I have these theory about vacations. The first third goes by in slow motion, the second third in real time, and the last third in fast forward. We are about one-third in and it seems things are moving along at a much quicker pace.

Take today. We woke up at 9 a.m. - yikes! That is way late for this early bird, but I was up until 11:30 working on the blog last night, so I was beat. We didn’t leave for Blue Ridge Parkway until 11 a.m., after picking up a piece of vegetarian quiche, a double chocolate cookie, and some chai tea at Filo, an upscale bakery just a few blocks from our hotel. The USA roadbook mentioned that food and bathrooms were not plentiful on the drive, so I was prepared…for once.

It took about five miles for the scenery to get interesting, though a guy riding down the hill on a unicycle provided comic relief (serious cojones on that one!). Our first stop at the Bad Fork Valley had a 3,350 elevation and a panoramic view of the dense foliage. Loren became rooted to a certain spot, sniffing away. Until the bees came in. Once she heard the buzz, her ears perked right up and she ran, not walked, to the security of the truck.


"What's that smell?"


"Smells like BEES!"


"I'll BEE in the truck..."

Slowly we drove up the mountainside, as a feeling of peace and gratitude overcame me. Here it is, a Tuesday afternoon, and I’m seeing one of the most magnificent sights in the whole country. So lucky I am. Loren snoozed in the back, as usual, missing the beauty but enjoying it all in her own way.

Like a dork, I honked through every tunnel and there were a lot of them. I was in awe thinking of the work it must have taken to make that construction happen. Really, of the whole U.S. highway system and the many conveniences it provides for travelers. Having lived in Shanghai briefly, where it was uncommon to find a bathroom or a gas station outside any major city, I know how lucky we are here.

Many bicyclists were on the road, pedaling with purpose up the hill and through the tunnels, outfitted with luminescent safety strips. Wow. Not something you would ever catch me doing, but very admirable.

Cursed with the tiny Sathe bladder, within a half hour, I was looking for a restroom. This trait generally annoys the hell out of my human travel companions - I’m worse than a little kid. I saw the universal bathroom sign and pulled over to the Mt. Pisgah pass. We had to hike a bit to get there, but thankfully the trail was shaded and cool, so Miss Thang made it with no problems.

Until we got to the restroom. Since other people were in the area and I refuse to leave Loren alone, I dragged her in with me. And I mean drag. When Loren doesn’t want to do something, she’s not shy about it. She was the same way with the elevator at a hotel in Savannah. My willpower seems to be stronger than hers, however, so she sat with me in the stall as I went about my business.

“Sorry, Loren. This is how humans do it. We can’t just pee in the grass,” I told her.

She just looked at me with her big amber eyes and tried to crawl under the stall.

At the 4,000 foot elevation range, the scenery shifted a bit, the broccoli crown clusters sprouting pines that looked like asparagus stalks. Shades of pink and white imbued the flowers that grew at each stop. (This place must be spectacular in the fall). We stopped at Funnel Top, where I glimpsed the valley of trees below, and tried to get Loren to take a potty break or photo opp, but she wasn’t having it. The clouds had opened up with a crack and started raining.


Mountain flowers

“Are you crazy? It’s wet out there,” Loren seemed to be saying as I tried to coax her out of the truck. She stayed put. We went as far as the view sight for Cold Mountain (one of my favorite movies) before heading for city life again.


Cold Mountain...sigh

Gidget the GPS led us to the 151 on our way back, a tight, winding road with a canopy of trees that seemed to grow outward to greet visitors. A smell of citrus permeated the air. Six miles from Asheville, neighborhoods started springing up, from tiny trailers to big, beautiful wood homes, some with horses grazing on their vast lawns. I watched an ancient Australian Shepherd amble across its ample property and smiled.

Programmed to head to a bookstore, I was diverted by a Farmer’s Market sign and ditched the plan. This wasn’t your typical table and tent affair. Asheville’s Farmer’s Market is open daily, with two massive metal buildings overflowing with vendors selling nuts, meats, cheeses, produce, honey, ice cream, fudge, and just about anything else you can imagine. There was even a drive-thru section with more produce and also purveyors of plants, under an industrial-sized carport.

Farmer's Market outside


Farmers Market inside

I managed to get away with the purchase of a quart of strawberries, to be enjoyed for dessert tonight and breakfast tomorrow, and a $3 of cured meat similar to bacon that doesn’t have to be refrigerated, according to Kevin, the vendor - hopefully it‘ll survive the trip home. (FYI - North Carolina berries rival those from Oxnard, people - juicy, sweet, and farm fresh).


Kevin & his strawberries

After chit chatting about where I was from and telling him about our mission, he mentioned his sister had recently adopted a pit bull.

“She loves that dog. It’s changed her life,” he said.

Craving Asian, we drove downtown to a noodle house that was packed. No parking. Nor was there any place to park at any of the myriad restaurants. Tuesday night must be way hotter than Monday, because we found a place no problem last night.

Up and down Tunnel Street we went until I stumbled upon Café Azalea, tucked away in a little corner in a strip mall. There was a patio, too, so I could park and watch Loren in the car. It was another gem. (I love Asheville, an optimum mix of mountains and city, culture and nature. I could actually envision living here someday, if my man would consider it).

The meal started with a delicious bowl of lobster soup, light yet rich with onions and red peppers and bits of succulent lobster throughout…and the bread…forget about it! Crusty, warm, soft…they make it in-house and serve it with herb-infused olive oil. I ate it all.

I got my Asian fix from the incredibly spicy lettuce shrimp wraps, which were stuffed with fresh carrot and asparagus, it’s heat cut with a sweet and savory dipping sauce. Rounding things out was a bread pudding made with flaky croissant dough and finished with caramel sauce. Oh, yeah!


Bread pudding at Cafe Azalea

Loren had a big dinner herself, scarfing all her food down before launching into a spaz attack. This is only the second one she’s had on this trip - the first was at Mark & Julie’s. She runs around like a whirling dervish, jumping on furniture and sprinting back and forth. It’s pretty entertaining, a rapid departure from her usual ladylike self. For fun, I threw in her woobie, which she shook like the rag doll it is. We all have our moments.


"I'll get you, woobie!"


"I love you, woobie!"

(A special shout out to my crazy mountain sisters who almost convinced me that my friend Gail got married over the weekend - ha ha - YOU SUCK - and I love you.)