Whoa, Nellie!

Dear Frank,

Boy, do I have a story to tell you!

There we were, us two Texas girls, all gussied up. Bess and I both had slipped on pretty cotton maxi dresses, our summer slides, the requisite jewelry. These were, of course, all necessary for starting a day of sashaying through countless antique shops.  I, breathless from both preparation and anticipation, followed Bess out the door, breathing in the cool mountain air, clutching my handbag, my notebook of Altamont’s measurements, and my measuring tape.

Bess and Lee had just purchased a lodge with adjoining guest cabin situated up high near Linville Falls, North Carolina. Of course, it had to be named, and so it was — Altamont Lodge.

A structure made of reclaimed 100 year-old timbers from five log cabins located in the Blue Ridge Mountains, along with a relocated 100-plus year-old Tennessee cabin, it is strong and inviting in its handsomeness. We were up there enjoying the area, all the while totally immersing ourselves in cozying up the place with rugs and rich carved woods, leather and chenille, artwork and quilts. Lee, with each trip, brought armloads of his favorite books to fill the shelves.

As we readied ourselves for our day’s excursion, we didn’t bother to capture screenshots of the route, even though internet is weak and sometimes non-existent in parts of the area. We were heading to the town of Hickory and other nearby spots, but we were confident. We had already driven the area many times and we knew the roads well. We’d be fine without directions.

Frank, you know what happened next, don’t you.

Once we were on the Blue Ridge Parkway, it became clear we were going the wrong direction. But, as always – adventurous and enterprising – we could see on the cell phone a good cut-through to get where we wanted to go. (We’d done this very same thing many times in Texas. Remember? Always easy and fun, as we enjoyed the countryside). Turning down a side road named Roseboro (sounds quaint, doesn’t it) we happily followed the little winding and squiggly line we saw on the map. We’d get there in no time at all!

Very quickly, however, we could see this trek changing before our eyes.  The wide, paved, and center-striped road had become rather quickly, a narrow one-lane gravel passage, lined with a staring and fierce, craggy mountain wall on one side (felt like it was comin’ atcha) and a deep and foreboding yet gorgeous, sunlight-speckled canyon on the other. There we were, deep in the Pisgah National Forest.

As we viewed the situation, bumping along the edge of that mountain, Bess and I both wondered aloud if we should continue. No, this will get better. Always the optimists, let’s keep on. The shops are awaiting us!

Eventually, we came upon a series of hairpin turns. Bess followed our little blue dot on her phone, giving me the play-by-play of what was ahead. I was so grateful to be driving Lee’s truck, a hulk-like monster called a GMC Sierra 1500 Denali. (Whoa, Nellie!) I took a deep breath, sat up higher and grasped the steering wheel firmly as I peered around each curve to watch for an oncoming vehicle. I eyed the drop off. Hmmm. No guardrail.

Bess and I alternated between giggles at our predicament to downright serious big-eyed discussions on what we should do next. We had gone too far to turn around. Besides, surely there’s civilization coming up just around the bend. Just around the bend!

I began to hum a powerful yet reassuring hymn as I am wont to do in such situations. As I recall, it was “Savior, Like a Shepherd, Lead Us.” 

We were wrong about that “just around the bend” thing. We were going on an hour of bouncing and skidding as we made our way around the side of the mountain and had seen nary a human form. Not one. Nevertheless, it was: “Giddy Up! Giddy up!  You better count yo’ money!”  We can do this, we commanded each other.

With relief, Bess could see on the map that eventually, not too far ahead, there’d be a three way intersection. An intersection! Hallelujah! That would mean perhaps a General Store, a Post Office, People (!) and even a paved road, of course. Of course! That’s what we’d find, we nodded to each other.

But no. There was indeed a paved intersection, yes, but those civil engineers had a sick sense of humor. The paving went only a few hundred yards before each road became once again, a treacherous, if not conniving,  gravel destruction derby.

As we came to a stop, in disbelief at the absolutely desolate and empty nature of this 3-way stop, there in the distance appeared a white pickup truck. A veritable angel on wheels. Rolling down my window, sweeping back my hair with my sunglasses, I gave a big friendly hello/help combo wave with my bracelets gleaming in the sunlight. Something incongruous about that, right?

The truck sidled up to us, window a-rolling down, and a very pleasant and forthright man leaned out, saying “This is the first time I’ve had two ladies wave at me like this!” Bess and I laughingly/relievedly told him just exactly how lost we were, gesticulating as to how really scary it had been. He and his pretty wife shook their heads when they heard tell of that drive (the drive from hell) and they nodded in agreement as they listened.

“No,” they said as we asked them about our options. “…don’t turn back, and definitely don’t take the other road there,” they said, motioning back with a thumb …it’s even worse! Follow us and we’ll lead you down the mountain.”

“Just follow my tire tracks to avoid the washout,” he said, “we’re going to go down through the Gorge.” Gulp. Yes. That’s what he said. The Gorge. There we were in the middle of a forest, (the only four people there, from what we could tell) and we were about to go through the Gorge – obviously an important experience.

I faithfully, trustingly, followed his lead, concentrating on his tires in front of me and guiding that horse/truck of mine to stay in line, stay in line. He was so great to go slowly for me.

Eventually, this good couple led us to highway heaven – one large, paved, civilized expanse of road. Let me tell you what, it looked delicious, delightful, trustworthy and inviting as it beckoned us to join the logging  trucks that zipped by. The sun shone down on us in full celebration with pastures of cattle spread before us on each side. All was well as we honked and waved in thankful merriment, passing the couple in the white truck and continuing with the directions they’d given us.

We made it to Hickory, NC, enjoyed a delicious lunch at a restaurant called Hatch, then danced off down the street to The Hickory Tree to check out the antiques awaiting us.

Thanks to Lyle and Angela Ford, two really kind folks, we made it down the mountain. Frank, it’s just one adventure after another, isn’t it. ❤️
Love,

Jane