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| Acquoni River Float |
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| Alex on the rope swing |
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| Great Smoky Mountain National Park |
If you've ever been to this part of Smoky Mountain National Park, you know that it's a beautiful little road. But there is a good reason why it is best explored on a bicycle. The road is very small, and there are lots of low-hanging branches (well, they are really only "low hanging" if your vehicle is 12 feet tall). Also, if you are on a bike, you can easily ride past tourists in cars who stop to gawk at deer, Indian ruins or various rodents. God forbid that a bear should make an appearance . . . then we are talking about a two-hour traffic jam. In a vehicle that is 9 feet wide, however, there is no driving around the deer-gawkers. If Carla from Alabama wants to stop and take 1,000 pictures of the baby deer, then you are just gonna have to wait until she gets every shot she wants. Even a $25 digital camera has a seemingly limitless capacity to store pictures these days.
So after driving through a gauntlet of branches that made terrible sounds dragging across our brand-new RV, and making it through a log-jam of deer, bear and tree photographers, we finally made it seven miles to the little road that cuts off from the loop to go out the back of the park. Wait, did I say "road"? Well, it is shown on the park map as a "road". No where on the map legend does it indicate that the squiggly black line going from the back loop of Cade's Cove to the highway outside of the park is actually more like an improved hiking trail than a road. No where on the map or on any sign that I saw did it say "visitors who are foolish enough to drive down this trail in a 32-foot motor home may become stranded and eaten or raped by wild animals."
One thing about a 32-foot motor home is that you really need to decide about turns and things in advance. "Oops, wrong turn" is okay in a Honda, but it can ruin your day when you are driving a boat-on-wheels. Also, you have to learn about signs. There are signs that you should learn not to follow, like the little wooden sign with an arrow pointing toward the gravel road that said "exit". Then there are signs that you should learn to pay attention to, such as the "no other RV's around" sign. That one is the type of sign that deer learn about to avoid being eaten. You know, like when Bambi realized that it wasn't cool to be in the meadow when he finally looked around and didn't see any other deer. It's the same way for an RV.
But I was so desperate to get past the bear-gawkers that by the time I finally saw the little wooden sign that said "exit", it didn't matter that nothing bigger than a man in a pair of boots had turned down that road. I gave it some gas and eagerly followed the fellow. By the time I realized that might not have been a good idea, I was 32 feet down a 10 foot wide trail in a 9 foot wide RV. I don't know who was more surprised: me or the squirrels who stopped what they were doing to point at us.
Did I mention that it was still raining and we had not had any phone service since leaving Asheville? What could I do? Backing was not an option. Turning around was not an option. So I gave it some gas and headed for the exit. "We can do this," I said. "We'll just take it slow".
Up a hill, down a hill. Crunching gravel, scraping branches, more surprised animals. The rain starts coming down harder. Natalie sees something up ahead and starts screaming. It's a little wooden bridge meant for hikers and bicycles and maybe an occasional midget-cars, and we're about to find out if it will support a 6,000 pound RV.
The engine roars, Natalie screams again, Andi whimpers, the boys laugh, the bridge creaks, the gravel crunches, the animals squeak, a bell rings, and we make it over the foot bridge.
Up a few hills, down a few hills, another wooden bridge, more screaming, whimpering, and laughing (at least we didn't have dogs along this time to bark at me).
Finally, after a few miles of this, we came to another sign that pointed down an even smaller road. My GPS lady (who seemed totally in on the joke) immediately told me to turn down the smaller trail. But THIS sign actually had some warnings on it. Something about only Crocodile Dundee driving a Land Rover in perfect weather should attempt this road.
Oh, now they tell me.
Fortunately, the story had a happy ending. A little bit past the Crocodile Dundee sign there was a spot just wide enough scrape the RV through a 5-point turn around and brave it back up the improved hiking trail, over the five foot bridges, under the branches, across the crunching gravel, through the rain with the wife screaming and the daughter blubbering and the boys laughing and finally make it back to the scenic loop and back in the line of cars (where Carla from Alabama was still taking pictures of the baby deer). The bottom half of the loop was even longer than the first half, but we were just glad to be back on a paved surface . . . bear-jams and all.
As beautiful as the park was, we were VERY glad to finally make it out. With more rain in the forecast, we decided to start heading for home.
So after driving through a gauntlet of branches that made terrible sounds dragging across our brand-new RV, and making it through a log-jam of deer, bear and tree photographers, we finally made it seven miles to the little road that cuts off from the loop to go out the back of the park. Wait, did I say "road"? Well, it is shown on the park map as a "road". No where on the map legend does it indicate that the squiggly black line going from the back loop of Cade's Cove to the highway outside of the park is actually more like an improved hiking trail than a road. No where on the map or on any sign that I saw did it say "visitors who are foolish enough to drive down this trail in a 32-foot motor home may become stranded and eaten or raped by wild animals."
One thing about a 32-foot motor home is that you really need to decide about turns and things in advance. "Oops, wrong turn" is okay in a Honda, but it can ruin your day when you are driving a boat-on-wheels. Also, you have to learn about signs. There are signs that you should learn not to follow, like the little wooden sign with an arrow pointing toward the gravel road that said "exit". Then there are signs that you should learn to pay attention to, such as the "no other RV's around" sign. That one is the type of sign that deer learn about to avoid being eaten. You know, like when Bambi realized that it wasn't cool to be in the meadow when he finally looked around and didn't see any other deer. It's the same way for an RV.
But I was so desperate to get past the bear-gawkers that by the time I finally saw the little wooden sign that said "exit", it didn't matter that nothing bigger than a man in a pair of boots had turned down that road. I gave it some gas and eagerly followed the fellow. By the time I realized that might not have been a good idea, I was 32 feet down a 10 foot wide trail in a 9 foot wide RV. I don't know who was more surprised: me or the squirrels who stopped what they were doing to point at us.
Did I mention that it was still raining and we had not had any phone service since leaving Asheville? What could I do? Backing was not an option. Turning around was not an option. So I gave it some gas and headed for the exit. "We can do this," I said. "We'll just take it slow".
Up a hill, down a hill. Crunching gravel, scraping branches, more surprised animals. The rain starts coming down harder. Natalie sees something up ahead and starts screaming. It's a little wooden bridge meant for hikers and bicycles and maybe an occasional midget-cars, and we're about to find out if it will support a 6,000 pound RV.
The engine roars, Natalie screams again, Andi whimpers, the boys laugh, the bridge creaks, the gravel crunches, the animals squeak, a bell rings, and we make it over the foot bridge.
Up a few hills, down a few hills, another wooden bridge, more screaming, whimpering, and laughing (at least we didn't have dogs along this time to bark at me).
Finally, after a few miles of this, we came to another sign that pointed down an even smaller road. My GPS lady (who seemed totally in on the joke) immediately told me to turn down the smaller trail. But THIS sign actually had some warnings on it. Something about only Crocodile Dundee driving a Land Rover in perfect weather should attempt this road.
Oh, now they tell me.
Fortunately, the story had a happy ending. A little bit past the Crocodile Dundee sign there was a spot just wide enough scrape the RV through a 5-point turn around and brave it back up the improved hiking trail, over the five foot bridges, under the branches, across the crunching gravel, through the rain with the wife screaming and the daughter blubbering and the boys laughing and finally make it back to the scenic loop and back in the line of cars (where Carla from Alabama was still taking pictures of the baby deer). The bottom half of the loop was even longer than the first half, but we were just glad to be back on a paved surface . . . bear-jams and all.
As beautiful as the park was, we were VERY glad to finally make it out. With more rain in the forecast, we decided to start heading for home.
