They call it the Tail of the Dragon—eleven miles of relentless, coiled pavement twisting through the Smoky Mountains, with 318 curves so tight they could snap your concentration in half. It’s a place where dreams go to lean, scrape, and occasionally low-side into the trees. The speed limit is 30, the shoulders are nonexistent, and the margin for error is about the width of your front tire.
And I’m here to tell you: leave the big bikes at home. The Dragon belongs to the little guys.
Continue reading “Small Bikes, Big Fun: Why the Tail of the Dragon Belongs to the Lightweights”