CAN'T WAIT!--Trip 2

One ominous roll of thunder boomed while we ate breakfast. "That doesn't sound good," said Andy.

"Maybe it was a truck," I suggested.

It wasn't.

Rain pelted Little Red. Drips swelled along the window moldings on both sides, danced backwards along the door frames and fell in large plops on the velvet head rests. "This isn't going to be good," said Andy.
"Right," I agreed. "We have no Kleenex to stuff in the windows."

Rain didn't phase the semi drivers though. They zipped around us, sending the spray flying in all directions. "What amazes me," said Andy," is that they pass going UP the hills when I'm doing 68." Just as he said it, a piggy-back swooshed past us in a cloud of mist, but by the time we reached Maryland and West Virginia, the rain had stopped and the road had dried somewhat.
Tonight we had planned to stay at Peaks of Otter in Virginia--the lodge itself, a luxurious and stately old pine resort. "The last time we were here on the Blue Ridge," said Andy, "Tara had the chicken pox." He was right. We had checked with the pediatrician before leaving home that year. Drew had exposed her two weeks before. "She might not get it," the doctor had said, "and you won't be around children. Just take along lotion and Tylenol, try to keep her comfortable, and stay away from people if she shows signs of the disease."

We did. We chose a back table in the corner of the dining room and seated Tara, face covered in scabs, in the shadows of the pine logs. "She's had an allergic reaction," we told the waitress, "but she's feeling fine now." Tara took it all in stride.

"That's going on Facebook," I told Andy, as we cruised south through Virginia. We checked out the few tiny patches of blue sky, hoping the weather would clear for our afternoon along the Blue Ridge and our night in the mountains.
"You probably won't have WiFi this evening," Andy warned, "so there won't be any Facebook."

But instead of driving toward clearing skies, we entered a cloud of pea soup mist as we turned onto the Blue Ridge Parkway.
Still early for fall colors, most trees retained the green, but as sheets of moisture drifted upwards, we saw tinges of yellow, red and brown.

At Humpback Rocks we toured the Visitor Center, a mountain farm exhibit. Volunteer Bob, a Cornell graduate, explained how the farm dated back to 1890, at a location in the mountains that attracted only the very poor. The one-room log home had been built for $2.00, all hand labor and only the cost of a few nails and the mortar to cement the fireplace. Most of the cabin had been constructed with pegs.

Bob opened the back door so we could see inside. "I keep it closed," he said, "because otherwise the chickens come in and leave plops all over the floor." The upstairs loft was closed because squirrels had chewed and weakened the top rungs of the wall ladder. "The seven children slept up there, once they turned two years old," said Bob. "There is actually room for 14, two to a bed." Later he walked across the path and picked up black walnuts. "This has been a good year," explained Bob. "These are huge, but you see, I wear gloves to pick them. I didn't when I was a child. If you pick black walnuts bare handed, your flesh turns black until you grow new skin, and your fingernails stay black until you grow new nails. It's a permanent dye." I wondered if the black walnut was used for tattoos or permanent black markers.
Bob also explained that gas prices here were slightly less than at other parts of the state because of proximity to pipe lines.

"We just paid $3.299 a gallon in town," said Andy. "That's 78 cents lower than in Connecticut where gasoline is still priced over $4.00 a gallon."

And Little Red is doing us proud. We tallied about 38 miles per gallon on the highway. You go, Little Saturn!

We drove on to the next pullout. Skies cleared and a coyote ran across the road right in front of our car. "It's clearing little by little," said Andy. Greenstone Trail at 3,000 feet gave us views of Shenandoah Valley, as clouds drifted across the ridge. "We might just luck out," he added hopefully.

At Ravens Roost Overlook a cross marked the spot where some too-adventurous hiker fell to his death from 3,200 feet.

Blooming thistles and milkweed pods ready to explode with seeds lined Big Sky Mountain Overlook. We hiked the short trail and snacked on breakfast bars. "I think we're going to be treated to a thunderstorm tonight," said Andy. "We're not even to the hot part of the day, and the clouds are building."

Yankee Horse Ridge offered views of a small waterfall along the .2-mile loop trail and a stretch of restored rail from the 50-mile long railroad logging route of the early 1900's. The sun came out to stay for a while at Indian Gap, and after the .63-mile climb into the boulder field, we felt the temperature soar.
"Why do they call them overlooks?" asked Andy, as we meandered past Otter Creek Overlook, Oak Flats Overlook and Terrapin Hill. "Why don't the signs just say 'pullouts' since they don't over look anything?"
His argument sounded sensible to me.

At the James River we followed two 30-minute trails along Battery Creek Lock Trail and Trail of the Trees Trail and browsed in the Visitor Center.

At Johnson Farm a solitary deer browsed on fruit from lower branches of apple and pear trees. Stops for short walks at Thunder Ridge and Onion Mountain provided panoramic views of the valley as the cold front moved in and chased the mist north. In a refreshing half hour the world was beautiful. What a surprise! What had started out in rain and fog ended with clarity and crisp freshness.

Tomorrow? Can't wait for it!