It looked like a simple and challenging, but entirely doable ride. We would start outside of Waynesville, N.C. and cuise the “rollers.” Then, at the little wide spot in the road, called Curso, we’d turn and ride through the Sunburst Retreat. From there we’d climb up to the Blue Ridge Parkway, turn north, and ride to the indersection with US-276. A spectacular descent awaited on 276. Then back through Cruso, and finally, a few “rollers” later, we’d be back at the cars.
It was a bright, sunny day in early July. The forecast called for a slight rain chance, with highs near 80. The sky was blue, and there were high drifting cotton ball clouds. It looked good. A 60ish mile ride, with some great climbing and descending. Likely a perfect day.
I cautioned my daughter, “I would bring a ran jacket and helmet cover. You never know what could happen above 5,000 feet. There is no predicting the weather in the Southern Smokies.” I mentioned similar warnings to the others in the party, and then took my own advice and stuffed a packable rain shell and cover in my pack.
The day started out cool, and traffic was a bit heavier than expected. It was a Saturday, after all, and the beginning of the summer tourist season. Lots of folk were headed up onto the Parkway for a day of sunny leisure.
Once we turned off the main road, at Cruso, we are almost alone. It was quiet and delightful riding. As soon as we crossed the lake at Sunburst, we started the strenuous climb toward the Parkway. It would be ten miles of serious mountain climbing, with a break about six miles up at the spring at Little Boy Falls.
As we climbed I noticed that the clouds had shifted from “scattered” to “mostly.” Shortly after our break at the spring, the sky looked overcast, but not too threatening. That would change.
We made it to the Parkway intersection. The sky was noticeably darker, and there was a hint of mist in the air. Should we continue? “Somebody call it,” my friend Guy Smalley said. “I say go.” His wife replied, and my daughter, in a show of 16 year old bravado, echoed the sentiment. We hit the road and pressed northward.
Just as we rounded the first cove turn, the rain hit. It was a short, hard squal. I pulled on my jacket and cover, and looked to my daughter. She looked back, and with that expression, I knew the story. She hadn’t brought rain gear.
We pushed on into what was then a steady light rain, with falling temps. By the time we hit the halfway mark on the Parkway leg of our ride, it was pouring… And it was getting cold!
Guy and his wife, the strongest riders in the group, made a decision, they would jump to their best “emergency cruise, and go ahead to get their truck and come back for the rest of us.
Almost as soon as the Guy and his wife rode off, the rain redoubled intensity, and the wind picked up, and the temperature dropped harder. By that point motor vehicles were roaring along, as all the formerly happy picnickers were washed down off the mountains, perfect Saturday plans wrecked. They weren’t happy, and the Blue Ridge Parkway is not wide.
What followed was the most miserable and tense eight miles in my entire cycling carrier. My daughter was not riding well. I’d placed her in front of me and could see that the rain and cold were taking a toll. The traffic was relentless, and vicious.
After a nerve wracking eternity, we made it to the intersection. The great thing about those Parkway intersections is almost all of them include and over/underpass. That meant a bit of shelter from the storm.
I was getting seriously worried. Guy should have been back, and my kid was chilling. A friendly couple was sheltering under the bridge in their open jeep. They had a couple of dogs. The offered to let my daughter stay with them, and she snuggled in between the two large, smelly, but friendly and warm retrievers.
I took another look at the horrendous storm around us and made my decision. I would descend alone, return to my truck, and head back up the mountain to retrieve my kid. What followed that decision was high drama, and low comedy.
I was borderline hypothermic. I was trembling so hard, that it was difficult to control the bike. At the same time, I was positively driven to get down. I was descending like a demon. In the pouring rain. In fairly heavy traffic. Tourists. They weren’t moving fast enough for me, so I started passing them. Several times, I encountered a vehicle that was going to slowly for me, and was taking up too much room to allow a safe pass. I would bang on the back of the vehicle with my fist. The looks I got from drivers, as they moved over, and I shot past…
And an odd thing happened. As I got to lower elevations, the rain slacked off, and gradually stopped. The clouds thinned. The temp came up. By the time I got to my truck, I was riding on dry roads, under sunny skies. I met Guy, just a couple of miles from where we’d parked. He was on his way up the mountain to retrieve my daughter, his wife, and our other friend. (It would later turn out that Guy’s wife didn’t need rescuing.) So I proceeded to my truck and waited, drying off, and getting the heat going. In good time, Guy returned with the other two drowned rats.
Over the years, I’ve returned to that area,a nd ridden there many times. I’ve taken others up that loop. Every time I’ve done that, I’ve encountered terrific rain storms. I move we rename the loop. Not “Sunburst,” but rather, “The Cloudburst Loop.” It’s still worth riding. Just go prepared.
Oh yeah. One more thing. It didn't rain at all in Waynesville that day.
