Let's face it, if you are staying 20 minutes from one of the most famous roads in America (Route 66, that myth of the American West has to be number one, I expect) you don't fail to see it in all it's summer glory.
The Parkway is not strictly a park, but the National Park Service has jurisdiction over the road and the land on either side. Statistically it is the most visited "unit" in the National Park Service. If you think the Parkway is a cool place you'll be delighted to know it was born in the administration of Franklin Delano Roosevelt a public project (carried out by private contractors) under government supervision to create something of lasting value and put unemployed Americans to work. This was in 1935 when 25% of Americans were unemployed. These days unofficial shadow statistics put 22% of Americans on the dole. Yet all we manage to build is bigger better (!?) banks... 13 trillion modern dollars handed out by President Obama could have built miles of passenger rail lines instead of saving the big banks. Never mind, the parkway is lovely.
The speed limit is even slower than the Florida Keys, a mix of 45mph (70kph) and 35mph (60kph) but it's easy to dawdle up here. I am proud to say I never held up anyone driving faster than me and there are tons of pull outs and overlooks to stop on and let the busy people by. There are some passing areas but the dotted yellow lines are few and far between so patience,as they say, pays. The road is not open to commercial traffic so the surface is as smooth as the proverbial billiard table. 
The Parkway is amazingly informal, no tolls, no particular rules, just a road 469 miles long that took 52 years to complete, from Virginia almost all the way to the North Carolina/Tennessee state line in far western North Carolina. There are parks and picnic areas and we took a break one afternoon to sit in a most shady delightful spot at a picnic table undisturbed for hours. we had to bus our own space but there was no trash left anywhere that I could see in the park area. The Park Service provides a dumpster and recycling bins at the exit and it was the work of a moment to dump all trace of our afternoon's picnic. Cheyenne wandered on her leash and had a great time. I was a bit fussy about leashing her but there were plenty of dogs playing in the park.
The views are spectacular and we enjoyed an approaching thunderstorm. I took a few pictures before we got lashed with rain.
The Parkway is not strictly a park, but the National Park Service has jurisdiction over the road and the land on either side. Statistically it is the most visited "unit" in the National Park Service. If you think the Parkway is a cool place you'll be delighted to know it was born in the administration of Franklin Delano Roosevelt a public project (carried out by private contractors) under government supervision to create something of lasting value and put unemployed Americans to work. This was in 1935 when 25% of Americans were unemployed. These days unofficial shadow statistics put 22% of Americans on the dole. Yet all we manage to build is bigger better (!?) banks... 13 trillion modern dollars handed out by President Obama could have built miles of passenger rail lines instead of saving the big banks. Never mind, the parkway is lovely.
The speed limit is even slower than the Florida Keys, a mix of 45mph (70kph) and 35mph (60kph) but it's easy to dawdle up here. I am proud to say I never held up anyone driving faster than me and there are tons of pull outs and overlooks to stop on and let the busy people by. There are some passing areas but the dotted yellow lines are few and far between so patience,as they say, pays. The road is not open to commercial traffic so the surface is as smooth as the proverbial billiard table. 
The Parkway is amazingly informal, no tolls, no particular rules, just a road 469 miles long that took 52 years to complete, from Virginia almost all the way to the North Carolina/Tennessee state line in far western North Carolina. There are parks and picnic areas and we took a break one afternoon to sit in a most shady delightful spot at a picnic table undisturbed for hours. we had to bus our own space but there was no trash left anywhere that I could see in the park area. The Park Service provides a dumpster and recycling bins at the exit and it was the work of a moment to dump all trace of our afternoon's picnic. Cheyenne wandered on her leash and had a great time. I was a bit fussy about leashing her but there were plenty of dogs playing in the park.The views are spectacular and we enjoyed an approaching thunderstorm. I took a few pictures before we got lashed with rain.
Not exactly the Florida Keys but quite lovely nonetheless.
Ingles is a family owned grocery chain in this neck of the woods.My wife and I read the name in Spanish and call it ingles,("English") just for fun. It's a good yuppie chain similar to Publix in Florida.I was not impressed by the American Owned logo on the Spruce Pine store. As the economy continues to sour us immigrants will get in the cross hairs more and more no doubt. Judenrien will take on a new 21st century flavor and I wonder how legal from illegal, desirable from not will be decided. I'm white, will that work in my favor? Second class perhaps but allowed to stay? And own a store...Ingles- English owned!
Celo Community is outside Burnsville and was founded decades ago by a group of idealists, and my sister and brother-in-law joined 35 years ago. It was a time when this was rural Appalachia and my sister-in-law had her medical school bills paid by the government for working in a "medically under served" community. They liked the back woods of Yancey county so much they have based themselves here ever since as part of what is called an Intentional Community along Quaker lines though not everyone here is a Quaker, not by any means. 
In a world gone mad with consumerism and return on investment the idea of essentially paying to build a house on land you can only rent seemed a bit daft at the end of the 20th century and Celo Community started to fade and shrink, much to Bob's concern. He remembers a local man Ben Geouch joining the Community and helping the young hippies by hauling away their logs with his horse team. Now, with the economy in tatters the community is thriving and in another essay I hope to show pictures of how a group of dedicated people can turn this land into a productive thriving farm able to support it's people with their own food.It is inspiring.
Along the trail one frequently finds oneself walking past private homes and it is a bit disconcerting to one such as myself who is used to seeing "Private" "No Trespassing" signs that litter the yards of the fearful in the Florida Keys. Here it is not unexpected to walk past someone's home and indeed a chance encounter on the gravel roads of the Community is simply a chance to say hello and catch up. Megan and Todd work at the Arthur Morgan School, the Community's education center for the youngsters being raised here, though I had no clue who they were when I met them. 
Understandably people have to work but it amazes me these paths aren't packed with walkers. Almost the entire time I never met a soul.
And so finally home with two pooped pups.
And the demands of the laptop. Luckily they have wireless now so i can download pictures as I go. So many pictures. 
North Carolina puddles are delicious, I'm led to believe. 
The views of the mountains are exceptional also. They filmed Last of the Mohicans with Daniel Day Lewis around here and it is just like the movie, wouldn't you know it!
The car was where we'd left it, which was nice and a reluctant Cheyenne was poured into the back seat to resume our journey to dinner and a performance of chamber music in Spruce Pine.
We were not,it turned out, the only dog owners looking for shady parking on Locust Street. 
This place is a pretty spot in the mountains along some railroad tracks. Spruce Pine has a population around 2,000 people and was founded in 1907 as a blip on the railroad from Tennessee. There are several mines around the town (silica is apparently a big product) which calls itself the Mineral City. You wouldn't know there is all this industrial activity judging by the strip downtown. 
We were still waiting for Bob and Geeta and Jacob to show up so we kept walking.
Cell phone service seems to be quite efficient in urban pockets but among the mountains themselves service is very spotty. 
Eliza gets a free pass. She was bubbly girl personified which was surprising as waiting tables was one of three of her jobs- masseuse and student also filling her time. 
Pudding was outstanding in this place. This was a fruit tiramisu and delicious with strong vanilla flavor.
The bread pudding and caramel sauce was also first rate. We cleaned both plates between all of us. And the aesthete Geeta took time off from seeking enlightenment to dig in as well.
Then it was time for a short walk and a little culture at the local chapter of the Toe River Arts Council. Rivers, like towns have odd names in these parts. 
We strolled back arm-in-arm to the dog in the car stuffed full of food and music.
Long, slow dusks are one of the benefits of summer here, but eventually it gets pitch black dark on these winding mountain roads.
I must confess I have the greatest of difficulty driving the speed limit around here, even in broad day light. And the locals are total maniacs in their beat up old cars and trucks driving at a pace that would put Juan Fangio to shame. They tailgate too and it's the devil's own job to find a turn out and let them by. They pass on bends and humps given half a chance and a flatland Florida poke like me just wants to get home in one piece. I'm not a slow driver by nature either. 
