Author: Dave

Mountain town, north Georgia. Tourist town, but still, an out of the way place, two hours from the nearest international airport, nestled in the hills, formerly a lumber town, on the railway.

Not the place I’d expect to run into a Kenyan refugee author or former member of Nelson Mandela’s inner circle. But hey, what is this trip for if not too smash all my stupid “expectations,” read: biases, to stupid bits.

Gordon was an older white guy, sightly plump with a tinge of Georgia in his speech. The only Lyft driver I saw in the area, and even then a fifteen minute drive to get us for a ten minute ride into town. Like I always do, I began chatting. I almost always get around to, “So are you from this area?,” and when I did he mentioned spending most of his working years in South Africa.

So what’s next in conversation? I asked if he speaks Afrikaans. “No,” he chuckled, “My wife does better than me. I took lessons for six weeks but the teacher kicked me out. Said my accent was to thick and I talk too slow.” We laugh. “So,” I say, “What found you in South Africa?,” expecting him to perhaps talk about missionary work or business.

“I worked for Nelson Mandela, traveled all around with him. I was in charge of a project to try and create a black middle class. We’d get folks setup with seed money, get them a business started, and get them some custom. Or we’d lobby existing business to start South African branches and hire locally.”

Our Lyft driver in Helen Georgia… a member of Mandela’s cabinet, heading a key anti-apartheid initiative. He recounted whistle-stop international tours, meeting with celebrities and dignitaries. Sharaun and I got out of the car and just looked at each other. Wow. You never know.

Yakob came to the US from Kenya, where he lived as a refugee from some war torn country he didn’t name. An African Muslim, he speaks six languages and is a published author. His upcoming book is a theological study on the commonalities between the God worshipped by Muslims, Christians, and Jews.

He was spurred to write this book after his brother was killed in a religiously motivated terrorist attack. Specifically, his brother was murdered in the San Bernardino husband & wife mass shooting a while back. Yakob paused and thought out loud, “He came to this country for safety and peace and was in the end killed by terrorism.” Wow.

The world is out there, people have seen and done and been inspired and motivated by amazing things. We just have to encounter and learn from them.

Peace.

I’ll just do the thing.

Tense and stretch every muscle into armor. Mentally align each fiber into hammered steel. Down to the gut, balled tight like a fist. Wield a thick shield of witty stories and broad smiles and questions to get them talking about them. Not betraying the steely underneath, a relaxed and easy body language, take up space, swing, be limber. In speech it’s kind softness and passionate excitement with a tinge of childlike wonder optimism, designed to both endear and engender the desire to protect.

Yes, a defensive masterpiece.

On the offense it’s knowing what you need to know, saying the right things in the right tone at the right times. Body language radiating confidence, swaggering with a dragon’s tail, eyes reinforcing. Throw the right switches at the right moments: be serious, be funny, be caring – you’re getting it now. Do it all with obvious humility, be vulnerable, have things to learn and know everyone is better than you at something.

But the best bit, the real gravy, is that the defense does most of the work. They’re gonna love you and look out for you. And then you can go home and sink into to softness of family and it’ll all be worth it.

Until next time, peace.

I love it when an RV travel day goes right.

If you stop for gas there are wide lanes, roomy curves, and open islands with fast pumps that have high, or no, cut-off limits. You get out for under $100 and are back on the road quickly without scraping the bike rack on a steep driveway exit.

The propane fill place is easy to find and someone tends to you right away. They don’t make you shut off all the appliances and have everyone get out of the car. They run the pump at speed and you get your fifteen or so gallons fast and efficient…

Maybe you make a Walmart run. Wait who am I kidding, you absolutely make a Walmart run. You split up and knock items of the shared-in-the-cloud shopping list, meeting at the front for check out. The kids help unload and put-away without getting in the way.

Google Maps doesn’t take you on some stupid-tight, low-clearance side street to help you save 2min travel time, and the route is cruise control friendly.

Yeah, kick back and roll. Love you.

Today our first born becomes a teenager.

While it’s easy to believe that the funny, smart, and kind young girl we live in this RV with is is thirteen, I mean most mistake her for older anyway, it’s a lot harder to get my head around the fact that thirteen years of our lives have passed since that day we first met her.

I can see in her a blend both our senses of humor. Can see Sharaun’s kindness, amazing motherly instincts, and altruistic nature. Can absolutely see the stubbornness and machination of my own youth. Can see a budding love for music, a flare for the artistic, and a love of reading and writing. And, best of all, can see a whole unique person forming in there and am excited about who that’s beginning to be.

Anyway, this trip is working, I’m able to be so much more a part of her life this year (OK, so the trip is working for me, at least), and I’m loving it.

Happy birthday Keaton, I love you.

Can still see the last of the coals twinkling from the bedroom window.

Honestly it’s the only decent fire I’ve managed to build this entire trip. Maybe that sounds crazy, given that we’ve been camping now for six months, but we really don’t have much campfire religion. We just don’t do them much, and the few times we’ve set out too, I’ve struggled more often than not getting a good one going.

On the nights when a fire is best Sharaun and the kids usually decline to join me outside because it’s “too cold.” Sometimes that might be OK, like if I’ve got a glass of Scotch and some music on, but usually I’d rather be enjoying time with them than being alone by the fire. This is an RV problem, having an enclosed heated space to keep warm in versus having to huddle around the fire.

We’ve also had bad luck with rain or damp wood, or maybe my fire making skills have just atrophied over time. Either way, the fires, or attempted fires, I recall were smoky messes.

Tonight, though, that was glory. At least I knew I was starting with damp wood and kindling, was able to focus on getting a really hot bed of coals I could toss the wet stuff on and still have it catch. Near the end, when there was no more to burn, the heat was best. Radiant. The heat you want to get closer to because it’s freezing but can’t because it hurts.

Good work, I’m proud of that fire. Built it with my hands and brain.

Later, love you.

Tried to leave Great Smoky Mountains National Park yesterday. Eventually made it out, but not without having to expend a little effort.

We were camped in Cade’s Cove, north and west of, and, coincidentally, in an entirely different state from, the place we wanted to exit the park (near Cherokee, North Carolina). To get back south and east we’d planned to simply reverse the scenic route we’d taken days earlier. However, the universe conspired against us… or perhaps it’s better to say it pushed us in a different direction.

We knew the road out of our campground had been closed our last night there, so I walked up early in the morning to check to gate and see if we could even begin the trip. It was finally sunny after a week of rain so we were looking forward to seeing more of the sights the drive had to offer. When greeted with an open gate and a couple returning front-end loaders, I was happy – we could get get moving and if the loaders were headed back the road was likely clear of any storm debris.

Didn’t see any rangers to inquire about the sections of road past the first gate, didn’t really even think to do so, kind of forgot there’s a series of gates and that the single open one permitting us to start our trip was only the first.

After twenty minutes or so of amazing, gorgeous driving, we arrived at the “Wye,” where two downhill sections of the Little River were angrily crashing together, swollen and churning with a week’s worth of rain. Unfortunately, continued westward passage was not possible, the road blocked with another, unanticipated, gate.

Being a little closer, now, to civilization, though, we could catch enough bits from outer space to check the National Park Service road conditions Twitter feed, where we learned that not only was the section of road immediately before us closed due to downed trees and a rockslide, but the entire southerly section across state lines was also closed due to hazardous high winds in the elevations.

So we had lunch and I played with Google maps. We were intending to get all the way to Northern Georgia, and the route through the park wasn’t just desirable for it’s sunny-day scenery, but it was actually the most expeditious route to boot. Turns out, though, that it looked like we could go north and west, around the outside of the park and down through the Nantahala National Forest, and arrive only about forty minutes later than intended. Not bad.

After a twenty minute delay due to another, thankfully temporarily, closed road, we were on our blissfully ignorant way.

And that’s how, serendipitously, we ended up having two really cool experiences: (1) We got to drive the amazingly scenic NPS Foothills Parkway, and (2) We unwittingly drove our 30ft RV on a section of road called “The Tail of the Dragon.” Sometimes dubbed “the most exciting road in America,” it’s a route we most certainly, had we known any better, would not have chosen.

But, in the end, moving on average about fifteen miles per hour, we survived and, although we ended up pulling into our campsite are dark, it was memorable day.

Hugs and kisses.

Ranger came by while Sharaun and I were out for walk during a break in the rain. Told the kids that they’re closing the road out due to high winds, so if we weren’t already planning on staying the night (we were), we’re stuck now. Said that, with the already saturated ground, there’s a risk of trees coming down in the camping area. Makes sense, there are lots of trees. One of them is this close:

Said that we’re welcome to move the rig to the big open parking lot if we want. I was not inclined to do so, citing statistics, but Sharaun was, also, just as validly, citing statistics. So after lunch I think we’ll pop-in and find a flat open spot away from any potential woody trip-ruiners.

It’s past dinner now. All the dishes are done and the countertops wiped down. We’re in our new spot in the parking lot. The single other camper in the campground (National Park to ourselves) pulled alongside us, I guess also deciding to heed the ranger’s warning. There’s no one else around. They’ve closed all the gates. It’s kinda neat.

Over the past hour we can hear the wind rising. Ranger said it might hit 70mph on the south side of the park, where we camped the first two nights. Dunno about here. River’s topped the road where we wanted to do our bike ride tomorrow so that’s out. Ranger said it’s rising 2.5ft per hour and won’t crest until the middle of the night, six hours after the rain stopped.

There’s no trees around us. It’s not as scenic, but I suppose it’s wisdom.

Peace.