...a key lesson of D-Day's 75th anniversary should also be the day's moral import in our consideration of war. After all, D-Day proves that killing people is sometimes not simply necessary, but also inherently moral.
In Praise of Killing
Strange, I Always Found the Game Empowering
Researchers allegedly prove that dodgeball teaches unethical oppression.
The Silver Age of Facial Hair
Following Hesiod's concept that the silver age follows rather than precedes the golden age, our Golden Age may well have been the 19th century; but there's a Silver Age upon us now. In fact it has a lot to do with the Silver Screen, argues this piece in the New Republic.
Big boy rules is a real thing, but it doesn't mean that you're unrestrained. It's a simple concept: "Do what you think is right, being prepared to shoulder the consequences of your decision." If, like the authors, you wanted a tie to right wing American politics, you could point at the post-military career of LTC Allen West (who was and is clean shaven). He committed a war crime by staging a fake execution in order to intimidate a man into revealing details about the ambush that threatened to kill several of West's men. He then at once turned himself in, confessed himself, and took the consequences. His subsequent career is based not on respect for him being unburdened by morality, but by his moral decision to take the responsibility for bringing his men home alive even though it meant his career -- that, coupled with his complete refusal to try to dodge the responsibility for what he had done.
It is true that the American right saw the value in that, while the Left mostly saw the war crime; but the point is that it was metaphysically West's decision to make, he made it, and he owned the consequences. The law might argue that West had no right to make the decision; command and control might argue that it wasn't his to make. But ultimately, metaphysically, it was only he who was there in the position to decide.
A cinematic version of this occurs in the movie Flyboys, based on WWI-era Americans fighting in a volunteer flying squadron in France. Complaining about the murder of one of their own by a German ace, the men are told by their commanding French officer: "You want justice? You're the man with the gun." There may not be any justice forthcoming for what was done, but if there is, it's going to be on them to make it. Nobody else is going to step up and make things right. You have to decide what that's worth to you, and accept the consequences of whatever decision you make.
It is not that the man is unquestionable, nor that he is merciless. He submits to judgment after the fact; and perhaps his mercy was exercised on the wives and children of his men, rather than on the ones plotting to kill his people. The point is only that he had to make a decision, and he didn't hide from it, not in the moment and not after.
If you understand that, the rest of their essay unravels. Too, perhaps, you can come to see why this thing they are criticizing might prove to have some value after all.
You could consume more than half a century of American popular culture, from World War II to Korea to Vietnam to September 11, without encountering many bearded manly heroes; facial hair was generally reserved for wild enemies foreign and domestic, swarthy terrorists and libertine hippies. Even American westerns posited a surprising number of neatly trimmed frontier protagonists, reserving scruff for their foes. Italian-produced spaghetti westerns, which introduced Clint Eastwood’s perpetually unshaven man with no name, seem the exception that proves the rule, deploying beards as to emphasize that their protagonists are deeply flawed antiheroes, operating outside mainstream norms....I'll grant that there may be a connection between the popularity of beards and the cultural moment being enjoyed by operators in story and film. I reject just about everything else the article has to say, though, starting with its conception of 'big boy rules.'
[W]hy is ours such a hairy century? What began this trend, and what fuels it? There is an easy answer, though it leads to harder questions: We can thank the Global War on Terror—or the Long War, the Bellum Americanum, whatever you choose to call it—and the reluctance of military leaders to impose discipline on the most professional of the units that participated in GWOT, special operations forces. Generals preferred to allow those units to operate based on “big boy rules”—a devolution of authority empowering them to operate like Apocalypse Now’s mad Col. Kurtz, “without any decent restraint, totally beyond the pale of any acceptable human conduct.” The evidence of this is the proliferation of beards in the military, which now extends to civilian society. We worship the post-9/11 military operator. We are a nation drunk on “tacticool” culture.
Big boy rules is a real thing, but it doesn't mean that you're unrestrained. It's a simple concept: "Do what you think is right, being prepared to shoulder the consequences of your decision." If, like the authors, you wanted a tie to right wing American politics, you could point at the post-military career of LTC Allen West (who was and is clean shaven). He committed a war crime by staging a fake execution in order to intimidate a man into revealing details about the ambush that threatened to kill several of West's men. He then at once turned himself in, confessed himself, and took the consequences. His subsequent career is based not on respect for him being unburdened by morality, but by his moral decision to take the responsibility for bringing his men home alive even though it meant his career -- that, coupled with his complete refusal to try to dodge the responsibility for what he had done.
It is true that the American right saw the value in that, while the Left mostly saw the war crime; but the point is that it was metaphysically West's decision to make, he made it, and he owned the consequences. The law might argue that West had no right to make the decision; command and control might argue that it wasn't his to make. But ultimately, metaphysically, it was only he who was there in the position to decide.
A cinematic version of this occurs in the movie Flyboys, based on WWI-era Americans fighting in a volunteer flying squadron in France. Complaining about the murder of one of their own by a German ace, the men are told by their commanding French officer: "You want justice? You're the man with the gun." There may not be any justice forthcoming for what was done, but if there is, it's going to be on them to make it. Nobody else is going to step up and make things right. You have to decide what that's worth to you, and accept the consequences of whatever decision you make.
It is not that the man is unquestionable, nor that he is merciless. He submits to judgment after the fact; and perhaps his mercy was exercised on the wives and children of his men, rather than on the ones plotting to kill his people. The point is only that he had to make a decision, and he didn't hide from it, not in the moment and not after.
If you understand that, the rest of their essay unravels. Too, perhaps, you can come to see why this thing they are criticizing might prove to have some value after all.
One Reason I Don't Listen to Country Much Anymore
Of all the varieties of country music, I tend to like the sound of Outlaw Country the best. Robert Burke Warren & Holly George-Warren describe their time at the Outlaw Country Cruise in All in the Same Boat, and they focus on the politics of it. That is, mostly they talk about how left-wing, open borders, and anti-Trump the musicians are and how little of a clash there was with many of their presumably right-wing fans.
Fair warning: There's some pretty vulgar language in the quotes below.
Fair warning: There's some pretty vulgar language in the quotes below.
Male Disposability
The biology behind this is obvious, but it does sometimes strike me as odd how much people don't realize that our society is structured this way. We have a "Violence Against Women Act" even though by far most victims of violence are men; and this kind of thing somehow makes sense to people to say out loud.
In a 1998 speech delivered before a domestic violence conference in El Salvador, former US senator and Secretary of State Hillary Clinton said that “Women have always been the primary victims of war. Women lose their husbands, their fathers, their sons in combat.”She didn't just say that out loud, somebody wrote it down for her. A speech of that prominence got through some sort of editorial process, and that line stayed in.
Pay Attention
A feud I have been studiously ignoring has been drawn to my attention, even though I'm not a member of the target audience for this essay. But the guy's right, and his point applies more broadly than he makes it.
So it's all of us who need to take this seriously.
A religious minority cannot expect to last very long in a society, like the one the progressive left advocates, that is allergic to tradition and intolerant of dissent. Only in an America that takes faith seriously, that respects and empowers community, and that shudders at any attempt to censor wrong beliefs and incorrect thinking, can [religious minorities] hope to thrive.The thing is, we're all religious minorities now. America's majority religion might still be mere Christianity, but it isn't any particular kind of Christianity; nor Judaism; nor Islam; nor Buddhism; nor any of the many other faiths that people practice. Or don't practice: "People with no religion - known as 'nones' among statisticians - account for 23.1 percent of the U.S. population, while Catholics make up 23 percent and Evangelicals account for 22.5 percent, according to the General Social Survey."
So it's all of us who need to take this seriously.
Cities and Countries
It's commonplace now to note the distinctions between the urban and the rural political cultures in America; but maybe the bigger point is that the cities no longer belong to our countries at all.
Where the street once buzzed with English, spoken in a variety of accents, now you can go through an entire day without hearing English. From her small terraced house, she hears Pashto over one garden fence, Romanian over the other. In the nearby row of shops, the English-speaking Indian-owned mini-supermarkets have given way to Polish shops outside which young men gather every evening, speaking Polish.Maybe you could have that international, global government in every city over a million in population; provided that no sovereignty was claimed over the surrounding countryside.
The Bear and the Maiden Fair
I'm not sure I understand the maiden's objections to the bear. Maybe she could do worse. A big, strong bear isn't the worst partner, if one is on offer.
Gentlemen
Well, now, 'gentleman' is a thing we've made easy to come by. Once upon a time, it meant something. Now it doesn't, really. Is that an improvement? Are we glad about all this progress?
Yearning for a Brexit without tears
Or more likely, no Brexit at all:
It’s as if after America declared independence in 1776, your Founding Fathers then decided that self-government was just too difficult. Imagine if, instead of getting together in a court house in Philadelphia to hammer out a constitution, George Washington and Ben Franklin instead sent emissaries over to London to ask George III how best to arrange things.
* * *
Broadcasters, particularly those at the BBC, have taken every opportunity to try to delegitimise the referendum result, reporting as fact absurd stories of Russian intervention and implying that those that voted to leave were motivated by nothing more than nativism.
Rather than accept the referendum result as a legitimate expression of the public’s desire for self-determination, the political class has behaved as if it was all a massive mistake made by their social inferiors that now needs correcting.Russian interference may turn out to be this decade's preferred method of undermining elections. The Deep State resistance, of course, is old hat.
Too nuanced for my taste
Mueller and his staff were trying to function as impeachment counsel. It probably would have been a lot more successful if not for our good fortune in the appointment of AG Barr, a plain-spoken man with coherent principles. He doesn't lose his temper when people try to feed him nonsense, but he doesn't swallow it, either.
My Head is Filled With Music
Something I found while looking into Piper Bill Millen who I mentioned in a post yesterday- a nice song by Celtic Punk band the Real McKenzies-
Wolves and poodles
What college could be like if professors weren't expected to walk on eggshells for fear that their students might curl up into the fetal position:
Later, my classmate wondered whether a peremptory juror strike was really unlimited, something that could be used to oust any potential juror for literally any unexplained subjective reason. Could the prosecutor strike all black jurors, for instance? Well, obviously yes, you idiot, the professor replied. Peremptory means peremptory, weren't you listening? Only a few years later that tactic became a hot topic in the appellate courts.
Finally, he asked whether charging someone with murder for kicking a pregnant woman and inducing a miscarriage were not in some way inconsistent with an absolute right to abortion. I mean, weren't we sort of implying that the fetus is a human being? Again, of course not, you Neanderthal. The professor wouldn't even argue that one. It was beyond the pale.
[W]hen an undergraduate announces to the class that women only earn 57% of what men earn due to the patriarchy, one need only respond with, “Well Ms. Bernstein, let me ask that if you are the CEO of GM, would your fiduciary responsibility to investors, many of whom are women, require you to fire all men (or least as many as possible) and replace them with equally competent cheaper female employees and thus boost the quarterly dividend? And, for good measure, tell us how you would address the many government regulations designed to prevent sexual discrimination in employment? Surely the fired men would sue and how would you instruct the GM legal department to respond? Is social justice a legal defense?”To take the reverse of this technique, I can remember three arguments that reduced my constitutional law professor to sputtering incoherence. One classmate was not considered a bright student, too simple-minded. I wish I could remember this fellow's name, because I'd like to look him up now. He once asked, very innocently and in good humor, why we couldn't settle some hot-button social-justice issue by letting different states resolve it differently. The professor snapped that we'd fought a war over that--as if she felt she'd elucidated a legal argument to stun him into silence.
Later, my classmate wondered whether a peremptory juror strike was really unlimited, something that could be used to oust any potential juror for literally any unexplained subjective reason. Could the prosecutor strike all black jurors, for instance? Well, obviously yes, you idiot, the professor replied. Peremptory means peremptory, weren't you listening? Only a few years later that tactic became a hot topic in the appellate courts.
Finally, he asked whether charging someone with murder for kicking a pregnant woman and inducing a miscarriage were not in some way inconsistent with an absolute right to abortion. I mean, weren't we sort of implying that the fetus is a human being? Again, of course not, you Neanderthal. The professor wouldn't even argue that one. It was beyond the pale.
Honor and Ceremony
No one does formal ceremony like the French. That talent was appropriately used 14 May 2019 to honor the two French Commandos killed in an operation that successfully rescued four hostages in Burkina Faso on 10 May. They were Cédric de Pierrepont, Commando Hubert, 17/07/1986 - 10/05/2019, and Alain Bertoncello, Commando Hubert, 1991 - 10/05/2019.
The thread that tweet is in also has a nice mention of Piper Bill Millin.
The second half of that video is the chant "Loin de Chez Nous" (Away from home). A very appropriate choice and beautifully rendered. A poor (direct) translation here (I could not find a good poetic translation).One of the most stirring of French military marches -- the Soldiers of Robert the Bruce -- has Scottish roots. Here it is played at the burial of two French commandos who died in Burkina Faso.https://t.co/TsoDqFBHkH— wretchardthecat(@wretchardthecat) May 31, 2019
The thread that tweet is in also has a nice mention of Piper Bill Millin.
Grandfather Mountain
Grandfather Mountain. The Linn Cove Viaduct is that tiny, tiny line on the bottom left corner of the photo.
Crossing under the viaduct into Grandfather's boulder field.
One of the larger boulders, with the viaduct for scale.
Looking back at Grandfather from the bike.
Tough crowd
We knew already that life in North Korea's fast lane is no picnic. Still, how would you feel if you walked out of negotiations, only to find that your adversaries afterwards took their head negotiator and a handful of his underlings out back and shot them?
At least the dictator in this case isn't trying to pass off the failure of the negotiations as no big deal. That's a lot of public chagrin over "not properly grasping U.S. intentions": bullets in the brain-pan at the airport.
I like that "unidentified source with knowledge of the situation."
Kim Hyok Chol was executed in March at Mirim Airport in Pyongyang, along with four foreign ministry officials after they were charged with spying for the United States, the Chosun Ilbo reported, citing an unidentified source with knowledge of the situation.
“He was accused of spying for the United States for poorly reporting on the negotiations without properly grasping U.S. intentions,” the source was quoted as saying.That's an odd note to strike. I get that North Korea has such a horrible government that its emperor can have some poor flack shot because he muffs it at the bargaining table, pour encourager les autres. Maybe the next guy will read the tea leaves better. But calling something like that "spying for the U.S." is kind of a stretch, except in the sense that anything that annoys a dictator can be labeled "spying" for his enemies It's not like he has to worry about people parsing his words and wondering if he's crazy.
At least the dictator in this case isn't trying to pass off the failure of the negotiations as no big deal. That's a lot of public chagrin over "not properly grasping U.S. intentions": bullets in the brain-pan at the airport.
I like that "unidentified source with knowledge of the situation."
Rolling Thunder
The ride to Rolling Thunder was a nine day adventure, a little less than half of it in the DC metroplex, and a little more than half on the road up and back. I am very glad that I went, but I can see why the organizers are considering making this one the last one. It's an event that creates an astonishing effect, but there's a huge amount of work and expense on the back end, as well as a substantial amount of physical risk for participants. The original participants are Vietnam-era veterans, now in or entering their 70s, for whom the risks are now far greater than once. The popularity of the ride has also greatly increased the scale of the risks.
The two main risks are heat exhaustion and motorcycle wrecks during the ride itself. On Sunday, I arrived at the Pentagon parking lot at 7:30 AM. My group began the ride through DC six and a half hours later. Sunday was a typical day for late May in DC, hot and humid, spent under a bright sun with few clouds on a sea of asphalt and no shade. I brought a half a gallon of water, strong sunscreen, and clothing that was light enough to wear in the heat but would protect me from the sun. Even so, I consumed the entire half a gallon of water and refilled it thanks to the Christian Motorcyclist Association, which did great ministry by providing free water to riders. If you had your own container, they would refill it, but if not they would give you water in cups inscribed with prayers and evangelical writings; they also gave out free cloths, dipped in cold water, that were similarly inscribed. The fire department set up several trucks around the Pentagon with sprays of water to help cool riders, but the Pentagon parking area is so large that no such truck was anywhere near us.
As for the risk of motorcycle crashes, I've seen figures for the ride everywhere from 500,000 riders to 900,000. While many come in groups that know each other, very many more are people who have never ridden together before and have no shared agreements on how to do so. The ride (like a long route march) has an accordion effect, bunching up and stopping in places and stretching out into relatively high speeds at other places. It was chaotic, sometimes two abreast, sometimes four, sometimes falling into single file. It is a testament to the skill of the individual riders that there were not far more crashes than there were -- the figure I've heard is fifteen, which in a ride of half a million to nearly a million is itself amazing. This is all the more true given that all the riders were subject to prolonged heat and sun before the ride, and that so many of them are older Americans for whom such exposure is more dangerous than once.
Thus, I get why the organizers might be thinking it's time to hang up their spurs. It's been amazing, but the very scale of their success has made it dangerous to participants.
Now that I've said all that, let me talk about the ways in which it is very much worth preserving.
From Thursday night, DC was taken over by Veteran and Veteran-friendly motorcycle riders. You'd go down to the Lincoln Memorial, near the Wall, and there would be thousands of bikes parked on the grass. Thousands more lined the Mall. The sound of them was constantly in the air. All along the walks and the oaks by our national memorials, men in cuts covered with patriotic patches would greet you as "brother." By Friday, the police had given up on enforcing traffic lights: groups of bikes went together as one vehicle, be they a string of fifty or a hundred bikes long. By Saturday, the already-heavy Memorial Day crowds of ordinary Americans were supplemented by a million or more of us: the riders themselves, and those they brought with them.
I counted dozens of riding associations and motorcycle clubs, all of them patriots. Hotels used to lobbyists in suits and ties were full of bikes, AC/DC blaring in their parking lots. The Legion Riders and the VFW Riders were there in force, as of course was the Rolling Thunder group. The Combat Vets Motorcycle Association had many members there. I mentioned the Christian MA already, but during the heat of the day Sunday they were joined by the Sinland MC, who was grateful for the water they brought. On Saturday I dined at a sports pub in Crystal City, just by the Pentagon. The Nam Knights MC had largely taken over Crystal City, but a bunch of other groups were there as well, especially the Leathernecks MC. The IBEW even had a crew of electrical workers who were also veterans. Unlike at many rallies, though, there was no sense of tension between the various groups -- nobody was trying to prove anything. Everybody was a brother, everybody was already proven, and we were all there for the same reason.
Most of all I will remember the spectators, who lined the ride with flags and flattering signs, and cheered us on the whole way. I've been on many rides before, but never one in which the community made us so welcome. They were proud of us.
After the ride, with my bike in Potomac Park and the shade of the trees to rest in, I met a group of riders one of whom was having his shoe tied by the other. The one guy couldn't bend his back anymore due to injuries, so his brothers knelt down on the grass and tied it for him. He didn't get left behind. No one gets left behind. That's what the ride was about, with the POW/MIA issue as its main focus. It wasn't just words. They were living it out.
The two main risks are heat exhaustion and motorcycle wrecks during the ride itself. On Sunday, I arrived at the Pentagon parking lot at 7:30 AM. My group began the ride through DC six and a half hours later. Sunday was a typical day for late May in DC, hot and humid, spent under a bright sun with few clouds on a sea of asphalt and no shade. I brought a half a gallon of water, strong sunscreen, and clothing that was light enough to wear in the heat but would protect me from the sun. Even so, I consumed the entire half a gallon of water and refilled it thanks to the Christian Motorcyclist Association, which did great ministry by providing free water to riders. If you had your own container, they would refill it, but if not they would give you water in cups inscribed with prayers and evangelical writings; they also gave out free cloths, dipped in cold water, that were similarly inscribed. The fire department set up several trucks around the Pentagon with sprays of water to help cool riders, but the Pentagon parking area is so large that no such truck was anywhere near us.
As for the risk of motorcycle crashes, I've seen figures for the ride everywhere from 500,000 riders to 900,000. While many come in groups that know each other, very many more are people who have never ridden together before and have no shared agreements on how to do so. The ride (like a long route march) has an accordion effect, bunching up and stopping in places and stretching out into relatively high speeds at other places. It was chaotic, sometimes two abreast, sometimes four, sometimes falling into single file. It is a testament to the skill of the individual riders that there were not far more crashes than there were -- the figure I've heard is fifteen, which in a ride of half a million to nearly a million is itself amazing. This is all the more true given that all the riders were subject to prolonged heat and sun before the ride, and that so many of them are older Americans for whom such exposure is more dangerous than once.
Thus, I get why the organizers might be thinking it's time to hang up their spurs. It's been amazing, but the very scale of their success has made it dangerous to participants.
Now that I've said all that, let me talk about the ways in which it is very much worth preserving.
From Thursday night, DC was taken over by Veteran and Veteran-friendly motorcycle riders. You'd go down to the Lincoln Memorial, near the Wall, and there would be thousands of bikes parked on the grass. Thousands more lined the Mall. The sound of them was constantly in the air. All along the walks and the oaks by our national memorials, men in cuts covered with patriotic patches would greet you as "brother." By Friday, the police had given up on enforcing traffic lights: groups of bikes went together as one vehicle, be they a string of fifty or a hundred bikes long. By Saturday, the already-heavy Memorial Day crowds of ordinary Americans were supplemented by a million or more of us: the riders themselves, and those they brought with them.
I counted dozens of riding associations and motorcycle clubs, all of them patriots. Hotels used to lobbyists in suits and ties were full of bikes, AC/DC blaring in their parking lots. The Legion Riders and the VFW Riders were there in force, as of course was the Rolling Thunder group. The Combat Vets Motorcycle Association had many members there. I mentioned the Christian MA already, but during the heat of the day Sunday they were joined by the Sinland MC, who was grateful for the water they brought. On Saturday I dined at a sports pub in Crystal City, just by the Pentagon. The Nam Knights MC had largely taken over Crystal City, but a bunch of other groups were there as well, especially the Leathernecks MC. The IBEW even had a crew of electrical workers who were also veterans. Unlike at many rallies, though, there was no sense of tension between the various groups -- nobody was trying to prove anything. Everybody was a brother, everybody was already proven, and we were all there for the same reason.
Most of all I will remember the spectators, who lined the ride with flags and flattering signs, and cheered us on the whole way. I've been on many rides before, but never one in which the community made us so welcome. They were proud of us.
After the ride, with my bike in Potomac Park and the shade of the trees to rest in, I met a group of riders one of whom was having his shoe tied by the other. The one guy couldn't bend his back anymore due to injuries, so his brothers knelt down on the grass and tied it for him. He didn't get left behind. No one gets left behind. That's what the ride was about, with the POW/MIA issue as its main focus. It wasn't just words. They were living it out.
The Long Rider Returns
I finished the ride today, passing through my two favorite places on the Parkway. The first was Grandfather Mountain. Grandfather is the home of the mighty Linn Cove Viaduct, the most complexly engineered stone bridge ever built.
Grandfather Mountain is majestic and beautiful, and regularly featured here over the years because it is the home of the Grandfather Mountain Scottish Highland Games. I also passed by it on another long motorcycle ride some years ago.
It was an absolutely perfect morning in Linn Cove. I found it very hard to leave -- I often have the sense there that I never want to leave -- and might well not have done so if it had not been for the thought of my wife waiting at home. She had been expressive of missing me on the phone the night before, however, and, well, somehow I found the strength to ride away from a place of breathtaking beauty.
At some point between Blowing Rock and Asheville, the Blue Ridge Parkway leaves the true Blue Ridge, and begins traveling along the crests of other ridges. North of Asheville, it follows the crest of the Great Craggy Mountains. (AVI will have seen this part recently on his trip to Craggy Gardens). Then, south of Asheville, the parkway mounts the Pisgah Ridge. The Pisgah Ridge section is the highest section of the parkway, frequently over five thousand feet and at one point well over six thousand.
The Pisgah ridge is also where two of North Carolina's National Forests come together. The northern forest is itself called the Pisgah National Forest, and the southern and western one is the Nantahala (a Cherokee word that means, I am told, 'the land where the sun sets at noon' -- which is certainly true of the Nantahala Gorge, a steep-sided festival of waterfalls).
This is the section of the parkway, more than any other, that gives you the feeling of being in a wild world without civilization -- except for the road itself. You can see for miles and miles, and all away below you are ranks upon ranks of mountains and valleys, covered in forest, with no cities in sight.
There are some impressive physical features, though, such as Looking Glass Rock.
The parkway finally ends at the southern entrance to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Here it intersects US 441, which goes south away out of the park and into the Cherokee reservation held by the Eastern Band of the Cherokee Nation. Turn north, and you will come at last to Gatlinburg -- but not before seeing some of the most striking and beautiful country in the world.
But that ride is for another day.
Grandfather Mountain is majestic and beautiful, and regularly featured here over the years because it is the home of the Grandfather Mountain Scottish Highland Games. I also passed by it on another long motorcycle ride some years ago.
It was an absolutely perfect morning in Linn Cove. I found it very hard to leave -- I often have the sense there that I never want to leave -- and might well not have done so if it had not been for the thought of my wife waiting at home. She had been expressive of missing me on the phone the night before, however, and, well, somehow I found the strength to ride away from a place of breathtaking beauty.
At some point between Blowing Rock and Asheville, the Blue Ridge Parkway leaves the true Blue Ridge, and begins traveling along the crests of other ridges. North of Asheville, it follows the crest of the Great Craggy Mountains. (AVI will have seen this part recently on his trip to Craggy Gardens). Then, south of Asheville, the parkway mounts the Pisgah Ridge. The Pisgah Ridge section is the highest section of the parkway, frequently over five thousand feet and at one point well over six thousand.
The Pisgah ridge is also where two of North Carolina's National Forests come together. The northern forest is itself called the Pisgah National Forest, and the southern and western one is the Nantahala (a Cherokee word that means, I am told, 'the land where the sun sets at noon' -- which is certainly true of the Nantahala Gorge, a steep-sided festival of waterfalls).
This is the section of the parkway, more than any other, that gives you the feeling of being in a wild world without civilization -- except for the road itself. You can see for miles and miles, and all away below you are ranks upon ranks of mountains and valleys, covered in forest, with no cities in sight.
There are some impressive physical features, though, such as Looking Glass Rock.
The parkway finally ends at the southern entrance to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Here it intersects US 441, which goes south away out of the park and into the Cherokee reservation held by the Eastern Band of the Cherokee Nation. Turn north, and you will come at last to Gatlinburg -- but not before seeing some of the most striking and beautiful country in the world.
But that ride is for another day.
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