We left out bed and breakfast not long after getting out of bed and having breakfast.We were determined to find the most scenic way to Asheville through Smoky Mountains National Park. Google Maps, however, had other ideas. While I normally appreciate how my phone helpfully directs me to a destination without every chastising me for making a wrong turn, sometimes I actually have a route in mind that I want to take and I would like to do so. Instead, my GSP was determined to send us on the fastest route to Asheville by Interstate highway. The result was over an hour of me driving where I thought I wanted to go and discovering that my sense of north and south is far from infallible. But along the way we did get to see some of the most hideous stretches of this generally depressing part of East Tennessee. Pigeon Forge exceeds Harbor Boulevard in Anaheim for kitsch, and could just possibly rival the Las Vegas Strip.
And let’s not forget the near life-size reproduction of the RMS Titanic complete with a fiberglass iceberg.
But this only touches on some of the aesthetic horrors that you can find here.You will just have to visit Sevier County to see all of them yourselves.
Still, after about an hour of calling down vaguely biblical curses on my iPhone, we somehow made it into the national park. Great Smoky Mountains is the most visited national park in the country. I suspect that has to do with the fact that you pretty much have to go through some part of it to get from Tennessee to North Carolina as well as the fact that the Appalachian Trail, the American equivalent of the Camino for the Columbian sportswear crowd, goes through it. Despite the overuse, it still remains remarkably lovely.
John and I stopped to admire the view a few times along the road. I am in favor of pure nature photographs, but John thinks it is important to show the world that we really have visited a place. I get that, but think that there probably should be a federal law against taking selfies after the age of thirty.
Our most significant stop along the way was to go to the top of Clingman’s Dome, the highest peak in Tennessee and the third highest peak in the park. We were able to drive most of the way up, but there was a half mile hike up a paved trail to the observation tower. From the moaning and groaning of the people on the trail, you might have thought it was the Bataan Death March. Whenever I feel bad about being overweight, I could just take a trip to the South where I am rather on the thin side. We did have a group of Mennonites who had the grace to neither complain now be perturbed at how all the obese Baptists were staring at them.
Once we were out of the park, Google Maps again tried to persuade us to take the fastest route to Asheville. But we decided that we wanted to take the Blue Ridge Parkway for at least part of the way. It ended up being about 70 miles of the parkway, however, which was probably too much of a good thing, particularly as the gas gauge grew closer and closer to empty while we went down this nearly empty road.
Asheville appears to be a cute town, but we have just settled in. We are staying at the Reynolds Bed and Breakfast on the north side of the city. Our innkeeper is this gay guy who is apparently obsessed with Dark Shadows. He has a picture of Jonathan-what’s-his-name, the vampire, on the walls of the office. The house belongs to the same family that brought the world Reynolds Tobacco, and not surprisingly it was built by slaves. Maybe the aura of evil on the office walls is deserved.
Once out in the country, the mansion is now surrounded by suburban condos and other development. Still, the evening view from the veranda was lovely.
