Pausing at the southern gate to Virginia’s Skyline Drive, I surveyed the dark clouds ahead. There’s that sensible side of yourself that tells you today is not the right day for exploring one of the region’s most famous scenic drives. Then there’s the sunk-cost motorcycling addict who says, I’ve traveled this far to do this. I’m not afraid of a little rain.
A decade earlier, I rode the entire length of the Blue Ridge Parkway, checking off one of those motorcycling accomplishments that fill you with pride. On that trip, I decided to head back to the valley after completing the 469-mile national treasure. Back then, I pondered doing Skyline Drive, but I was weary from two days on the leisurely paced parkway, and paying tolls or access fees goes against my “the road is freedom” philosophy. Someday, I promised. Well, someday arrived with downpours awaiting me.
The friendly rangers of the National Park Service extracted $25 from me for a week-long pass, and I motored up the ridge grumbling and thoughtlessly cramming the receipt in one of my jacket pockets. Turns out I’d be glad I kept that receipt.
My goal for the day was to head from my overnight stop near Interstate 64 up Skyline Drive to Front Royal and onward to the nation’s capital by sunset. I had a journalism conference to attend in Washington, and I’d finally be able to check Skyline Drive off my list of great roads of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
As I climbed higher into the mountains along Skyline Drive, those dark clouds began to dump heavy rain. I pulled over to hastily don rain gear, cover up my electronics and try to wipe the fog and water from both sides of my visor. It’s just rain, I assured myself. I once rode for two days across seven East Coast states through a huge hurricane remnant. This is nothing.
Slow and steady I proceeded. Fog grew thicker. The scenic view disappeared. Soon I couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead of the bike. I glanced around the faring to try to see the centerline. Nothing but grayness. Now I was starting to get a bit scared. I opened my visor hoping to see better but got a face full of water instead. I hit the hazard flashers just in case there was someone behind me. I knew I wouldn’t be able to complete Skyline Drive’s 105-mile length in this deluge. I’d only covered about 25 miles at a speed barely keeping my 2022 Yamaha Tracer 9 GT upright.
As I concentrated on keeping the bike in my waterlogged lane, a sign of salvation emerged ahead. It was the Loft Mountain Wayside café and gift shop. I spot a couple of Harley-Davidson Street Glides in the parking lot and my mood lifts. I’ll wait out the worst of it here with some fellow riders.
It wasn’t the first time I’ve walked into a business establishment as a pool of water grew on the floor beneath my feet. I peeled layers and hung them on empty chairs in the café in the vain hope they might dry before my travels resumed. I spotted the Harley riders and sat at the table next to them. I soon find out they are heading the opposite direction, toward my hometown in Western North Carolina. I sometimes forget the powerful lure my mountain birthplace has on riders from across the world.
I noticed their accents — full of dropped R’s and extended A’s — sounded nothing like my own Appa-latch-un tongue. They’ve ridden all the way from Massachusetts and find themselves taking shelter from the storm with fellow motorcyclists atop Skyline Drive.
“Eleven years ago, we got caught in a real bad storm up here,” said Geoff Smith from Cape Cod, Massachusetts. “There was lighting right beside us. I was so bad we didn’t know what to do. We had no place to go. Lasted for about 20 minutes, maybe. Then it was gone, the sun came out. It was great.”
The café at Loft Mountain Wayside made for a comfortable oasis from the downpour where we fellow riders swapped travel tales while enjoying a warm meal. Skyline Drive ranks among the list of motorcycle roads many of us feel drawn to ride — even if the weather doesn’t cooperate.
“It’s beautiful,” said Richard Robideoux, another Harley rider from the Bay State. “Where we’re from, it’s kind of flat, so we go up to New Hampshire. It’s nice up there,” he said. “It’s beautiful, but you’re not going to get down into the valleys like you are here. It’s gorgeous.”
After eating lunch and buying a souvenir patch for my favorite, well-worn Olympia touring jacket, I realize the rain isn’t stopping. I ask the park rangers manning an information booth how much farther to the next exit. Fifteen miles, I’m told. My boots and socks are still soaked. My wet leather gloves stick to my skin like latex. Nothing to do but press onward.
I reach the intersection with U.S. 33 and admit failure. I cannot continue. I exited Skyline Drive and resumed my travels north along a valley road.
•••
The weather grew more tolerable in northern Virginia. I made my way toward the Civil War battlefields of Bull Run and Manassas. Here, 30 miles from Washington, the first major land battle of the Civil War took place in the summer of 1861. It would also see another bloody conflict a year later.
I rolled along U.S. 29 through the historic fields preserved by the National Park Service. At the Stone House, I pulled over to take a break from riding and reflect on the history surrounding me. A red flag hangs from the doorway. I would learn the flag was a symbol of a field hospital, and this house treated the wounded from both sides, having been occupied at different times by either federal or Confederate troops. I remounted and head toward the nation’s capital, eager for my first visit to the District of Columbia.
I felt a jolt of excitement when the top of the Washington Monument first came into view. On previous trips northward, I always avoided major cities like Washington. Before I checked into the hotel hosting my conference, I made a loop of all the monuments I’ve seen countless times on the news. Even the most jaded citizen can’t help but feel a bit of patriotic pride as you pass all the marble buildings. Being on a motorcycle seemed to make maneuvering through traffic — and illegally parking to take some snapshots — a bit easier.
I did find time during my business stay to make it out to the Smithsonian’s Air and Space Museum’s facility in Chantilly, Virginia. The Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center houses all the real aircraft I used to build toy models of when I was a kid. I stood before Enola Gay, famous for dropping the first atomic bomb, and hummed a few verses from the ’80s anti-war, namesake tune by Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark.
•••
The day of departure arrived with blue skies, along with my cheery mood to escape the windowless conference rooms and hit the open road again. I motored westward determined not to stop until I reached Front Royal, Virginia.
Riding through small towns always restores my calmness, especially after battling morning rush-hour D.C. traffic. I parked near the town’s gazebo and its abundant flowering plants, taking a moment to just admire the quiet town square this morning.
“I always say that we are colorful town full of outdoor adventure,” said Lizi Lewis, the community development and tourism manager for the town of Front Royal. “We know we are home to some of the prettiest countryside in the world, and we’re darn proud of it.”
Front Royal has a rich history dating back to the Civil War. It sits at the northern end of the Shenandoah Valley and along the South Fork of the Shenandoah River, making it a destination for canoe and kayakers. The town, just 70 miles east of Washington, has grown from its manufacturing roots to become a hub of arts and culture. The historic downtown offers dining, shopping, art galleries, and nine larger-than-life murals, Lewis said.
“Our little corner of the Shenandoah Valley has a lot to offer to just about any traveler, whether you’re a history buff or have an eye for art, a foodie or the outdoor adventurer,” Lewis said. “We’ll always feed you, teach you, and we certainly know how to treat you.”
Feeling revived by the blue skies and charming surroundings in Front Royal, I fired up the bike and headed back for some unfinished business — completing Skyline Drive.
“There is just something so breathtaking about the peaks of those Blue Ridge Mountains,” Lewis said. “We always recommend Thorofare Mountain Overlook, about 41 miles in, as it’s adjacent to the highest point on the Drive, and on a good day you can see all the way to Washington, D.C.”
I searched my pockets to find the water-stained seven-day pass to the Shenandoah National Park, which includes Skyline Drive. Having abandoned my trek due to heavy rain and fog earlier in the week, I was determined to complete all of Skyline’s 105 miles. The skies were bright blue, and the fuel gauge read full. I rolled up to the gates and presented my barely legible pass to the ranger, who welcomed me back.
Riding Skyline Drive seemed like familiar territory. The scenic drive reminded me of similar scenic byways in southern Appalachia, namely the Blue Ridge Parkway, Cherohala Skyway and the Foothills Parkway. Gentle bends with frequent overlooks. I noticed several deer, which didn’t seem afraid of passing vehicles, and one skittish black bear who bounded down the mountainside at the first sight of my motorcycle.
As I meandered along, stopping to enjoy the view and snap some photos from various overlooks, I noticed a Harley with a sidecar rig pass by. A few miles later, I found him at an overlook and pulled in for a chat.
“What a great day today,” George Hirsch greeted me as I pulled in next to him.
“Sure is,” I replied. “We’ve been leapfrogging each other on the overlooks.”
I spot the Maryland license plate and ask if he’s heading out on a long adventure.
“We live maybe 100 miles away, so I decided I needed to get out today. This is the first time I’ve been up here with a sidecar on,” he said. His shiny, grey-and-black 2016 Ultra Limited features a custom-made sidecar frame fitted to a matching sidecar. “I’m getting ready to go to Sturgis in a couple of weeks, and I thought I needed to get our for a few hundred miles just to get ready. I love this thing.”
I keep rolling south and the scenery continues to inspire. I’m glad I returned to complete the route. The weather this time stayed perfect. I fell into that rhythmic grace that often happens when the bike, the road and the rider seem perfectly in sync — jinba ittai (Japanese for horse and rider as one), as a fellow motorcyclist once told me.
By the afternoon, I reached the point where I had abandoned Skyline Drive in the rain a few days earlier. I headed west on U.S. 33 to cross the Shenandoah Valley and explore that distant ridge on the horizon. I’d checked off one of the few remaining “must ride” roads in the Blue Ridge Mountains, but like any great explorer, it’s what’s beyond the far horizon that pulls us onward.
