Our Big Trip Week 20- October 26 to November 1

Sunday, October 26:

You may remember that when we last checked in on our weary travelers, they were not getting along too well. This was all better by Sunday morning. No, I jest. It wasn't. We got up Sunday morning and took off for the train station to get into DC to see Laura test her size 7 1/2 (or sometimes 8) sneakers in the Marine Corps Marathon. On the way there, we didn't speak much. We got to the race and got swept up in the spirit of the thing. We cheered for runners as they sped past us (some didn't really speed, more sort of ambled, to be journalistically honest, but kudos to them for having the guts to run/walk/crawl/roll 26 miles and 385 yards). I was sporting an inside-out T-shirt, on which I had written "Hewie Support Staff" (Laura's maiden name is Hewitt). I finally caught sight of Laura, which, I don't mind telling you, was no small feat in a field of 18,000 runners. I ran up to her and ran beside her for a short while, though I couldn't run through the water stop because there were many Marines there, making sure that only marathon runners were running on the road and shooing others off. Beth and I then headed across The Mall and caught Laura again. I ran with her for a little ways and Beth snapped this photo . We then headed to the next place we were hoping to catch a glimpse of our athlete and tragedy struck. Beth stood a little "downstream" of me, so she could snap another photo. Then a while later, I saw her heading back toward me. I told her to get ready because Laura would be by soon, and she said Laura had already run past. With a grimace and a whoop, I set off after her. I didn't want her to think that we had abandoned her. I knew that after crossing the Williams Bridge into Virginia, the race curved back around under it, so I figured that if I could go about 1 1/4 miles in the span of time it took Laura, with about a 5 minute head start, to run about 2 1/2 miles, I could catch her. So I ran across the bridge really quickly. I was passing marathon runners left and right, and with good reason- these poor souls had already run almost 22 miles, and I'm not, after all, a completely inactive lump of gruel, so I'm not saying I am a better runner than them, I was just more desperate. Anyway, I was passing marathon runners left and right, and some of the spectators on the side of the road started cheering for me. Really. They saw my shirt and figured I must be Hewie, so they started yelling, "Go Hewie!" at me as I whipped through the field past the 23 mile mark. I then got to the other side of the bridge and realized that I had missed the shortcut, and there was no way I was going to catch Laura. So I said a prayer for her and began glumly walking toward the finish line. Beth then called (I had my cell phone) and we hooked up at the Pentagon Train Station. We then managed to get in touch with Ted, who informed us that the finish line was a zoo and Laura was feeling a tad bushed and we shouldn't bother going to meet them there. It made sense, and I was glad that Laura had Ted and Meg there to take good care of her. So, we took the train back to College Park (at the U of Maryland) and got in the van. Beth knew I was feeling somewhat despondent about not getting to see Laura again, and she tried to console me. I told her something about how if she really cared she wouldn't be late all the time when we have appointments.

NOTE TO MEN: I would not recommend this exact tactic in the handling of a conflict with a loved one.

So, deciding we REALLY needed a break from one another, we decided to do our typical "time apart" thing: Beth going to a movie, Karl staying in the van playing guitar. Beth called Gail and she told us that Arundel Mills Mall would be a good place to mill around, catch a flick, etc. So we set off. Beth then headed for a movie and I had a snack and then headed back to the van to make music. My legs, by the way, were getting REALLY stiff by now. Later, I noticed that Beth had left a message on my phone, and it was very kind. So I called her back and left her one for after she got out of the movie. By the time we got back to the car, we had ironed out our differences and chalked most of them up to the fact that we have spent an AWFUL lot of time together. After so many years of seeing each other so little, it has been a huge adjustment. We wondered if at the end of Our Big Trip we would miss spending so much time together. Then we had a good laugh. Beth, by the way, saw "Mystic River", and reviewed it thusly: "It was wonderfully acted- definitely worth going to see, though not exactly uplifting." We then got back to Tom and Gail's for some delectible home-cookin'. We were accompanied by Michelle, her husband Mark, her brother Mark, her kids Matthew and Michael, and two more friends of Gail's named Carolyn and Judy.

Monday, October 27:

After bidding adieu to Tom and Gail (okay- we actually bid adieu to Tom the night before- he said he was going to be leaving at 5 or 6 or some morning hour that your humble narrator would refer to as "the night before" and we quite honestly told him that we had very little interest in rising along with him.) We then headed to McLean, Va., where we met the surprisingly not sore at all Laura. Your humble narrator was, of course, doubled over in pain. It was then discovered the nature of your humble narrator's folly. You see, after spending some time with Bill Hester the triathlete, I figured that I would be able to run 7 miles with no problem. The reason for this is that in a triathlon, the athletes ride bicycles for 112 miles and run for 26.2. So, I figured that running was roughly 4 times as much work as bicycling. Since I can ride my bike for 30 miles without killing myself, I figured I could run for 1/4 of that. The problem with that rationale is that running uses DIFFERENT MUSCLES, muscles which, in your humble narrator's case, have remained as dormant as a hibernating bear on sleeping pills. So, Laura, who ran roughly 800% farther than your humble narrator, was, of course, 1350% less sore. I must say, however, that I was still a perfect gentleman, and when it appeared that I needed some ice for my water while we were dining at Le Madeline, I selflessly, and without regard for my own personal comfort, walked all the way to the beverage counter and got the ice (and a lemon slice) all by myself. We then dropped Laura at Dulles Airport, and I, with reckless abandon, limped at breakneck speed to catch her and return the water bottle she had left in the van. We then drove out Rte 66 to Front Royal, Va. Deciding to stay in comfort, we checked into the quaint (and economical) Pioneer Inn. Apart from noting the facts that the toilet was so close to the wall that you had to actually sit on it sideways and the shower head came out of the wall about 3 feet from the bottom of the tub, it seemed fine. We then went next door to Dean's Steakhouse, which proclaimed itself to have "the best food in the (Shenandoah) valley." Now then, without seeming too judgemental, let me just say, if that was the best food in the valley, Front Royal must also have the lowest obesity rates in the valley. While we were "enjoying" our "dinner," we overheard the woman at the table next to ours mention something about drug dealers and calling the sheriff. We then heard the waitress say, "Oh, the Pioneer? Oh, heavens, no, I'd never stay there." She then made some comments about low-life's and transients and drug problems. After our meal, we headed back to our apparently soon-to-be-bullet-riddled hotel room and bunkered down for the onslought. Other than a slight pain in your humble narrator's neck (from bending over to wash his hair), we made it alive all the way to bedtime. I fell asleep reading a copy of "The Roanoke Times." The sports section featured a column of the NHL standings, a column of the NBA standings, a small story about how well the Lakers have done so far this season, and FOUR PAGES of coverage of high school football. It also featured the auto racing standings for the NASCAR, NHRA, Formula 1, CART, Pickup Truck, Go-Cart, Women's NASCAR, US-made car, Buick With A Dent in the Left Door, and Station Wagon With Potato Chip Crumbs in the Back Seat categories.

Tuesday, October 28:

When we, surprisingly, woke up unharmed, we rejoiced and ate breakfast. Next we decided to go spelunking (cave exploring). We hit Skyline Caverns right in Front Royal. There was another place, Laurel Caverns, which is supposedly bigger, but more touristy as well. Skyline caverns was really beautiful, as proved by this photo . Our tour guide, whose name was Pat, was very friendly and knowledgeable. She really loved the caverns, and wanted us to be sure to enjoy ourselves too. She wanted this so badly that one time when she was shining her flashlight on a particular formation and I looked at something else that had caught my eye, she said, "No, not there. Look over here." Watchig your humble narrator get scolded was Beth's favorite part of the tour. There was another part where Pat turned off the lights and played a recording accompanied by a lightshow that changed and illuminated different parts of the "room" we were in. The recording was a disembodied voice telling us that God had created these caverns and if we didn't respect them and do the will of God in our daily lives, we would be smitten. A little over the top, perhaps, for a cavern tour, but we were only a couple of hundred miles outside of Nashville, which is referred to as "The Buckle of the Bible Belt," so perhaps excusable. After the caverns, we snacked on some traditional spelunking food (Choco Tacos). We then drove to Shenandoah National Park. We drove and hiked and relaxed. I noticed a car that would disappoint you Virginians- this personalized message has already been taken . The park was quite peaceful. The trees had lost many of their leaves, and it was a little foggy, so the park had a quiet, surreal quality. Check out this picture . It was quite chilly, which was a nice change. After doing some hiking, we warmed our ears and noses and camped for the night in the park.

Wednesday, October 29:

Your humble narrator had gotten to sleep quite early, so I woke up early as well. I sat in the van, sipped a cup of tea and worked on this journal for a couple of hours before Beth got up. It was cool and misty and leaves were rustling and deer were walking right past our van. What a great way to start the day. Beth awoke and we had some breakfast and got on our way. The weather worsened a bit and we were forced, through mortal fear of getting wet, to curtail our hiking activities. We made our way south through Shenandoah via the park's Skyline Drive. The road is quite beautiful, and we had ample time to enjoy the scenery, because it is impossible to pass (other cars) anywhere on the windy, narrow road, and we were fortunate enough to be driving behind a poor elderly man who's car was broken, and couldn't go any faster than 17 mph. Skyline Drive meets the famous Blue Ridge Parkway, which connects Shenandoah with Great Smoky Mountain National Park (via 469 miles of scenic slow-going highway). Since we had hoped to do more today than simply drive at a snail's pace through the state of Virginia, we postponed our Blue Ridge Parkway experience and opted for the quicker route. Our first order of business was to stop in Charlottesville, at the Association for Investment Management and Research (AIMR). These are the folks who administer the Chartered Financial Analyst (CFA) exam that Beth recently passed. Upon passing the exam, Beth was supposed to return a signed form to AIMR, but she hadn't received it. (Or, shall we say, our friend Mary, or "Mrs. Postwoman," in San Francisco, hadn't received it.) Beth had tried futiley to have another copy of the form sent to her while we were in Buffalo, but that never arrived either. So, she decided to make the most of our proximity to AIMR, and show up in person to sign the form. After this mission was accomplished, we took a local's advice (from AIMR) and had lunch at the historic Michie Tavern (also in Charlottesville). The tavern has been in existence since 1784, and the menu has supposedly not changed much. They advertise that their fare is a "southern buffet based on 18th century recipes". Take my advice, folks. Skip it. You can get a better meal at Boston Market for a fraction of the price. The buffet was fried chicken, canned green beans, stewed tomatoes, black-eyed peas, and beets. After the taxes, tip, etc. we paid almost $40 for a fried chicken lunch. The coolest thing about the place was the building itself, which is a historic landmark. The servers all dress in colonial attire, and the plates and cups are made of tin. So it was more interesting than your average KFC, but we thought we were going for the food, and were a tad disappointed. After lunch we drove up the road to Thomas Jefferson's house, which Tom fondly called "Monticello". Beth was more interested in visiting Monticello than me, so this made for another afternoon of guitar picking. Beth thoroughly enjoyed the tour of Monticello , and reports the following "fun facts":

* Tom's humble 16,000 square-foot abode is situated on 5,000 acres of land.

* He designed Monticello himself, and the architecture was quite different from that of typical Colonial times.

* He was heavily in debt when he died (to the tune of $2 million in current dollars).

* On a related note, he spent money with reckless abandon. He would go on shopping sprees in France and have crates of purchases shipped home.

* He never publicly reconciled his conflicting views on freedom. (He authored the "Declaration of Independence" while concurrently owning hundreds of slaves.)

* Due to his intense interest in exploring unknown territory, he was largely responsible for the "Lewis and Clark" expedition.

* Upon waking each morning he dunked his feet in a vat of ice water, which he said kept him from getting sick.

When our day in Charlottesville was through, we set off for our final destination of the day - Roanoke. There was still an hour or more of daylight left, so we made the most of it by traveling on the Blue Ridge Parkway, which is indeed quite scenic. Once it got dark, however, in Beth's words, driving on a twisty little unlit road fraught with deer (remember the deer in South Dakota?) jumping out from the sides of the road was "Not very much fun." So, we turned off at the first place we could find and took Rte 81 the rest of the way to Roanoke. We were tired, and not in the mood to search for somewhere to camp, so we decided to find out what the Roanoke hotel scoop was. The first place I stopped, the conversation went like this:

Your Humble Narrator: Hello. I was just wondering what your rate would be for 2 adults for tonight?

Hotel Desk Clerk: How many bed- 1 or 2?

YHN: Either. Whichever's cheapest.

HDC: For two night?

YHN: No, just for tonight.

HDC: This night and tomorrow night?

YHN: No, no. Uh... just one night.

HDC: Big dog or little dog?

YHN: ????????????

We finally found a place to stay that didn't quiz us on our invisible dog (you may recall that Plato is with Kirsten and Bob in NJ) and went into downtown Roanoke to grab some sustenance. Let me preface my describing of Roanoke as a not-very-happenin' town by saying that I am fully aware and comfortable with the fact that I am a not-very-happenin' guy (I guess I just postfaced instead of prefaced), and my observation, as EVERY ONE of my observations have been, is completely subjective. Anyway, we finally found a place called Italiano, which served Chinese. No, I jest. It served, of course, Italian! Brazilian Italian, actually, although I'm not sure what that is supposed to be exactly. It seemed like pretty standard Italian fare. Much to Beth's delight, the Italian food was served by none other than Andre, the beautful Mediterranean god. The food was, I must say, really, really good. We would place it as one of the three best restaurant meals we've eaten since we left on our big trip. Andre further wooed Beth by providing her with the recipe for their avocado vinaigrette salad dressing upon request, though I suspect that he may have altered it a bit. The "2 cups of bleach" tipped me off. We had a good time and enjoyed a truly scrumptious (and very reasonable, nearly the cost equivalent, in fact, as our fried chicken lunch) meal, and Beth was just giddy over Andre. After it became apparent that the restaurant was closing for the evening, I was finally able to drag my googly-eyed wife out of there.

Thursday, October 30 - Happy Birthday, Lisl!

We rose and, of all things, got back in the van and hit the road. We headed farther down 81 South instead of taking the scenic but now somewhat terror-inducing Blue Ridge Parkway. After about 3 hours, we hit Gatlinburg, Tennessee. We had never heard of Gatlinburg before we left on our big trip, but Sam Brake's (in Portland) girlfriend Nicole's sisters, Angie and Jill, told us it was not to be missed, so we didn't miss it. I was expecting a quaint little log cabin type of place, with a couple of cute little stores and a restaurant. Instead, we were greeted with the highest concentration of lights anywhere this side of Vegas. It actually looked just like Vegas, except all of the gambling spots were replaced by Christian bookstores. But there was miniature golfing, go-cart racing, arcades, restaurants and hotels by the thousands, and, of course, Dollywood (which is actually located in Pigeon Forge, the next town north of Gatlinburg). Apparently, Gatlinburg was once an artist town, with craft stores and art galleries galore. But as more and more people visited, the town grew and became more glitzy. Now, the artists still have shops in the outskirts of Gatlinburg, but they have been driven out of the Main Street area by the rising rents. We corralled ourselves a couple'a bedrolls and moseyed out to rustle us up some grub (we were, after all, in the pretty serious south now, and in the south, people do not "dine out," they grub-rustle). So we rustled us up some good ol' southern food (pizza) and bedded down under the stars (ceiling) by the fire (pronounced "far")(heater).

Friday, October 31:

Beth woke up and headed out to explore Gatlinburg while your humble narrator picked himself some guitar (GIT-are). We then met up at Park Place, a souvenir shop/entertainment center, because we, always stretching the boundries of exploration, decided we should ride the mechanical bull located there. This may surprise you, but, even after spending our whole lives in suburban NJ and urban CA, neither of us had ever participated in bull-riding. Your humble narrator had an advantage, however. I have fallen asleep on the couch at 3 a.m. to ESPN's coverage of The Buckin' Bronco Brigade from Muddy Boot, Arkansas, (or some such event) any number of times. So, I donned the bull-riding cowboy hat and the bull-riding glove and grabbed on to the strap with the underhanded grip I'd seen the cowboys on the above-mentioned shows use (you're only supposed to hold on with one hand). Then, I was off . Let me tell y'all, bull-ridin' is HARD work. You're pinching with your legs, holding tight with your arm and using your stomach and back muscles to keep yourself upright. Whew! After my 3rd tumble to the floor, the bull operator mercifully asked the crowd to give me a hand and allowed me to git up off that darned contraption. Out of 30 speeds, the operator said he only uses 10, because any higher than that and a person could really get hurt. He said that there are 2 men in the area who can ride at speed 10, and that he himself could go up to 8. The speed I was in? a mighty 2. It was then Beth's turn. Beth hadn't watched ESPN at 3 a.m. as much as I had, so she grabbed the strap with an overhanded grip. Then, as soon as the bull started bucking, Beth started screaming. If you had a tape recording of Beth's ride, it would sound like this:

Bull Operator: Okay, now, Beth, y'all ready? Lit's git ridin'!

(sound of mechanical bull starting)

Bull-Ridin' Beth: AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH! OH MY GOD IT'S HARDER THAN IT LOOKS AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH! CAN I PUT MY OTHER HAND DOWN CAN I PUT MY OTHER HAND DOWN OH MY GOD OH MY GOD I HAVE TO PUT MY OTHER HAND DOWN!

BO: "Okay, Beth, Go on an' put that hand down. Use 2 hands now. There's a girl. Hold on now!

BRB: OOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH OH, OH, WHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

BO: Okay, Beth, git back on up 'ere.

BRB: BACK ON? OKAY...

BO: Okay, darlin', here we go!

Sound of mechanical bull starting.

BRB: WWWWWWWWWHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAA OOOOOOOOF! OOOOOOOOOOOOOF! OOOOOOOOOOOF! AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH OH MY GOD OH MY GOD AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH OH OH OH OH

Sound of Beth crashing to the cushions again.

BRB: NO MORE, NO MORE! I'M DONE, PHEW, I'M DONE!

BO: Okay folks, lit's give 'er a hand....

It was so much fun. I highly recommend it to any couple on a first date. It would sure take the tension out of the occasion.

Note from Beth: Sure, sure... yuk it up y'all. Karl was not kidding, that is some serious WORK! It is a total blast though, definitely try it if you ever have the chance!

After riding the bull, we went out to eat. As it was Halloween, and there were plently of trick-or-treaters out by now, I thought I'd spice up our conversation with the host at the restaurant with a little seasonal flavor:

Your Humble Narrator: Hello.

Host: Howdy folks!

YHN: If I said trick or treat, would we get our meal for free?

H: I bin' waitin' all night for someone to ask me that.

YHN: Ha ha ha!

H: Ha ha ha!

YHN: Ha ha ha!

H: No.

So we had to pay for our dinner, which was okay. We then strolled through Gatlinburg and witnessed what we took to be The Gatlinburg Halloween Parade, complete with a man in a hideous, gory costume rattling the bars of the cage he was in and a woman in another hideously gory costume emitting blood-curdling screams sitting on top of the cage hitting the man inside with a rubber chicken. This girl could scream. Wow! I kept turning around every time she screamed to make sure everything was okay, even though I knew it was her. Wow. Finally, we retired to our room at The Rodeway Inn in Gatlinburg, which proclaims itself a "best kept secret." The desk clerk was a young southern man with a pleasant drawl and blue eyes, who caused Beth to proclaim, "I'm gonna like it in the South!" We then watched a Halloween special on the Discovery Channel called "The Haunting," which was about a family in Georgia that had been haunted by ghosts in their house for, get this, 15 years. The mother kept saying things, as the special went on, like, "I wasn't gonna let some ghosts chase me out of my house." And while paranormal researchers discovered things like "evil presences," and told the family that these events would continue to happen and center around their young daughter, who was the most "sensitive to paranormal activity," and kept her awake in terror many nights, the family just stayed there. As the show went on, the events became more frightening, but the family still did not move. Today, they still live in the house and experience strange happenings, and still have no plans to move. Beth and I were left with the following impression: WHAT A BUNCH OF IDIOTS. If someone told me that my linen closet was a gateway to Beezulbub's back porch, that house would be on the market so fast it would make Century 21's head spin. And I certainly wouldn't do a show about it on The Discovery Channel, so as not to hurt the resale value.

Saturday, November 1:

We woke up and checked out of our lodgings. We then ate breakfast at The Little House of Pancakes, where we learned the difference between city ham (which only wimps order) and country ham. While city ham is cured with sugar, country ham is cured with the more manly salt. Beth then finished her tour of the outskirts of Gatlinburg (the artists' community) while your humble narrator sat in the back of the van and typed on the computer and picked guitar music. Beth REALLY enjoyed the outskirts of Gatlinburg. An eight mile loop of handmade crafts of all kinds is pretty much her idea of heaven, and that's what the "Arts and Crafts Community" is. There are painters, potters, blacksmiths, jewelry makers, wood carvers, crafters, and any other possible type of art form imaginable. She enjoyed talking to a few of the potters, and got to watch while they made things. Their community is spread out among beautiful, wooded country backroads. Beth gives Gatlinburg, TN two thumbs way up. After every shop had been perused, we hit the main drag in town to have some dinner. We decided on Maxwell's, not so much because of the menu, but because of the warm reception we received from Max. Here's a stunning photo of the handsome devil . Max is a 19 year old piranha from South America. He is a whopping 2 feet long, and weighs in at 37 pounds. For the most part he is a vegetarian, with the exception of the "12 fish incident" wherein he was being transported with 12 other fish, and upon arriving at their destination, Max was the only fish left in the transport tank. He tried to develop his taste for spiders once, but in leaping up to reach the arachnid, poor Max dove clear out of his tank and only got a taste of bad rugburns. Aside from our fascination with our new friend, the burgers and service at Maxwell's were downright fabulous. Laci, our server, was the epitomy of southern hospitality, and the lean burgers were cooked to perfection. After a thoroughly enjoyable meal, we bedded down outside Gatlinburg and prepared for our journey into Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

LAST WEEK'S TRIVIA QUESTION RESULTS: Neil Young was the first to respond that the 36 columns on the Lincoln Monument represent the 36 states that were part of the U.S. when he died in 1865, though there were 48 states in the Union when the monument was erected.

NEIL'S SECOND COMPLIMENT: Neil Young, our first double winner, and in back-to-back fashion no less, is a connoisseur of hot sauces and all things chocolate, and is an admirably tenacious, informed, and passionate citizen of democracy.

NUMBER OF COUCHES OFFERED TO YOUR HUMBLE NARRATOR IN CASE OF A ROMANTIC TRAGEDY: 0.

FOOD FOR DEEP THINKERS, INSTALLMENT 1 REPLY TO EXTRANEOUS FEEDBACK: If you don't think our comprehensive list really included the best rock n' rollers ever, VOTE NEXT TIME.

FOOD FOR DEEP THINKERS, INSTALLMENT 2: Since we are in the land of country music now, I thought I'd share with y'all my favorite made-up country song title. I saw this somewhere, but I forget where. The title is "She Chews Tobacco But She Won't Choose Me." Anyone out there have any fun country song titles?

THIS WEEK'S TRIVIA QUESTION: What units of currency feature Thomas Jefferson?

COMING NEXT WEEK: Great Smoky Mountain National Park, Nashville, and maybe Memphis.