Backseat - From Where I Sit

September 2004

By: Michelle

“Bearly” Hanging On

It all started with good intentions and an innocent comment of “We have all day and its only 250 miles to our next stop, why not take the Blue Ridge Parkway?” My husband Kent was on a mission to see a black bear during our vacation and the parkway was the prime location to finally spot one. The request seemed reasonable enough – besides we were more than ready to extend our time away from civilization.

We were giddy with anticipation as we began our ascent to heaven along the parkway.

We jokingly leaned to the left and the right with each new curve as we drove upwards into the clouds. As we entered the first tunnel, my son excitedly extracted the video camera from its bag to capture the moment. Kent beeped the horn and we all laughed as the sound reverberated off the thick walls. As soon as we exited the tunnel and re-entered the daylight, we spotted something lying in the middle of the road that my husband was certain was bear pooh. By gosh we had solid evidence that we were finally going to see a black bear! This was certainly going to be an adventure.

Every few minutes someone in the car noted the elevation by reading each sign aloud. Within a very short time we found ourselves literally driving inside the clouds. Kent joked that the only thing he could see was the yellow line and if someone actually painted it going over the side of the mountain, we would be in trouble. Everyone in the car, including the dog was on high alert as we peered through the misty fog still in search of the elusive black bear we knew was hiding just beyond our view.

After a couple of hours the mood began to shift, as my son pointed out the mile markers didn’t seem to be decreasing. He decided there was nothing left of note to videotape and stuffed the camera under the seat. He then dug out his headset and retreated into his own world. For him, the bear hunt was over. There goes a whole week of getting him back to nature.

The car was growing extremely quiet, except for the sounds of my son trying to shake any remaining crumbs out of the long-empty potato chip bag. Everyone was too preoccupied with his or her own personal issues of hunger, thirst and long-overdue bathroom breaks (not necessarily in that order) to bother to ask, “Are we there yet?” Suddenly scenic overlooks became much less important than vending machines.

Kent, the more patient of the group, said nothing but started leaning forward to ease his back as he drove. Our world became another curve, another tunnel, another mile marker, and another stupid elevation sign. It was just one more spectacular view from the clouds, just one more tunnel and unless there was a hamburger joint at the end of it, I no longer cared. We drove passed Bear Den Mountain Road and didn’t even bother to slow down. Another slow car appears from the fog in front of us. I silently curse the “tourists”. At this point black bears wearing pink tutus could be driving little cars through flaming hoops and we wouldn’t notice or care unless they were performing in front of a bathroom or a Starbucks.

Many, many hours and a surprisingly few miles later, we finally managed to re-enter the world of traffic, fast food and shopping malls. It isn’t that we regretted our journey but we did learn a few valuable lessons not the least of which is that 200 miles of twisty 35 mph roads can make a drive in heaven become a living hell. Even more importantly, when “OOOOH!” and “AHHHH!” becomes “sigh…”, it’s time to move on.

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