Copyright 1993(c)

                       SHENANDOAH, SHENANDOAH 
                         By Vince Rifici
 
     The frozen hail cut through the trees like steel shot, pelting
our helmets with a sound that was deafening. The big bike was being
guided mercilessly by the pellets of ice rolling around on the
road's surface. 
     No place to stop!  Mountain road ... steep hill! Lay off that
throttle! Drop a gear and hold'er steady! Five harrowing minutes
later the road leveled off, and gravel shoulders replaced the rain
gullies on each side of the macadam strip. I pulled over and came
to a sliding stop. We were a bit shaken, but safe. 
     The unpredictable nature of the mountains is what gives
Shenandoah its beauty, and its fury. Five minutes ago the sun was
shinning brightly, and we were winging our way over the crest of
the Peaks of Otter on the Blue Ridge Parkway. We had passed through
miles of breadth taking scenery with wild rhododendron and mountain
laurel gracing the slopes of the highlands. Goldenrod and sunburst
daises blanketed the meadows below. Occasional waterfalls tumbled 
over the rocky crevices, forming into swirling pools in the smooth
the rock polished by nature's endless forces. The scent of
honeysuckle teased our nostrils, and silhouettes of hawks and
eagles paced along with us, as if they were hung motionless on a
string above our heads. 
     It is sheer madness to bike along the Blue Ridge Parkway
faster than forty miles per hour - in any spot! Hairpin turns and
tight sweepers, with three hundred foot cliffs and no guardrails,
constitute the physical layout of the roadway. If beauty is
deceiving, the Parkway takes all prizes. The road is so nicely
banked, it urges you to go faster than you should. The first time
you hit the outside shoulder on a tight curve, you'll quickly learn
all about its deceiving qualities. Novice bikers will get plenty
of white knuckle experience on this road. 
     If you camp, and are into LST (long, slow touring), you can't
help having the finest trip of your life. The campgrounds along
the Blue Ridge Parkway are all 'tens' - none finer in the east.
They're well maintained, rustic, insect free, and are blessed with
modern plumbing. 
     By late afternoon we pulled into Mathews Arm Campground and
selected a choice tent site. Darkness and air temperature falls
quickly in these wooded, mountain camps. Out comes my trusty ole'
Coleman lantern (the only luxury I allow myself on a bike camping
trip). I have to assemble all the pieces, since that's the only way
it will fit into the saddlebags. Once together, it's ready to
supply us with its friendly light and heat later on in the evening.
We set up our tent, light the little one-burner gas stove, and
enjoy a welcome cup of hot coffee. 
     The day is done, the big steel mount is quiet. We are resting,
no, we are floating in nature's womb, away from all commerce. No
telephones, no television, no city noises, just natural sounds.
There is much to listen to! Listen to the silence. Look at the
darkness. Sniff the cleanness. Touch the night air. Wallow in it,
soak it up, let your lungs breathe it deeply. Sleep as you have
never slept before. Tomorrow we will see a fox, or a bear, or touch
one of those hawks above our head.
                               END