The Drive
The road twists and turns, slithering as an unassuming snake, gliding through the underbrush of the dense forest. Under the crushing weight of the pavement and the endless parade of travelers, the mountains stand tall and resolute. We can pave over them, find ways around them, through them, but they will always be there, unmoved.
The mountains are ancient. The air here is lighter but there is a certain density to it, an oppressing force. The higher we ascend, the more the heavens seem to push back. I can't help but get the feeling that this is a place not meant for man. Far away in the dense cities of the world it is easy to think that we have triumphed over nature, beat it into submission with our titanic powers of industry, but out here, it is different. The roads are cracked and splintered, roots and weather have caused destruction at an uncombatable rate. The buildings are worn and overgrown. I can feel my car whine in protest, it yearns for the planar country.
I felt inflated like a balloon, drifting along guided by the subtle, unseen winds. It is a complex swirling of emotions inside me, not just happiness, but trepidation and anxiety, elation and excitement; I feel full. The uncertainty of the unfamiliar is a terrifying lake to jump into, but there is something strangely addictive under the mirrored surface.
I had intended to spend my first night at a campground, tucked away in one of the many national forests along my path. Things never go to plan. I am adapting to this new lifestyle cast upon me by what is commonly referred to as, the real world. Gone are the days of summer break and stress free vacations. This previous illusion so shattered, that I had forgotten summer break was ever really even a thing. Let me be the first to tell you, claiming a campsite, late in the evening on one of the first weekends of summer, is no easy feat. I had seen that there were four campsites available on a first come first serve basis, but I was neither the first to come nor the first served. The campground was overflowing with summer people, some sites had 10 or 15 people sitting around their picnic tables.
Though some of my air had been released, I would not allow myself to be deflated. This was part of the excitement, if everything were to work out exactly the way you wanted it to, life would be boring.
I ended up spending that night in a cheap motel. It was delicately placed on the side of a mountain, the driveway was steep and intimidating. There were three cars in the parking lot. I walked into the lobby to be greeted by only the sounds of my own footsteps. The lobby was dilapidated and abandoned, upon the counter there stood a yellowed sign that read, "Back in five minutes."
It was not five minutes.
The front desk attend was polite, if a little abrasive, but the room was very clean. The sheets were white and the carpet was free of stains, despite my best efforts, I couldn't find a single bedbug or roach, a step up from my the garage I now called home.
The motel was situated no further than twenty feet from an active railroad track. Every thirty or so minutes another engine would go screaming by, blaring its horn with all its heart. I could have been bothered by it, I could have spent my night, twisting and turning, pillows stacked high on my head in some feeble attempt to muffle the sound. I could spend my whole night, waiting for a quiet that was never going to come. I did not want to do that.
I stepped out onto the balcony, I had a perfect view of the tracks. I stood there and waited. A train came along. I could smell the engine, the metal and the oil, I could feel the ground shutter beneath my feet, the way the air shifted to accommodate this unstoppable force.
I was reminded of late summer nights in Batesville. We lived near to the tracks and I often found myself comforted by their etherial whistle, calling out to me while the rest of the world lay silent. That night was no different, the wave off nostalgia and the warm summer breeze was comfortable. I slept better than I had in a while.
The City
The remaining drive to Asheville was arduous and beautiful. I arrived in the early afternoon, too early to check into my Air B&B, I decided to head straight for the city center. It was a gorgeous sight to see; there in the heart of the Blue Ridge Mountains, was a vibrant, colorful city. The moment the highway rose above the final hill, and the trees parted was breath-taking.
I parked right downtown and walked around. I was shocked to see so many people, I don't know what I was expecting but the sideways were packed shoulder to shoulder. I could feel the energy of the city, it was happy, diverse and free. Everyone was talking and laughing, enjoying themselves, it was intoxicating.
That first day I bought an unmarked book from the local bookstore, it was wrapped in brown paper, a "staff pick." I spent the evening reading North American Lake Monsters, by Nathan Ballingrud, in a small little pub, while a live band played inspired Irish jigs. The Shepard's pie was hot and delicious, the beer cold and refreshing.
Over the course of the week I spent my evenings exploring the city, enamored by the rows of adorable storefronts. The downtown was small, but dense, there were more restaurants than I could ever hope to dine at during the course of my short stay. That didn't stop me from trying.
I ate tikka-masla and falafel tacos in the remnants of an old hanger. I ate charcuterie and wood-fire pizza on the roof of ten story building, as the sunset over the foggy mountains. I had fillet mignon on the porch of small bistro on the corner in the heart of downtown, watching as the people flowed by like a rapid river.
Tacos
The Mountains
Asheville lives up to its reputation. The Blue Ridge Parkway runs straight through the city. There is more miles of trails than leaves on a tree in spring. It is almost overwhelming, before I headed out on the first day, I spent hours reading about the best trails in the area, I didn't want to have to drive to far, as I couldn't leave till after work, but I wanted something unique.
My first hike was to the summit of one of the smaller peaks in the area. At the top there was a TV tower, they called it. It was larger than I would have imagined it, seeing it from the base. I didn't think that it detracted from the beauty of the peak, but its own, strange way, I found it beautiful.
Another day I spent the evening hunting waterfalls. I found an area with an unbelievable amount and made it the mission of my day, driving and hiking, until I could conquer them all. I saw three. There were two different couples taking wedding photos at different waterfalls. One bride's dress was brilliantly white, an uncommon sight this deep into the woods. The base of her dress was brown, muddied and wet, very likely ruined: she didn't seem to care.
Waterfalls
TV Tower
Hard Lessons
Late into the week I was called into work for an important in-person meeting in Indianapolis. Now, this meeting was optional but I felt it better to be than not to be, and so I started to make plans for my departure. The meeting was on a Tuesday and I was close to seven hours away. I came to the conclusion that the best course of action was to leave no later than Sunday afternoon.
I went to work making plans for my final, and really only, weekend in Asheville. Saturday I planned to go further into the mountains, since I had a entire day. Sunday I intended to tour the grounds and inside of the Biltmore.
Saturday rolls around and I can't help but take advantage of a unique opportunity in my life to sleep in, with work and unrelenting travel, I find very little time at all to sleep. I awoke no earlier than 11:00 p.m., after which, I immediately set out. I stopped for a pastry at the cute OWL Bakery, within walking distance to my home, then began my journey south, along the Blue Ridge Parkway. The drive was stunning, pockets of pink wild flowers illuminated the path. I had become used to the twists and turns and felt excitement more than anxiety every time the tunnel of trees gave way to an expanse just beyond a cliff. The drive was peaceful and fun, I was growing more eager with every turn, I was ready to hit the ground running and see what else I could discover today.
I got out of my car, and the air felt off. I have spent enough time outside to have a pretty good idea of when it is about to rain, there is something about it. The cool, light breeze, the subtle darkening in the sky, all the signs were there. I took out my phone to check the weather and sure enough it was going to storm the rest of the day, I had one hour to get off the mountain before it began, and so I turned back. Lesson: Check the weather before you head out.
I spent the remainder of the day sitting in a cafe working on a short story I have been toying with for a few weeks now. I have since put it in the hands of my editor (Tabitha Shenk), so keep your eyes and ears wide and peeled for that in the near future.
After a somewhat disappointing Saturday, I was determined to make Sunday work, I woke up bright eyed bushy tailed and on-time. I quickly did the final cleanings on the Airbnb, packed my bags, and headed off to the Biltmore.
I got there about 20 minutes early and decided that would be enough time to stop off for some McDonalds, it was right in front of the gate after all. This McDonald's was Biltmore themed, it was large and ornate, modeled after the Biltmore itself.
I then headed in. Now I don't know if any of you have been to the Biltmore before but the there is a one-way road from the entrance to the house, and back to the exit. I made sure to take extreme caution when I was looking for a place to park, I did not want to spend to much time mucking about and miss my chance to tour. I reached a sign that said, "Final Parking before house," with two arrows pointing in different directions. Confused I went onwards.
That was a mistake.
There was no turn around, no different road. I was stuck on this one-way loop behind someone, who may have been the slowest driver I have ever encountered. It took me an entire 45, just to get back to the entrance. By that point I had long missed my window of opportunity and rather than gripe and do the whole loop again, pleading desperately with the ticket attendant for another chance, I hit the road and put Asheville in my rearview mirror.
Pre-rain Mountain
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