For me the essence of a road trip is the experience of taking in the character and variety of the host country’s roads. That’s why, on the trip in 2016, I avoided the congested and featureless Interstates. As I drove along this stretch of Highway 11 (aka Cherokee Foothills Scenic Highway) with the stubborn taste of boiled peanut in my mouth (see post ‘Lost in Translation’), I was struck by the unspoilt beauty of this part of America. It was relaxing, as driving ought to be but rarely is. I found my thoughts drifting to the hotel from the night before. It was in a nondescript small town named Duncan. It was a one night stay so we opted for a low budget, no frills establishment. The room had been booked online. At check in the teenage girl, arms heavily tattooed with scripture (kid you not), informed us that it was a smoking room. I pointed out that a non smoking room had been booked. To which she replied, “it’s the only room left but I can give you a can of Febreeze”. Can’t say fairer than that!
It may sound like a stupid thing to say but I used to wonder where the Blue Ridge Mountains got their name. Standing on Bald Rock, adjacent to Caesar’s Head State Park SC, the answer became obvious. This view was of the southernmost reaches of the Blue Ridge mountain range which stretches all the way from the Carolinas, Georgia and Tennessee, up through Maryland to Philadelphia. The trees release isoprene into the air which creates a distinctive haze and a blue hue. Hence the ‘blue’ in Blue Ridge. I think isoprene would be a preferable air freshener to Febreeze…
Bleeding Dove 