The Blue Ridge Parkway

Early to rise in the Red Roof motel, a frugal “continental” breakfast augmentet with Miranda’s meuseli (thankyou), and off into the pre-sunrise morning. A few miles to the beginning of the Blue Ridge Parkway, which climbed and wound and wound and climbed at a gentle angle up to about 1200 meters, all amongst trees. Many trees. Zillions of trees. Then an opening and a parking area, with a view. What a view! It was still a misty, moisty morning, and the valleys were shrouded in thicker fog, but the silence was golden. No birdsong. No rustling sounds from small creatures in the undergrowth. No traffic. The distant hills and mountains not yet lit by a cloud-shaded sun, but visible as a series of shadows. It was the clearest part of the day. 

The mist clearing gradually but being replaced by haze.

The road was never boring, nor was it straight. The planners must have only had curved rulers to place on their maps. But a magnificant bit of road-engineering. 

The stopping places, called “overlook”, were well warned with a sign, and were usually assosiated with a view.  Some were not. 

Actually, there was a small, clucking stream behind the sign, so it was justified I suppose. 

From the heights, the road wound down to lower levels, and a cultivated field or two appeared. The hay bales, round, looked as though they had been there a while. Then back up again, and views over to the west side of the range, with lusher valleys and small villages.

Then down again, and a detour into Roanoke for lunch. A BigMac was quick, consistent food.

Then the southern part of the route. Much more cultivated and populated. Even the odd clutch of cabins. Different. At this time of the year, outside holidays, unused. Also derelict buildings, small farms mostly. And then the odd, modern, house, maybe a mountain cabin. All-in-all a most interesting experience.

Then find a place to sleep. The Red Carpet inn sounded enticing, and turned out to be clean and suitable for a night. The card to put in the doorlock to open it had the unfortunate characteristic that, if put in a pocket with a moblie phone, it got wiped. Getting back from the Japanese restaurant next door, (not splendid), was confronted by a locked door, only openable by getting the card re-programmed in reception, which had a notice saying ” back soon”. A “soon” can be quite lengthy when you have to wait, and the coffee was lukewarm. 

Up early again to another pathetic breakfast, and then by Garmin directions to the highway. Easy. Two hours down the road, and the lack of breakfast was getting insistent. Off at the next intersection, to Waffle House, where many were eating breakfast. Very noisy, and not too quick, but the waffle and maple syrup filled the need and with an extra coffee to go, we were back on the freeway at the speed limit. Actually, that lawfulness was not optimum, as I was getting in the way of eveything, including those huge trucks. I reluctantly succumbed to joining the masses, at about speedlimit plus 7to8 miles an hour. Much more relaxing. No police. No ticket. 

Then to Charleston airport to deliver the car and be met and welcomed by brother Peter. Big hug. Good. Much warmer here south in the midday sun. Then to the ferry to Peter and Marion’s Dewees home. Wonderful. Now some days of relaxing in good company, and hopefully a swim or many in the ocean, at the moment very disturbed in the aftermath of Matthew, which most fortunately had spared this area for extenive damage.

Life is OK.