On Thursday, I ventured west on what turned into a five and a half hour drive to Bryson City, a little mountain town abreast the Nantahala River and up against Great Smoky Mountains National Park. The drive was longer than I’d hoped (and the drive back on Sunday was mostly spent in the rain of a tropical remnant), but the trip accomplished most of what I wanted.

I did not time the foliage well as I was at least a week early to see the peak fall colors, but this was the time I had available and there is always some variability in those forecasts. My parents joined from Thursday to Saturday, which meant a more leisurely Friday than might have otherwise been the case. I worked in the morning before an afternoon walk to see the three waterfalls that are readily accessible from the Deep Creek entrance to the national park. Then I made a regrettable dinner choice of a place that put way too much cheese on their pizzas and we called it an early night so they would be rested for their drive back.

The main purpose of the trip for me was the two half day hikes that I took on Saturday. Both were similar in that they went straight up ridges to high vantage points, with lots of elevation gain and dirt and gravel underfoot. I wanted the hikes to be hard as a reminder to myself. And I like to hear the sound of crunching under my boots. I was actually breaking in new boots on this trip as my old reliable footwear finally succumbed to time while I was in the Faroe Islands. The view was better and more unobstructed at the top of the first hike, a shorter one up to a fire tower in the national forest south of the national park, than at the top of my longer afternoon hike in the national park. The net effect of the hikes was that, for a few hours anyway, I was able to turn off my phone and just keep putting one foot in front of the other. My mind never emptied, but it was as close to a Zen experience as I’ve had in a while.

I opted to stay at a bed and breakfast out of town and close to the park entrance. I wanted both to save a little by getting breakfast included and be away from any late night noise. It was certainly quiet, and the breakfasts were all good as the operator used to be a professional chef. The best two meals of the short trip, though, were at permanent food trucks, one a plate of Korean-style sweet short ribs with rice and vegetables and the other a pastrami and corned beef sandwich on rye. I put yellow mustard on mine and nothing else, which tends to lead to slightly befuddled looks. Not that that has ever stopped me. I don’t expect I’ll be going back to that particular little town again soon as there are closer options, but it was refreshing to breathe some mountain air and to wake up nestled against a different part of the same mountain range that was an ever present during my childhood.