The Drive to Gatlinburg: Clingmans Dome

The silliness that I must exude as I ooh and ahh over hills and winding roads is probably enough to have me arrested for the other kind of tripping.  ;)  I can't help it, though.  Eighteen years in South Florida is a long time to spend in flat land.  And because I always travel by air when leaving the state, I have missed the beauty of the American landscape.

So here I go, giggling and snapping pictures, slowly slithering my way through North Georgia and into North Carolina--stopping at a rest area, reading all of the historical records, clicking pictures of water, trees, hills, and grass.  

A rest area in North Carolina, along the Valley River, where many Cherokees settled,
rather than follow the Trail of Tears west to Oklahoma.   

I briefly land in Cherokee, go for a walk, watch families play in the water, picnic, and spy a couple in love as they brazenly share a kiss in the midst of it all. 

Cherokee, North Carolina

But I cannot rest; there can be no delay, for I made a reservation for the night and must get on with the journey.  (I immediately began rethinking the idea of making reservations:  Where is the freedom?)

Leaving Cherokee, I began the slow drive up through the Smoky Mountains, and while I followed the speed limit, I felt guilty about the line of cars piling up behind me.  Oh, the stress!  Why do they want to speed?!  And my car!  My sweet Prius, so accustomed to easy driving, having rarely experienced the gas-guzzling mode, was now being put to the test.  How sad that my leisurely drive was creating such a strenuous work environment for my lovely car! 

Oh---mountains!  I decided to worry about the car later.

Ahhh, there it was, the road to Clingmans Dome, the first sight chosen by my son.  

He told me that there would be an observation tower, a mere half-mile hike up a path, a place where I could see everything---the highest point in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.  

But (remember that look of doubt in his eyes when he watched me set up the tent?  Yeah…me, too), he assured me that the parking area below the tower would also grant me some beautiful vistas.

View from the parking area.

 So I walked up the mountain.  Walked, trudged, lumbered, slogged--pick a verb.

I eventually arrived at the top.

Ta dah!

The good thing about making it to the top of a mountain (at least for the Prius), is the easy ride down the mountain.  I will say that she seemed to love those downhill curves, passing the pressure of the drive on to my brakes--damn!  Is there no rest for my sweet car, and will she retaliate against me?

I got my answer as I exited the mountains and arrived in Gatlinburg, Tennessee.

Sitting at the red light, I clicked this picture:

Never before in the history of my ownership, had I seen a fully charged battery!  Yay, mountain driving!  And yeah, you are reading it right.  I drove 212 miles on this leg through the Smokies and I got 52.4 MPG.  

My Prius still loves me…unless I'm just tripping…

julie