First Day Out

They say it’s just like riding a bike. It’s been five months since I’ve trekked around the country with Junebug in tow, and today was the first day back on the road.

The day was filled with little challenges that seemed to be warning me not to go. First, I discovered a bird’s nest — with three beautiful little eggs — tucked away in the crook of my folded-up gravity chair which resides on the back of Junie’s ladder. After a long look around at the woods surrounding me, wondering where I could possibly relocate the little thing for my overnight excursion, I noticed a vertical post behind my parking area and carefully affixed the entire chair to that post with bungee cords. Mama bird, your nest is still here — it’s just six feet east! I hope-hope-hope it works. I’ll be back tomorrow and will carefully relocate the chair back onto the back of Junie with a little prayer that there was no harm done.

Next, there was the challenge of navigation. Roadside tree-trimming Townsend Electric Company crews were parked up and down the entrance road to my neighborhood, their massive rigs sucking up more than half the road space — and if you know anything about where I live and the roads that get you in here, you can imagine the issue. “Narrow” doesn’t begin to describe it, especially when you’re hauling a wide rectangular block behind your truck.

Blinking back (wimpy, stupid!) tears a bit, I begged the neighborhood HOA manager to make them move, knowing it was futile. How in the world could I get through there? I drove through with my truck, cringed at the massive vertical wall of mountainous shale elbowing its way out into the road, and stopped by the TEC truck, flashers on. Grabbed my tape measure. Just under 12 feet. Sigh. How wide is Junie? 9.5 feet? Okay, that’s an OCEAN of space on either side, right? Of course I can do it. I mean, there are rules about how wide roads must be. And big rigs get through here all the time. They HAVE to pass each other, fer cryin’ out loud.

So back to the clubhouse parking lot I went, renewed in my motivation to successfully tow Junie’s wide-ass self out of the ‘hood. As I was inflating the tires, a neighborhood resident drove by in his Silverado and stopped. Here’s a transcript of the conversation:

SILVERADO MAN: Heading out?

ME: Yep.

SM: Where ya goin’?

ME: Cades Cove, just an overnighter.

SM: You know there’s a big-ass truck in the road out there.

ME: Yes. I know.

SM: I baaaaaaarely made it through there in my truck! My mirrors almost hit! You gonna tow that thing through there?

ME: (Tamping down the massive flames of fiery panic that were threatening to engulf me) Well, um, I measured it. It’s almost 12 feet! I should make it.

SM: I don’t knoooooooowwwwwwww; I BARELY made it through. And my truck’s biiiiiig.

ME:

SM: But maybe you’ll make it.

ME:

SM: I mean, I have a pretty wide truck. How wide’s that thing?

ME: Nine and a half feet.

SM: Well, maybe you’ll make it. You said you measured it? Yeah, well, we’ll cross our fingers for ya! (Entire truckload of SM’s family guffaws, holding their bellies.)

ME: Yeah. ‘Kay. Thanks. (Fake smile plastered on already-stressed-out face.)

Look. I know I do a lot of shit that other single gals might not try. Towing a trailer around the country being one of them. Driving through the mountains? That’s nothin’. Backing into camping spots? Easy-peasy. Driving down narrow roads when cars have to pass from the other way and you all creep by each other at the mind-blowing speed of six miles per hour, gritting your teeth and squinting your eyes? Cake.

And you know what? I did it. But not without the help of other motorists, who stopped and got out of their cars to help me navigate. My top speed was about 2 MPH, and I barely cleared some low-hanging tree limbs… But I made it.

The rest of the drive? Cake. Like I said. Throw a little doo-doo in somebody’s path, and they’ll be better for it.

So now I sit in my gorgeous spot at Cades Cove, smack-dab in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park (Happy 86th birthday, GSMNP!), site C20, just on the cusp of the wild woods in the generator-free loop, close enough to the bathrooms to cringe every time I hear a toilet flush, but eLAted that I made it here in one piece, Junebug nestled comfortably on her cement pad, a fire roaring in the pit, and soaking up the 64-degree overcast day in these glorious mountains while crows, finches, and vireos sing around me and my belly grumbles for dinner. The grill is set up, the Blackstone Cabernet is warming my tummy from the inside out, and as always, as ever, I am grateful to be here in the woods smelling the delicious aroma of burning firewood.

Update: upon my return, the bird was still sitting comfortably on her nest in my folded-up gravity chair. I will head down there today and set up a ladder, and bungee that chair a little higher in the air in the hopes that there will be less predator opportunities. I am camping again in about a week and a half, so I don’t want to put the chair and nest back on Junebug since just have to move it again…