To Wainsborough NC

Gastonia, North Carolina is one of those places that is easy to leave. The previous night, I drove around quite a bit looking for a non-franchise place to eat. I almost stopped at a place called "Hillbilly Steakhouse." Actually, I did stop there, how could I pass a place named "Hillbilly Steakhouse?" I went into the place and immediately found myself in a cattle queue. It was a buffet. All you can eat meat for a fixed price. It was oriented toward families and people who eat all they can. Wide lanes roped off to get you properly oriented to the food. Wide enough so you can get a good backswing before you whack the little brat.

This was not my kind of place. Besides, I had been driving all day without air conditioning, I wanted a beer and beer wasn't on their menu. I continued my drive and eventually found a Mexican grill that wasn't a chain.

Now when you travel you need to set your limitations: don't buy gas at a station where the attendant is dealing crack; never stay in a hotel where the doors don't lock; don't eat salad in a restaurant where more than half the windows are broken out. These are obvious and hard limits. There are soft limits that you can break now and then: don't eat seafood more than 150 miles from the ocean; don't eat Mexican food outside of the Southwest; don't vote for corrupt politicians. There is always the thought "maybe this time it will be different" when you are about to breach one of these latter limits. Predictably, you will be disappointed most of the time. I remember the time I voted for... well, um... never mind.

I broke one of these soft limitations and went to a Mexican Grill in North Carolina. At best the disappointment would only be mild. I was prepared. I stretched my order a more than was wise, I ordered carnitas. I should have ordered fajitas. How hard can it be to mess up fajitas, right? Even Chilis doesn't mess them up too bad. But, nooo, I ordered the carnitas because there is this great taqueria in Mountain View, California called "Taqueria la Bamba" that had amazing carnitas. I was waxing nostalgic, silly boy. What's worse is that this grill had molé on the menu. Molé, when it is good, is a deep, complex sauce that has chocolate as one of its ingredients. Oh my golly, it is close to heaven when they get it right. Molé when it isn't wonderful is awful, horrible, disappointing and depressing. Of all of the molé I have sampled, I have only found two places that have Molé that is the good stuff. The taqueria called "La Costena" in Mountain View, CA and a little place on a mountain west of the Mojave Desert whose name I forget, but whose Molé I will remember forever. Molé like that will keep your hopes up through plate after plate of bad Molé. You don't have to finish bad Molé, just take a bite, sigh and push it away. I also ordered a taste of their Molé at this North Carolina place. Perhaps I should have know better, but Hope reigns eternal. Miracles happen, but not this night... the Molé was actually sweet! Yikes! Bleaugh. The Carnitas wasn't hugely better. It was too tender and didn't have any crust. Ah well, "don't eat Mexican food outside of the Southwest." Maybe next time I'm tempted I'll resist. But you never know. Somewhere there is a brave Mexican soul who wants to open an authentic Mexican restaurant in the Midwest. They will have the very best recipes. I will show up in the first week when everything is rich and tasty. Before they water down the spice, flavor and texture into something more palatable to the middle-American. It can happen, really. Sure, and pigs can fly, but some day... maybe....

So I left Gastonia behind me and continued to the West. The land became bumpier and the road wigglier. Soon enough I was in the Adirondacks. Oooh the Adirondacks are lovely. It's the middle of Summer and they are lovely. The cicadas are singing, but not too loudly. The road gets wigglier as the hills get taller. Then there is the kudzu. I caught my first sight of the dreaded kudzu vine immediately after crossing the Mississippi River into Natchez. At least I figured it was kudzu. It was growing on everything like wildfire. Here in the Adirondacks of North Carolina it was doing the same thing. Entire hillsides covered with the stuff. But not just the hillside. Every stump, snag tree, and the edge of the living woods were carpeted with a mat of kudzu. It was amazing. It was as virulent as everything I had heard. But I noticed something about kudzu that no one ever mentions. Its scent. It has a fragrant, sweet scent. Every hillside I passed that was being smothered with kudzu had a wonderful perfume. It was so soft and delicious. Perhaps this was the redeeming factor why someone planted it in their yard in the first place. It smelled nice. But kudzu isn't a friendly plant. Like Walmart, it overwhelms the local folia. It grows into every spec of sunlight available and leaves none of the life-sustaining light for any plant that might have grown there before. While the carpeted hills of kudzu might smell lovely, those same hills used to be home ot hundreds of different species of wildflowers and grasses. Along with those native plants were the local economies of fauna that supported and were supported by the native plants. There are wild bees that feed on only a few specific species of wildflowers, they time their hibernation to the cycles of the flowers that give them the nourishment they need to reproduce. One year they wake up and the hillside of wildflowers is covered with kudzu and they have to find substandard food sources to get by. In the economy of nature, kudzu, like Walmart, is getting rich usurping the local resources more efficiently. Ultimately, kudzu is the franchise of nature. A monoculture, the same everywhere it grows. Sure it is sweet, but it lacks depth, complexity and really doesn't fulfill the rich needs of the local community.

I stopped for lunch at a local place. They offered two veggies with their lunch. The okra and cauliflower came battered and deep fried. Unexpected, but it beats Macdonald's every day of the week!

I drove deeper into the Adirondacks. I came around a bend into Lure Lake. There is a restaurant that has an amazing view of the lake and the steep mountainsides that decent into the lake. What a breathtaking view. My advice: skip the fried okra and have lunch at this place. They might have fried okra too, you never know, but the other joint doesn't have this view. More than worth the extra buck or two you might have to pay.

The road wiggles all of the way around Lure Lake. Take your time, it is a beautiful drive. It must be spectacular during the autumn colors. All of the Adirondacks must be lovely then, and I will probably repeat that every day. Lure lake leads into chimney rock. Dramatic Granite cliffs and a told-of waterfall that I didn't set eyes on. I didn't see the Bat Cave at Bat Cave. I am assuming they have one there, but I drove through midday and saw neither bat's nor cave.

Eventually the hills opened up and I came into Ashville, North Carolina. Ashville is known for being where all hotels are $100 per night because some rich folk built a house there 100 years ago. Those rich people were the Biltmores and Ashville is where the Biltmore Estate is located. Traffic is hell. The layout of the streets around the entrance to the Estate is designed... well, it wasn't designed. They evolved from some country roads at a time when noone might have imagined that 1,000 automobiles a day might pass through that area, much less the 10,000 plus that are currently idling there. The downtown area certainly has some beautiful architecture. Goodness, they ought to. Lovely town, stay a few days, keep out of your car. I drove on.

I drove deeper into the Adirondacks. At some point they turn into the Smokey Mountains. When I was there, they were certainly living up to their name. They were cloaked in a deep, smoke-like mist. I asked a girl and she said that, "Yes indeed, the sky does open up at times." But the mist was beautiful and mysterious. I drove into Waynesville, where I stopped for the night. There is a walkable , quaint, "historic" down town--they all have them. The pub there is a wine and beer joint. The bartender says they are petitioning to put a "by the drink" liquor amendment on the ballot. He talked a lot about that. I suppose his tips would be better if he could do more than pull beer and pour wine.

Another bit of trivia: The town of Waynesville bought their water meter from the same company that New Orleans did. How interesting is that? The only reason I noticed is the covers to the water meters are really cool looking!