Reaching For The Sky, At 20 MPH

 "SLOW DOWN!"

It was not a suggestion.  Like the way someone is trying to tell you what they want to eat, or what to wear to a party.  Which do you like better -- the blue one or the yellow one?  It wasn't a one way conversation with your spouse while streaming "Terminal List" on Amazon.  Or being asked to try something besides vanilla ice cream.

This had the authority of fire and brimstone if you failed to understand her meaning.

"Slow down, please," repeats my wife.  Fire and brimstone -- with sugar on top.

Typically, the fastest route from Asheville to Max Patch is about an hour and fifteen minutes along I-40, then NC 209.  According to the directions, this stretch of NC-209 is known as the Appalachian Medley, a winding and scenic road through the mountains of North Carolina.

A quick couple of things to note:  typically, winding and mountains.

"Typically" means during daylight hours, preferably when you can see where the "winding" road takes a sharp 180 degree turn.  Sunlight would have helped avoid a situation like one we just had where the passenger side wheels of the car brushed the shoulder of the road, kicking gravel and dirt over a steep drop down the "mountain" and certain death.

Of course, I was in complete control of the car,  having faithfully -- and without incident I might add -- guided us through Wisconsin, Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky, Tennessee and finally North Carolina.  At a distance of over one thousand miles, and almost two days driving, I felt confident along the route we were on, especially since we had taken these exact same curves two hours before.  We were simply retracing our route from Max Patch to Asheville.

Only one problem.  Ok, two.  It was pitch black outside, and our GPS wasn't working any more.  So to say we were driving blind wouldn't be an exaggeration.

"Slow down!" Her voice was loud enough for campers in Tennessee to hear.  This time she was actually spitting red hot lava from her mouth.  The kind I would certainly find in hell if I were to die tonight.  So I slowed down, even though the signs on the mountain indicated a speed limit of 40 miles per hour.  Maybe some jokester switched the signs just to raise my wife's blood pressure.

To Liz's credit, she anticipated our current situation.

"Take a right turn at the stop sign," she says.  She has written every turn we took before and is reversing them on the way back down the mountain.  Smart cookie, my wife.  Getting to Max Patch was easy, but trying to find cell service up here was impossible.  So asking the phone's GPS to take us back to Ashville was giving her the slow wheel of death.  So all we had to do was turn the paper inside out, upside down and speak in reverse and we'd find ourselves back in Asheville by 10:30.

Her next set of instructions don't have the authority of the one we just took.  "Looks like another right turn on Hide-Away-Pass," she pauses.  "I think.  I don't see anything that tells us what road we are on, and nothing looks familiar."

I look through our windshield at the darkness and stars overhead, which look like buckshot fired from some magical shotgun.

"Do you remember seeing that church back there?" I ask.  I don't want to panic her, but nothing looks familiar.  "Are we lost?" I ask, trying not to sound like Burt Reynolds in the hillbilly movie "Deliverance."

Is that banjo music I hear?

As you can tell, Liz and I love our adventures.  We really do.

Liz spends hours researching our trip -- finding places to go, things to see and food to eat.  We've been to Canada, Ireland, Mexico, the Caribbean, Europe and occasionally stateside.  During the COVID scaredemic, we had a great time in Yellowstone and Grand Tetons National Parks with friends who share our love of travel and distain for being told what to do..

Our latest adventure has us driving by car to North Carolina with stops in French Lick, Indiana, in Louisville, Kentucky, in Cincinnati, Ohio and everywhere in between on our way to see the fabulous Biltmore Estate in Asheville, near the Smokey Mountains.  And to drive hazardous curves, dips and to climb to unknown destinations.

Because of the current state of travel -- delays, covid testing, etc. --  we decided to rent a car and see parts of the United States by road.  Sounded like fun, and it was.  There is something uniquely American about driving a car for thousands of miles through mostly rural, unpopulated parts of the country.  Europe has its rail system and a compactfulness that makes it easy to travel from Italy to France to Germany and others. 

In fact, it's been said that traveling across the United States feels more like visiting a collection of different countries, each with its own identity and culture.  Depending on what state you're in you could even say its own language.  

Culture and cuisine is a combination of all the nationalities that make up this great country of ours.  You can find jambalaya, beignets, crawfish boils and Po-Boy in Louisiana, or you can eat two kinds of North Carolina-style barbecue, fried chicken or fried green tomatoes in North Carolina.  Geographically, the flat, plain states vary greatly from the mountainous areas of Kentucky, Tennessee and North Carolina.  And the people from Milwaukee are vastly different than the people from Louisville.

And unlike a six hour drive from Germany to the Czech Republic, it may take eight hours just to get through the long states of Illinois or Indiana.  The vastness of this country is so overwhelming and profoundly inspiring that the possibilities of discovery seem endless -- and connecting us all is a bright invisible thread found in our unique history.  

It can be found by car, if you take the time to look around, one mile at a time.

With just the two of us and no real agenda, except to get to North Carolina, our vacation was part road trip, part nostalgia and part adventure.  

Recently, we had wanted to see the historic and "Eighth Wonder of The World," West Baden Springs Hotel near French Lick, Indiana with its 200 foot dome covering its atrium.  In 1855, French Lick was famous in the United States as a spa town and attracted celebrities like boxer Joe Louis, composer Irving Berlin and gangster Al Capone (if there was gambling, it's a good bet Capone was around).

On our way to North Carolina, we made a quick stop at Churchill Downs in Louisville, considered the holy grail for aficionados of horse racing.  It is well known for the Kentucky Derby,  mint juleps,  hot dogs, strawberries and roses.  Sitting in the auditorium watching the history of the races left me with a lump in my throat, in tears and loving horses, even though I've only ridden a horse once in my life.

Our journey through the middle of our country was uneventful for the most part, with little to concern us except the increasing price for gas.  Did you hear Taco Bell is the only place you can still get gas for $1.29?  Ha ha!   Makes me wonder what's cheaper - taking care of a horse or paying for gasoline?  Maybe the people at Churchill Downs would know.

Our stay in North Carolina was great, with Liz marking off one of her bucket list items -- the Biltmore Estate.  Elegance and grandeur doesn't begin to describe America's largest home.  The French Renaissance castle is an architectural jewel.  The home features 250 rooms, including 35 bedrooms, 43 bathrooms and 65 fireplaces.  Think of that!

In addition to the house, the 8,000 acre estate is home to forested trails and beautiful gardens, which include on the the country's most complete collection of azaleas.  Biltmore is also where we visited the nation's most-visited winery (perhaps we can share a bottle at our annual wine party this year.)

Our journey back to the Badger State began at five o'clock in the morning and found us once again traveling by headlights through unfamiliar curves and climbing to uncomfortable heights through the Cumberland Gap, one of many passes in the Appalachian Mountains, located on the border of Kentucky, Virginia and Tennessee.  The passage was originally created by herds of woodland buffalo that traveled across it drawn by the abundance of salt in the region.

As it turned out, we followed this "trail" into Kentucky where we stopped at Buffalo Trace Distillery, which was once part of the Bourbon Trail so popular with the bourbon culture today.  After filling whatever spare room we had in the car with bottles of bourbon , we continued to Cincinnati, Ohio an exciting city filled with slave history, multiple bridges, major league sports and music.  We were lucky enough to celebrate Liz's birthday with a journey-ending concert at Memorial Hall with Pink Martini, a favorite of ours from our ballroom dancing days.

In all, it was a fun and interesting journey that found us traveling over 2,400 miles in little over nine days. We discovered what makes so many people want to come to America -- its beauty, its history and the kindness of the people who call it home.

I also discovered I can still travel by car with the love of my life at almost 5,000 feet.

The following morning, Liz and I are traveling once again away from the safety of Asheville on the Blue Ridge Parkway, an All-American scenic road.  The parkway is America's longest linear park, running 459 miles through Virginia and North Carolina, linking Shenandoah National Park to the Great Smokey Mountains National Park.

We have stopped at a pull off at Craggy Gardens Visitor Center.  At 4,900 feet, we have panoramic views of the Pisgah National Forest with Mount Mitch rising above us to even higher heights.  The sign says we can see into Tennessee from the lookout, but I can't tell if its North Carolina or Tennessee I'm seeing from our viewpoint.  All I know is it's breathtaking and is popular with the Harley and BMW crowd.

We are still discussing our ride up to and down from Max Patch.

"I still say the drive from hell was worth it."  I am trying to sound positive, which is a fine trait of mine that can drive some people nuts.  "The 360 degree views of the Smokey Mountains were awesome, the sunset was great, and the guy recording his yoga inspirations was worth watching."

"I don't know if it was worth it, but I don't want to do it again," Liz is still hesitant about our heavenly heights, including our drive today which has many sharp turns and tunnels.  "It's not too bad when I can stand with feet firmly on the ground, but in a car with you driving, I swear, it's going to be the death of me."

I didn't want to agree, but her blood pressure last night must have been higher than ... Mount Mitch.  And her pale shade of puke green really didn't match her blouse.  Not that I actually saw any green puke...

"Sure.  But things got better after we stopped by that trailer home," I say.  "Pulling into its gravel driveway I thought we were going to be greeted with a 12-gauge shotgun, or worse.  You saw Deliverance, right?   I mean, who stops near a run down shack of a home in North Carolina looking for directions?  Didn't the Hatfield's and McCoy's feud get started with one of them asking for directions?"

I can't explain it -- maybe it was divine intervention -- but somehow, as we idled in that driveway trying to decide what to do next -- our GPS worked again for a few seconds, just long enough for us to pick up direction back to Asheville,  We had held our breathe waiting for our cell service to fail.  Each turn got us closer to our destination, but even though I knew we were on the right track, I really couldn't remember seeing most of what we passed.   "Lost In Space" had nothing on us -- "Danger Mr. Robinson! -- as we could have wandered around for hours and gotten no closer to home.

Liz and I are standing near the visitor center looking at one of the landmark signs.  Proud of my education and my ability to read signs, I tell her, "It says here the Blue Ridge Mountains have a bluish color when seen from a distance.  Apparently the trees put the "blue" in Blue Ridge, because something called isoprene is released into the atmosphere.  It contributes to the blue characteristic haze of the mountains.  Pretty cool, huh?"

"I never knew that," Liz says, then pauses and points to another important fact.  "How about this?  Clouds are formed above mountains when the air is forced up, where it loses heat and its ability to hold moisture, forming clouds, which is why there are more clouds in the afternoon than morning. " 

We stop on our way back to the car at a mound of Catawba rhododendrons that blanket many of these high elevation summits.  In fact, they are everywhere and much like the giant ones we've seen in Ireland, need to be cut back because they are so invasive.  But they are really beautiful this time of year.

"Look at this view," Liz continues as I take another picture.  "Have you ever felt so close to the sky?  I mean, we can't touch them, but I feel like we could just reach up and touch some of these clouds.  Being up this high is terrifying, but at the same time, its so peaceful and quiet.  It's the irony of driving through the mountains.  The heat of the city and noise of streets and people are replaced by the smell of rain and the feel of the sun on our faces."

I look at her and smile.  I know exactly what she means.  Like so much of our cross country drive, there is a sense of goodness and renewal that comes from these high elevations.  These mountains, like the drift less area back home, or much of the wonderful topography we passed to get here, have been here for millions of years and will be here long after we have gone.

I feel like we could solve the world's problems if we could just get everyone together up here.

Maybe Liz's suggestion to SLOW DOWN! isn't so bad after all.