Asheville lies in a bowl of the Blue Ridge, where the French Broad River slides past old brick warehouses and the mountains stand on every side in layers of blue. At about six hundred and fifty metres it is cooler than the Carolina lowlands in summer, and the air smells of woodsmoke and wet leaves in autumn. The town has long attracted people who like to be away from the crowds: artists, craftspeople, musicians, brewers, and, a century ago, invalids seeking mountain air.
The grandest sight is Biltmore, the vast French Renaissance style house built by George Vanderbilt and opened at Christmas in 1895. It still stands on its estate, with gardens by Frederick Law Olmsted, and it is the largest private house in the country. Downtown holds a good deal of Art Deco architecture, built in the 1920s before the Depression stopped the boom, and the whole district is walkable, with bookshops, cafes and a lively food scene. Craft breweries have made Asheville famous, with dozens in a small area.
For a motorcyclist the Blue Ridge Parkway, which runs for 469 miles along the crest of the mountains, is the great attraction. It has low speed limits, no trucks, and a slow tempo of curves and views. Mount Mitchell, at 2,037 metres the highest peak east of the Mississippi, lies a short way north. In September 2024, Hurricane Helene devastated parts of the area, and some road sections took a long time to repair, so check parkway and highway status before setting out. The route to the Smokies runs west on a mix of highways and winding mountain roads.
Fuel, food and lodging are all easy in a city of nearly ninety thousand, and Woodfin and Biltmore Forest are close. In summer, afternoon storms come quickly, and in the morning, fog fills the valleys, rising slowly as the sun burns it off. October is the busiest month for leaf-peepers, so book ahead, and expect slow traffic on the parkway at weekends.