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Trans America Trail – Days 1–7: Asphalt, Gravel, and Grit
7 Days, 1,300+ Miles, Countless Stories
There are moments in life when you pause mid-ride, look out over a sweeping mountain pass or a gravel-strewn ridgeline, and think: I can’t believe this is my life right now. That’s exactly how the first week of our 45-day journey down the Trans America Trail has felt. Equal parts exhausting, exhilarating, and eye-opening, these first seven days have pushed us in every way—and reminded us why we set out on this journey in the first place.
Day 1: The Asphalt Warm-Up
Mileage: 360 miles
Camp: Sherando Lake Recreation Area, George Washington National Forest
We kicked off the trip with a long stretch of mostly asphalt—around 90%—covering 360 miles through rolling Virginia countryside. While it wasn’t the gritty off-road action we knew was coming, it gave us time to settle in, get used to the weight of fully loaded bikes, and enjoy the scenery.
Our first camp was at Sherando Lake Recreation Area, nestled deep in George Washington National Forest. It was a serene, almost postcard-perfect first night… though that would soon change.
Day 2: Welcome to the Trail
Mileage: 200 miles
Camp: The Pines Campground (Free and Fantastic)
We left behind the forgiving asphalt and entered the real heart of the trail—a 200-mile mix of stunning valley views and technical fire roads and jeep trails. Fresh gravel and surprise rock gardens kept our reflexes sharp and nerves tested. I’ve been riding for almost 30 years, but mostly on road, and this day reminded me how humbling off-road terrain can be.
We dropped bikes four times in total—one of them being especially rough—but both men and machines walked (or rolled) away intact. We ended the day at The Pines Campground, a free site with unexpectedly gorgeous surroundings. As the sun set behind the trees, the adrenaline started to give way to exhaustion.
Day 3: Mud, Mountains, and Momentum
Mileage: 190 miles
Camp: Camp Burton, North of Marion, VA
Thunderstorms pounded us through the night, and breaking down a wet camp is no one’s idea of fun. But the rain only made the morning’s mountain gravel roads more… interesting.
As the miles stacked up, we began hitting our stride off-road. We crushed 20 straight miles of pristine trail through the mountains—a stretch that gave us the confidence boost we’d been needing. It was fast, fluid, and a full-on rush. Camp Burton that night was peaceful and just five miles off the trail—exactly what we needed to regroup and dry out.
Day 4: Rock Crawling and Wrong Forecasts
Mileage: 185 miles
Camp: Spruce Pine Campground, NC
The morning served up rocky climbs that tested our balance and patience. The scenery—lush valleys, rushing rivers, and old farms—was unreal. But with beautiful landscapes came bike drops and mechanical issues, including electrical gremlins that kept us wrenching throughout the day.
We rolled into Spruce Pine Campground, where “primitive” is an understatement. No water, just dirt… which quickly became mud after yet another round of surprise thunderstorms. Rain probability? 15%. Reality? 100%.
Day 5: Hardware Stores and Hurricane Damage
Mileage: 197 miles
Camp: Campground in Waynesville, NC
This day was a bit of a wildcard. After a muddy pack-out, we grabbed McMuffins and tore into repairs. My KLR had taken a serious beating—its upper fairing, dash, and headlight assembly were hanging by a single bolt. An AutoZone parking lot became our workshop for an hour while we replaced bolts and reinforced everything with lock washers and Loctite.
The day’s ride turned from routine to sobering as we encountered severe storm damage left by Hurricane Helene the year before. Many of the towns we passed through were still visibly recovering. It was a reminder of how these trails aren’t just adventure routes—they pass through the lives and losses of real communities.
Waynesville welcomed us with open arms (and a laundry machine). That’s when we realized Greg’s entire laundry bag had flown off his bike sometime during the day. One more casualty of the road, but nothing a resupply couldn’t fix.
Day 6: Blue Ridge to the Smokies
Mileage: 191 miles
Camp: Smitty’s Lodge, Tellico Plains, TN
We started the day with a massive biscuit sandwich at The Buttered Biscuit in Waynesville—fuel that would power us through one of the most surreal rides so far.
We found ourselves on a closed stretch of the Blue Ridge Parkway, riding 15 miles through storm-damaged, tree-littered roadway. No traffic, no noise—just us and the aftermath of nature’s fury. It felt like a ride through a post-apocalyptic world.
From there, we descended into the Great Smoky Mountains, hitting more manageable off-road surfaces before crossing the legendary Cherohala Skyway into Tennessee. We bunked at Smitty’s Lodge, a biker’s haven where we splurged on a small A/C-equipped cabin—a slice of heaven after six grueling days.
Day 7: Hell of a Final Stretch
Mileage: 71 miles
Destination: Greg’s Cabin, near Copperhill, GA
We expected this day to be a cakewalk—only 36 miles to Greg’s cabin. Easy, right?
Wrong.
Whitt Road was a savage introduction to true trail brutality: water crossings, slick moss-covered rocks, and sections of mud that only got worse with unexpected rain. Every mile fought back. Twenty miles in, with our arms shot and our legs numb, we had to take a long break just to let the blood return to our hands.
We finally arrived at Greg’s cabin around 1 p.m., where we were met with smiling faces, cold drinks, and immediate repairs. I fixed broken tie-down points while Greg restocked on clothes. That night, we feasted on giant rib-eyes and baked potatoes, like warriors returning from battle.
Reflections After Week One
This journey is tougher than we imagined.
The physical demands are no joke—ten hours a day gripping handlebars has left our hands nearly useless off the bikes. Standing on the pegs for hours burns every muscle in the legs. And the KLR650 seats? Let’s just say they were not designed with 200-mile days in mind.
But every ounce of fatigue is worth it.
The beauty of the trail has been staggering—mountain overlooks, rolling farmlands, old barns clinging to life, and small towns full of kind, curious people. We’re often stopped by strangers eager to ask about our journey, and every conversation reminds us how special this ride is—not just for us, but for everyone we meet along the way.
We’re only seven days in. Thirty-eight more to go.
Bring it on.
