From West Virginia, I77 winds, rise and falls in such spontaneity ramps have been strategically placed along the edge of the highway to catch “runaway” trucks as they barrel down the mountain. I brought a friend from the Midwest through here once and, because she has spent most her life in the vast emptiness of that area, she immediately unholstered her camera to document something so novel. “Nobody is going to believe this back home,” she exclaimed. I’ve taken this road often because we have family in the Charlotte area and I always remember getting excited for the tunnels that have been blasted through the mountain. The madness of that, driving through a mountain. We’re great, if not invasive, builders.
From I81 on it seems like the mountains get even bigger, but as the valleys between open up, the undulations of the road smooth and my car seemed to drive itself. Once in Tennessee on I26 it seemed I had the road to myself and was one of the first times I’ve truly desired to be on a motorcycle. Golden evening sunlight, cool not cold air, and a perfect road; like being a Terrence Malick film.
I drove through West Virginia, Virginia, Tennessee and North Carolina today and I feel like everyone is armed around here. I check out at the gas station and I just know the clerk is packing more heat than Dirty Harry. Billboards advertising guns come before the “Welcome” state signs around here. If you look at the state by state breakdown of the most recent election you can see that most of these are red states (with the exception of Virginia, but let’s be honest, everything south of Fairfax is conservative) and red states typically love their guns. Which is why Asheville is such a strange place.
It’s a small island of blue in a sea of red. When I checked into the hostel I am staying, the guy at the counter informed of a cheaper rate for a different type of room and said, “you can spend the money you saved on a locally owned business;” an appropriate statement given the pattern on his shirt and length of his facial hair. “Oh, no, I’m going to Walmart to buy fifteen pounds of lunch meat but thanks for the idea,” I said, only half-joking. He gave me a strange stare and showed me to my bed before returning to his video of Allen Ginsburg reciting poetry(not joking).
Evidence of liberalism abound outside as well. The word “organic” permeating through every menu and a whole store strictly devoted to only hookah supplies. You’re never more than two blocks from a bookstore or pub, which is surprising given the size of the town. Count me in! I found the nearest place to eat, which happened to be Tupelo Honey, famous for it’s brunch, but also has a good dinner menu. I felt ashamed to take a pictures of my food (not really, they turned out dark) so I haven’t posted any. Because it’s the dead of winter, and even worse, a Monday most of the hippies have brought their drum circles indoors tonight. But tomorrow, I plan to use the whole day for explorin’ before I head to High Point to see a friend.
Movement & Location 