To Asheville

Driving cross-country is not only a lesson in the ethnic diversity of the country, it also gives the obvious lesson in geography.  The rolling golden hills of California leading to the desert; the mesas in Arizona leading to the pine-covered mountains; the vast, flat expanse of arid western Texas leading to the great contrast of the temperate eastern half.

The plains surrounding Amarillo are parched and flat.  As I traveled in eastern Texas, I noticed how the climate had changed dramatically to green, rolling, and watered.  I began noticing the abundance of trees as soon as I left Denton, driving past reservoirs where dammed creeks led to submerged drainages with the skeletons of trees poking out of the waters.  The difference between western Texas and eastern Texas marks the difference between west and east in the whole US!

But the drama of the change really hit me as I drove through Little Rock, Arkansas, where the Arkansas River nudges the city, with its broad banks and deep waters.  A real midwestern river!!  The kind I haven't see in years!  Growing up in Illinois, I remember the murky waters of silent, strong currents that carry boats and anything else light enough to float downriver with no hope of returning unaided.  Here, in Little Rock, I caught a quick glance of such a river - broad, murky, on its way to wherever it was going and nothing was going to stop it.  Vastly different from the fast-running, white-water, then dammed rivers of California. 

I grew excited, knowing that soon I would cross the mighty Mississippi (yes, I know that sounds like a cliche, but it's true!).  At Memphis, it did not disappoint.  I knew it had come down from Illinois, and it would continue on its way, all the way to Louisiana and the gulf, the romance of it still intact.

Continuing eastward through Tennessee, the rivers kept flowing, with names like Loosahatchie,  Piney, Pigeon, and, my favorite, French Broad, because that's the river in Asheville.  Crossing the French Broad in eastern Tennessee with its sandy banks and islands in the middle, I made a mental note to do a float trip on that river while the summer is still hot.

But here's the thing I forgot:  to have all these wonderful rivers requires a lot of rainfall, and my drive east was witness to a whole heck of a lot of it. 

When a huge, black cloud menaced on the interstate, parts of it appearing to reach down to the earth, I stopped in a Visitors' Center to ask if there were tornado warnings, remembering the tragedies of last spring in Joplin Missouri, but the answer was no, just thunderstorms.  So I continued on.  And yes, there were thunderstorms booming around me, with rain at times dumping so hard I could hardly see, but trusting that if I kept the car between the two white lines of my lane, I'd get there in one piece.

And soon I did, arriving in Asheville tired, hungry and eternally grateful that the drive was over, but appreciating the beauty of the Appalachian mountains that I had just driven through and vowing that exploration of these new-to-me mountains (but the oldest on the continent) would be in my future too.