My Jetta and I drove from Florida to Maine two wks ago. I would call it a life-experience.
I entered the Appalachian Mntns the 2nd morning. I appropriately turned on Edvard Grieg’s “Morning” as I wound up my first mount. The music seemed to meander and dip and climb with my road. Then, with amazing precision, the music climaxed just as I rounded into my first valley. I was nearly overwhelmed by the rush of visuals and music. Just below my road was a rusty coal train. Just beyond the coal train was a broad river. And the second burst of music erupted at the same moment that I spotted a shallow waterfall as wide as the broad river beyond the coal train below me was broad. Although it was winter, the view was spectacular. A light snow lay between the bare trees. More twists and turns revealed old red barns, valleys of grazing horses, bubbling brooks spilling out of still ponds, and few humans.
I drove from the Blue Ridge Parkway, across the dog ear of West Virginia, through the crane neck of Maryland. I passed Scranton, PA but did not stop at Dundermifflin, then paralleled Long Island Sound til I reached the Masalin’s house.
