The wireless thermometer at Moonshine Lodge displayed an outdoor temperature of 29 degrees at 8:10 Sunday morning. I plugged in the super-warm set of electric gear - including heated gloves - and went anyway. Meeting place was the New York Restaurant, just a few minutes away.

I wasn't expecting anyone to join me. I had privately invited about ten people from all walks, and publicly offered the day to the BMW Motorcycle Owners of Georgia. No one showed. More home fries for me.

TN 68 was empty to Tellico Plains. Even Seven Sisters was closed. I should have considered it an omen to my lunch plans.

Once in Tellico, I performed the usuals at the new gas station across from the welcome center and museum. The Cherohala in Tennessee was smooth and twisty and my new Avon Azaros gave confidence to ride without touching my RS's brakes. An occasional downshift was all I needed.

And then I hit 4000 feet of altitude. I assume the ridges the Skyway traversed had been covered in mist in the night and the morning before I arrived. And I assume that mist was responsible for the miniscule and nearly invisible thickness of ice crystals on the road surface. I dropped to 20 mph in some places. Clearly my slowest crossing to Robbinsville ever.

By the first "bypass" north to 119, through the Joyce Kilmer, I was sick of the Cherohala Skyway, and wanted to exit. The first leg of road dried out almost immediately and I was back in boy-racer mode, tucked and leading with my inside elbow. At the campground I turned right onto the poorly-paved lakeside cowpath, and just chilled. That road gets bumpier and brokener every time I ride it.

The store (and restaurant, damn it) at Deals Gap were closed. I shared vending machine diet coke with a few truly die-hard sport bike riders and three Mustang Cobra doods. NC 28 to the bottom of the Nantahala Gorge was clear and delightful. And took my chicken strips to nearly nothing.

Nothing at the Outdoor Center was open. No cheesy nachos. No chili. Still hungry. I was glad I had the omelet with the New York's famous home fries. I got stuck behind the one flat-land sight-seer in the whole tri-state area in the Gorge. I was hungry as hell for missing two lunch opportunities, and dusted their goddamn blue hair as we both passed the (closed, by gawd) pizza shack that hangs out over the river.

I settled for Guacamole Doritos and V-8 at a gas station in Andrews. Right after the plug to my electric clothing came apart in my hands (AND shorted out a fuse under the seat) as I dismounted the bike.

Riding from Andrews, North Carolina to Epworth, Georgia on a windy, frigid January late-afternoon, with the sun waning and every cloud looking like it held a blizzard-full of snow, is ... well ... an adventure. I was so stiff at 4:30, I could barely park the RS in the driveway.

What a great day!