On March 27th, I left Cincinnati. 3,300 miles later, 3.5 weeks later I returned. I have decided where to go to spend my next four years. I have seen more friends than I can count. I have met my nephew. I have sung at the top of my lungs. I have driven through the clouds.
View Big University Road Trip (BURT) in a larger map
Yesterday, was my final day of driving (for at least a few days). I was eager to return to Cincinnati, to have a nice meal with my dad, and to unload my car which I inevitably overpacked, using about a third of what I brought with me. Still, when I drove up to highway I-40 just south of Asheville, something in me said, do not get on it. Instead, I veered right and hopped onto the Blue Ridge Parkway. I had woken up with worse knee pain then normal, and did not feel equipped to do a big hike, but I also could not bear to leave the area without spending some time immersed in the mountains. I had spent adequate time with the other jewel of the area, the food...
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| The Benny, Early Girl Eatery, Asheville |
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| Salsas, Caterer of my Brother's Wedding, Asheville |
As I started driving the Blue Ridge Parkway, I was instantly swept away by the vistas, joining the grandmas and young parents at the scenic overlooks. Together, we took pictures and deep breaths. Driving on, I was blown away by how many cyclists were braving the hills, the curves, the lack of burm. Fearlessly, they panted up the hills and glided down with joy. I took pride in each friendly wave I gave a cyclist, hoping to indicate to them that I was in solidarity. I peered through my rearview mirror at my bike, taunting me to give it a ride. I weighed my options, and reluctantly passed up places to park, ultimately deciding that on this day, my fear was greater than my desire. Still, I vowed to get out of my car and spend some time with the views.
It was the sign to the Craggy Gardens picnic area and hike that drew me in. I turned to the left, coming to a top of a steep hill, parked my car and set out on a trail. Just 500 feet in, I was standing atop a grassy, rock laden patch with a 270 degree view of the surrounding mountains. I walked on along a wooded trail with sporadic viewpoints of the blue ridge mountains. I breathed it all in deeply and marveled at the joy of such a simple act. Walking in the woods.
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| Craggy Rocks Trail, Blue Ridge Parkway |
On my way back down, my knee had gotten worse, but as I kept going it slipped away, bringing me back to a lesson I seem to keep being reminded of, the importance of giving things time, hanging in there, standing by before reacting. When I made it back to my royal lookout point, I climbed atop and decided to give meditation a whirl. I think I have come to decide that meditating in the mountains suits me better than on the sea. On the sea, I want to move, jump, be the limitless freedom that is in front of me. In the mountains, I am more comfortable sitting still. There is something about being with the always changing water that makes it hard for me to close my eyes. While, the clouds move around in the mountains, the mountains stay pretty still. After meditating, a good 5-10 minutes, I stood up to take one final moment with the view. The urge to scream and unleash some inner joy rose up in me. Looking around, there was no one in sight. Yet, my yell still had a sheepish, self conscious nature. I tried it three times, by the end, letting out my best William Wallace cry, "FFFFRRRREEEEEEEEDDDDDOOOOMMMM!"
I got back in my car filled with a kinetic mountain energy. The clouds were building steam, turning the wide open road into a mirror just after a hot shower. I slowed to a crawl, taking each turn with the smoothness of Etta James' crooning voice on my cd player. Driving on, I kept hearing this voice saying, "driving in the clouds, ne'er a clearer view...driving in the clouds, ne'er a clearer view."
