Wednesday 3pm, I pull into sketchy gas station near the Virginia-North Carolina border to grab a map and a Perrier for the ride. The downhome woman behind the counter warns of fallen trees and the perils of driving after dark. I thank her, take my change and hit the Parkway. At first, just a lot cabins and cows grazing. Pretty scene, but having just read the all the superlatives in Lonely Planet and Wikipedia, I'm a bit underwhelmed. And then. Soft bends become hard curves and I'm climbing. The grade is steep and the Equinox is showing it's first sign of weakness. But he's a trooper and we summit, no problem. Now I'm weaving through the trees like through a greenlit tunnel. The sunlight coming through the leaves is creating a strobe effect, I'm listening to Two Step. This is pretty surreal. On my left, a clearing, and there's the view. Treetops and pastures and distant peaks. Dark blue and light green and every shade inbetween. I continue on. Clearing to the right, there it is again. Bright yellows and reds, purples even. And above, rolling mountains dissolving into blue sky. This highway runs the crest of the Appalachians, a fact that my two-dimensional maps failed to convey. I was expecting to be looking up at mountains, not the case. I'm on top of them. I stop at a westward-facing overlook. Feeling very Alexander Supertramp, I climb onto the roof of my car. Sunset. I resist my urge to move, or to take a picture, and just sit there and breathe for a while. The landscape is varied and alive and sublime. Hard to have a worry, or an ego, or a small thought here. In the distance, Roanoke. I can see tiny buildings and the roads connecting them. Surely, people there are hustling and fretting, as people do everyday everywhere. A line from a book jumps to mind... "And to think that all along, hidden from sight, our lives were that small: the world we live in but never see, the way we must appear to the hawk and to the gods..." -Alain de Botton, Art of Travel Some kids pull up in a convertible Mustang, blasting Biggy, and they spark a joint. Like I'm not having a moment, like I'm not even there. Interrupted, but having gotten what I came for, I start up the Equinox and weave down Mt. Roanoke to Buchanan to Interstate 81. The odometer hits 4,000. Wednesday night, 10pm. Charlottesville's not far, I could probably make it out tonight. 
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