The Great Smoky Mountains (Part 1/4)

An abundance of nature… and people!

After a seven-hour ride on Route 81 — which looks less like a highway and more like a train track full of nose-to-nose 18-wheelers — we arrived in our campground in the Great Smoky Mountains of Tennessee. It seems no self-respecting establishment in this area omits the words “smoky” or “bear” from their names; bears should get a cut of the action.

Just as we were about to collapse from exhaustion from swerving between fast-driving semis, my mom (we affectionately call her “grandma”) called for tech support: her mouse was not working. What followed were several calls — for a total of more than an hour — interspersed by texted screenshots of her computer (at least I taught her how to do that before we left!). So I attempted mission impossible: I tried to guide an 81-year-old into removing her mouse from the set of devices on Bluetooth AND adding the very same again. This involved getting her used to moving the cursor in her touchpad, which took lots of yelling about, “get that pink thing on the little square on the bottom left!” and her yelling back, “I don’t see any little square!” For the record, N. was under the covers, ready for sleep, laughing his head off. When it finally worked, grandma was so pleased with herself that I forgot all the frustration and had a newly-discovered sense of respect for all over-the-phone-tech-support reps. Mission Accomplished!

But I digress.

After deriving a great sense of accomplishment from emptying our gray tank for the first time, (“Easy peasy!” N. declared as if he had been doing this for ages), we decided to take a leisurely drive around the Smokies, but instead got a shocker: Gatlinburg.

The picture below does not do it justice: Gatlinburg was a freaking madhouse of restaurants, souvenir shops, amusement rides in a tiny valley between all the mountains in the vicinity. To the geographic constraints, add the fact that there was a fall festival and that the weather seemed to be whispering, “Hey, enjoy the blue skies and warm sun — winter is coming!” Throngs of people and cars led to traffic that rivaled the Beltway at rush hour. We crawled through downtown. The entry to the park was also bumper-to-bumper.

In the Sugarlands Visitor Center, we spoke with a park ranger who sighed and recommended that we absolutely NOT drive/hike to Clingmans Dome today. She pointed out that it was Saturday and everyone — tourists and locals alike — had come out of the woodwork to take advantage of these last warm days of the season. Instead, she suggested that we drive towards Look Rock Tower, full of lookout points and good views. Hey, who are we to argue with the wisdom of a park ranger? We found a lookout point with great views of the craggly Smokies. It was a great spot to do some writing and reading.

But this life is not without risks.

Last night in the campground N. had been walking back from the bathroom but because he had not taken a flashlight, he fell onto the asphalt from a fairly high curb. He banged his knees and elbows. And this evening, while we were setting up camp and getting ready for dinner, I was extending the awning in the van and closing the sliding side door when both of us discovered that N.’s fingers were still in the way!

Now, every time we have to close the sliding door, we pretend to be doctors in the ER:

“Clear?”

“Clear!”

Slam!

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The Great Smoky Mountains (Part 2/4)

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Shenandoah National Park, VA