sunburst Falls marks the ride, with the arched bridge of stone funneling the quick- rushing waters down toward the destination swimming hole. With the cold a harsh reality, and the wind burn ripe on the face, the thought of swimming or even touching the water was too distant from reality, still I pulled off to shoot some film with the light ever-dimming on the day.
A week later, acknowledging that I rushed through the latter half of the ride, I rode back out to 215 with Julianna, my fiancé. I was committed to finishing the story of this road on the second round. I warned her about the cold air in the elevation as she mounted the back of the bike wearing a jean jacket, but she seemed confident in her decisions.
We rode back up past Sunburst Falls and toward the large pull-off spot at the height of the road, marked by tire tracks and rutted gravel. I opted to finish off the rolls of film from a tripod up there, and in backtracking along the route back down. While not as impressive in views as the spots along the Blue Ridge Parkway, the silence is a bit more golden in the offseason along 215, as evidenced by the absence of people at this large turnoff.
I heard a few bikes in the distance, but saw very few during the ride. It’s hard to know if this was related to the time of day, or if we were still on the cusp of the season. I imagine the road will gain prominence in the coming summer months.
On the way back down, I wanted to finish the rolls of film in the silence that draped a curtain over the road. We pulled off at one of the smaller waterfalls and climbed down to visit the misting waters. I turned back to shoot the bike, sitting on the corner that is one of many swivels in the road. I waited on other bikes to pass, yet again, and not a single one muttered by. The water flowed off the rocks and we watched the sun glaze those trees again, just like on the prior Sunday. I was happy to have the company of Julianna this time, as the road leant itself toward that humbling, marching silence.
We opted to stop at only two more spots, the memorable being back down where the town meets the river, and the movement of life is filled with fishing lines and campfire smoke. It’s not always intuitive to know where the best swim spots are located, but the Sunburst Rocks campground provided some answers as we meandered the area for evidence of them. This is future planning, for those summer days with the need to find release from the heat. Just off the bridge that sits across from the campground itself, the water falls flat and campers can enjoy either fishing or swimming. We took mental notes about this spot, happy to see some campers setting up their tents and igniting the sweet smoke of fires.
On round two with 215, I finished the roll of film. We rode off from the campground, eager to know what the film was going to tell me — if I had a story to tell, of if the shots were wasted. I had some doubts about the shots for Newfound Artisan in Brevard, provided the lighting is often the struggle. It’s always a bit of a risk.
There’s plenty that could go wrong, but I had similar glazing pre-twilight out on the road, the same cool air breathing up my sleeves each time. I felt committed to completing the story, even if Sunday wasn’t enough, even if the season waits on summer; on fuller trees, and the revving of our machines in comradery.
