19^th April 2012 

South Carolina is very different from Georgia. They sell fireworks and lots of them.  As soon as you cross the border and even before, there are huge billboards advertising Firework Warehouse, Firework Heaven or Fireworks-R-Us. It’s a funny thing as we never saw one going off; they don’t even celebrate Bonfire Night. What do they do with them all? I know that quite a lot of Georgian folk nip across to buy them but we didn’t see any being let off there, either.

Anyhow, I’m getting off the point. We are finally on our way in good order. Half the gas is working, quite a lot of the electricity and this computer (when the battery isn’t flat.) This may be the time to mention the Navigator’s ‘phone. I hope she doesn’t read this. We bought a very smart, smart ‘phone (second-hand) from a chap behind a shed in Savannah – actually it was from a reputable company and the benefits of it being 2^nd hand were that it was unlocked so can take various countries sim-cards and it was cheaper. It can in theory do everything one could imagine and several others too. It’s got cameras, movies, Skype, a touch screen, Google maps, navigation(!), internet, telephone (I think) and a very useful thing which allows one to use it as a wifi hotspot, if that’s the right expression. It’s got lots more too but I’m not  sure what. What it does not have are any instructions! As one may imagine, this causes a bit of a problem with the Navigator(/radio op). Her fingers are the only ones in the world that don’t work on a touch screen and as it has no buttons that causes some very rude words. Also, the screen gets very sticky as she recons that if she licks her finger first then it may work better. As you may imagine, I keep very quiet and try not to get involved at moments like these.  I understand even less.

OK – back to our trip. Our plan for the next few weeks is to drive up through S and North Carolinas to the Appalachians, then follow them up to around New York(ish).

 Our first taste of rural America was a hardware shop  in a small village astride the road and railway-line. It was wonderful. The charming owner couldn’t have been nicer and tried his hardest to sell us a rather expensive, butane-powered, anti-mozzie device. He swore by them. In fact he was just off to the swamps for a few days and would make sure he took his. I thought that for a few days in the swamps, it might be a sound investment bur for 365 days, with a re-supply requirement of about 3 days at several dollars a pop, it was too much.

No wonder we came through here.

We stayed at a couple of nice and cheap campsites on the way up to the mountains, including one called Leroy’s Ferry. This was built, owned and run by the Corps of Army Engineers. Surprisingly they have quite a few campsites that they run on a commercial basis. They are, I think, normally at places where they either have training areas or have carried out some huge civil engineering work such as constructing  the vast reservoir upon which Leroy’s ferry sits. It was clean and almost empty and, when we parked and set up, very quiet. Can you imagine our wonderful Royal Engineers doing such things? Everything would be painted white and there would be orders posted everywhere. Also the showers would be in a tent with slippery duckboards that your soap always falls through. And you wouldn’t dare bend down to pick it up.

The Nav watching Ospreys

We sat and watched a couple of what Geordies would call shaggin-shite-hawks but were in fact mating ospreys. Then, just as it was too late to move, a terrible racket of baying and yapping dogs, men and nippers started. Having seen the film “Deliverance” I wasn’t too keen on telling our new neighbours to shut up. We had another J&B and went to sleep. In the morning, while we were driving away, (and thinking of letting their guy-ropes down etc) we saw propped amongst the empty beer cans and bottles their carved wooden camp sign: “The Red-Neck Hunt Club”. I didn’t dare even take a snap but this was our twilight camp:

On the way up to the Great Smoky Mountains we stayed a couple of nights in an almost deserted Forestry Service camp which was “hosted” by a chap in  his 40s called Mike. We thought how strange to spend the whole season in a caravan in a secluded campsite; nice but odd. He had bought his caravan, or trailer as the natives call them, with money made from metal detecting. His main loot came from rings etc found in old dried-up swimming holes. Also he found civil war stuff and indian kit. What we later discovered was that he was actually on the way out with cancer. His  wife and mother-in-law came up to check him out while we were there but sadly we missed them. What we didn’t miss was a most wonderful old woman called Doris Rhodes who pulled in next to us with two dogs; oh God, here we go, we thought. In fact she was great. She was driving quite a large campervan (huge by Brit standards) and couldn’t have been able to see much over the steering wheel. I asked her where she lived and she said “this is it”. She had been staying with her sister but she (sister) got fed-up with the dawgs. So Doris upped and left. “A good engine and tyres, leaks a bit but I can fix that” – a good attitude. She was 90 and was very much like C.E.M. in many ways.

On to the G-S-Mtns. They were very pretty and at this time of year, not overcrowded. However, be warned; don’t go there from end of April onwards. Apparently there are traffic jams everywhere and you have to queue to see a view. Before ascending, we stopped at the recommended Cherokee museum in, wait for it, Cherokee. It was very good and well worth the visit. If nothing else, it reminds one how awful the settlers and government were to them all. If it’s any consolation to us Brits, George III seemed to make a bit of an effort but during it all came independence and his intentions came to nothing. I know how complicated the whole subject is and that one shouldn’t judge by today’s standards and morals, so please don’t flood me with rude comments and history lessons. I suspect that by the end of our US tour I will have gained a fuller understanding. What was quite refreshing was that they, the Indians, refer to themselves as Indians and not anything more PC such as Native Americans etc. Even more pleasing, to someone who grew up with cowboy and indian films, was that they even call themselves redskins and us palefaces. I refrained from saying “how” to the museum receptionist.  I Can’t show you a picture of an Indian as I haven’t seen one yet so here is one of the hills:

We arrived at the top at about 9a.m. and boy was it cold. At the bottom it had been -4 when we got up (thank god for Swedish central heating!), but at the top, 6,600 odd feet, what with wind chill etc it must have been nearer -60. What warmed my heart though, was a very happy and nice minibus full of East-End youths in t shirts who were over to take part in some running race. They ran to the top of the observation bit of Clingman’s Dome from the car park and weren’t even panting. I, on the other-hand, walked sedately up for the first 100 yards or so and then thought I was going to have a heart attack!  The Navigator started to look quite worried, which was nice; had she known how I really felt she would have called  the Air Ambulance. Anyhow, we made it to the top, had a quick snap taken by someone who reminded me of Mrs R-J and scurried down. 

If anyone else is thinking of an extended trip like this, it’s worth getting an annual National Parks and Federal Recreational Lands Pass. For a family – of two in our case – it costs $80 and as the name implies, gets you free admission to National Parks and other Federal places. It also gets one half price camping at any of their sites and other benefits that we haven’t discovered yet. It can be a bit confusing as it says on the membership card that camping is NOT covered but everywhere we have been to so far do give the half price discount.  While everyone has been great and helpful, the National Forest service guys and gals are by far the nicest. Much more relaxed and friendly.

We then went through a couple of places in Tennessee called Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge. If you are in the area – don’t go to either. The first is a pretentious mountain lodge type town with v high prices for the trendy rich to go to on their hols. The second, is, I presume, where all their poor staff and anyone else with no taste go to for their hols. It was hell – about 8 miles of things like “The Titanic” exhibition with a near life-size ship impaled on a concrete iceberg. There was also a greater than full sized upside-down house – why? The most amazing thing about the place was that the whole 8 miles or so were lined with highly polished classic cars, motorbikes, dragsters etc. We couldn’t take many snaps as the traffic was appalling and we couldn’t stop. It is also the home to Dolly Parton. (“oh yeah - a little old blond woman who sings a bit” according to my son on the ‘phone).

 

Classic cars and a rather classic nose and chin of the Driver whilst traversing Hell.

A rather poor snap of Dolly –

I remember her as being rather better endowed and with

more make-up, or was that Tammy Viyella?

Hell behind us, we entered near paradise. The Cherokee National forest is vast and like everywhere else, deserted at this time of year. In fact most of the campsites don’t open until late April or May. We found a small meadow in a clearing near a track which had, in the old days, been a stage coach route. There was no one around, not even Indians, so it was heaven. Just downstream from the little trout creek (brook) beside us was the French Broad river – very beautiful and of course broad. The whole area is famed for fishing and I rather regretted not doing a spot of poaching. The Rangers are armed (more on that later).

Paint Creek Corridor – Cherokee National Forest

That's all for now. I'm about to write about our trip up the Blue Ridge Parkway - it will take me weeks. Here is a taster: