So, it's Trail-Launch Eve again...

....and I'm sitting here at a greasy diner in a little burg called Bryson City, NC, after driving all day. Tomorrow I start the next section of my Appalachian Trail hike.

I decided to take a different route south this time, so I could avoid the snarl of Pigeon Forge traffic and the tourists in Great Smoky Mountains National Park. So, I approached the trail from the west, on US129, which appeared (on my map, anyway) to be a lesser-traveled, straighter shot toward the trail. Smart, huh? I thought so too, till I got ten minutes down that road (which, for the record, is every bit as twisty and treacherous as the Blue Ridge Parkway in GSMNP) and suddenly found myself in the midst of a great horde of ageing, long-haired, leather-clad motorcyclists.

My mind flashed back to a sign I had seen in front of a church a few miles earlier: "Bikers Welcome." At the time, I had thought, "Hmmm, interesting ministry niche..." Now it all made sense. I soon learned from the banners strung about at the roadside parking areas that they were having a weekend-long rally called "Waken the Dragon." Sounds like an event where I'd fit right in, don't you think?

So, for about 28 torturous miles, I white-knuckled it around more hairpin curves than I care to remember, at a maximum speed of 25 mph, with at least 30 bikers fore and 30 aft. No exaggeration. I wanted desperately to pull over and let them pass, but all the pull-off spots were teeming with -- you guessed it -- more bikers, having the Hell's Angels version of a tailgate party. There were hundreds of them, sitting in lawn chairs, barbecuing, swilling Cokes.

So I just kept driving. Conspicously. In the middle of several dozen bikers. Oh yeah, you blend.

I exhaled violently in relief when the pack of Hogs in front of me spotted and claimed an empty pull-off area. But to my horror, the pack behind me stayed right on my tail. Good grief, now I was leading this parade! Judging from the backfiring and motor-belching sounds their cycles were making, I guess I was driving a bit too slow for their taste. Suspicion confirmed when suddenly they engulfed my little Altima, passing me with a deafening roar that left the air smelling a little like the afterburn of a cap gun.

When they were out of sight and my ears stopped ringing, I considered that maybe the Pigeon Forge tourists wouldn't have been so bad to deal with after all.