Photo taken Saturday evening – many attendees left early due to weather conditions

After nine years of attending Tame the Dragon, it’s safe to say this event has become more than a ride—it’s a reunion. Some of our strongest friendships have been forged on these backroads and back porches. This year was no different: most of our regular crew made it, a few faces were missed, and we even met Allen—a guy who lives twenty minutes from us and somehow dodged our radar until now.

The Machines and the Basecamp

The Iron Horse Motorcycle Lodge was home base once again, where everything started and ended (except the parts that went sideways mid-route). The usual suspects were present on mostly BMWs—K1600s, GSs, and a few other flavors mixed in. In all, we had 90 checked-in attendees, about 20 down from recent years, due to a confluence of factors including weather, cross-country moves, and scheduling conflicts. The event offers four organized riding groups, broken out broadly based on mileage and pace, with a good deal of overlap among the groups.

As Stephanie and I typically join the Spirited group, this post will primarily focus on those rides. No awards were given, but if there had been a category for “best ratio of carbon fiber to gravel roads,” Alan’s M1000 XR would’ve taken the trophy… and maybe a therapy voucher.

Day 1: Warm-Up Laps and Overlooks

A 170-mile “unofficial” ride was the kickoff, meant to shake off rust and test tires. Highlights included Highway 28, Lower Burningtown, and Buck Creek into Highlands for lunch at Ugly Dog Pub. From there, we meandered past Bridal Veil Falls and up Wayah Road to Forest Service 711—where the overlook at Nantahala Lake delivered the expected oohs and aahs.

After gassing up in Robbinsville, we took the scenic Yellow Creek/Upper Tuskeegee loop back to the lodge. Supper was a carpool convoy of 30+ folks to Tapoco Lodge near Deal’s Gap—a great way to toast the weekend ahead before it all got… interesting.

Day 2: Gravel Optional, Apparently

Twelve of us made up the Spirited crew for Day 2, tackling 315 miles, 70% of which were dry. We started strong with an energetic section of Hwy 28 south of US 74 and dodged the slab via Old Murphy Road. Then the rain came—steady and stubborn—until we turned south on Hwy 348 (Richard Russell) from Hwy 180. The run up US 129 (Blood Mountain) and Wolfpen Gap was dry enough to regain some pace, and by the time we hit lunch at Cooper’s Creek Store, the skies had shifted from biblical to beautiful.

The afternoon included an “oops” moment as we realized that our favorite dual-sport routes like Shallowford Bridge and Old Dial—fun on knobbies—turn into puckering slip ‘n slides on street tires. Alan’s concern for his XR’s carbon wheels was entirely valid. Didn’t matter—he still left us in the dust.

We looped through Copperhill, Hwy 68, and Tellico Plains, then hit the Cherohala Skyway. The group stretched out, with everyone making personal calculations on the speed-vs-performance-award matrix. We regrouped at the newly reopened gas station at the Skyway/129 intersection, then returned to the lodge just in time for an island-themed meet and greet, minus the sand.

Day 3: Rain, More Gravel, and the Fentanyl Flop

Forecast: Rain all day. Solution: Reverse the route and hope for magic. Reality: A 305-mile soggy sufferfest.

We split into two spirited groups; Terry led one out 30 minutes later than originally scheduled, Stephanie & I followed with nine bikes a few minutes later (“leading” a Spirited group only means that you might be the 1st bike as the group leaves the lodge – after that, whoever feels froggy takes point, so nearly every rider leads sometime during the day). Highlights (if you can call them that) included a wet out-and-back on the Road to Nowhere, a glorious Hwy 209 (The Rattler) under sunshine, and an unexpected gravel shortcut across the Pigeon River thanks to GPS “wizardry”. Three bikes—including Gerrit on an S1000XR—rode through it before we could shout “Nooooo!” via the Cardo/Sena bridge (which had failed again).

Then things got weirder. While stopped at an intersection in traffic, we noticed both people in the car in front of us were unconscious. Retired officer Matt tapped the window, woke the driver—who then floored it and nearly clipped Matt’s bike. Likely a case of the Fentanyl Flop, according to JJ. Police were notified, and we rolled on.

Lunch at The Woodshed came with a dead K1600 (Joey’s). No lights, no power—until magically it restarted. Then it died again. A loose ground terminal was the culprit, discovered after we all melted into our gear from the heat and humidity. By the time we cleared Gatlinburg traffic and hit Foothills Parkway, the rain came back. And stayed. That was our slowest Dragon run ever. To top it off, a car in front of us tried to pull over to let us pass, slid into a muddy ditch, and stopped—partially saved from a full plunge by a well-placed tree. Driver was fine and calling a tow (with magical cell reception none of us could replicate), so we finally returned to the lodge soaked, tired, and maybe slightly wiser.

Day 4: Recalculated, Refined, and Actually Fun

With storms looming, we scrapped the plan to Canton and aimed for a tighter 160-mile loop. Hwy 28 to Tellico Rd, Lower Burningtown to Franklin—it never gets old. One new rider split off early (smartly), joining another group that happened to be gassing up nearby. Respect.

We rode Walnut Creek, Norton, and Buck Creek—where one rider had a slow-motion slide into a ditch. Minimal damage to the K1600, maximum laughter from the rest of us (once we confirmed he was fine).

Lunch plans at Caffe Rel were abandoned for gas station snacks as the skies darkened. Wayah Road was mostly dry—until it wasn’t. We slogged back to the lodge through light drizzle, grateful to wrap it up without incident.

Lessons from the Dragon

• Cardo or bust. This was the year I finally gave in. Comms are no longer optional for the spirited group—not with missed turns and sketchy conditions stacking up.
• Trim the fat. Long routes + late starts + bad weather = unhappy riders. That’s on me.
• Dual-sport memory ≠ sport-touring reality. Gravel that’s “not bad” on knobbies can turn into a high-stakes roller rink on street rubber.

In the end, no one earned a performance award, everyone returned upright, and we somehow dodged disaster on roads that threw more curveballs than a minor league pitcher. Tame the Dragon 2025 was wet, wild, and unforgettable—as always.