Brian's Daily Journal: Day 8
There are hundreds of paths up the mountain all leading in the same direction according to an old Hindu teaching. This is another way of saying it doesn't matter which path you take. The only one path wasting time is reserved for those who run around and around the mountain telling everyone their path is wrong. Today was an exception. There was only one path to take through the Great Smoky Mountains. Martin and I climbed for over twelve miles on an eight percent grade, the steepest yet. The road snaked along a flowing river in the lowlands. The river were so loud I could barely hear Jeremy as he yelled to me in our passing RV. Ascending we saw more and more scenic overlooks.
Clingman’s Dome, the highest point along the Appalachian Trail at 6,643 feet, was one of the most majestic. On a clear day at the top of Clingman's Dome hikers see into seven states. The mountain was named after Grade-A civil war badass Tom Clingman. Half rich prospector and half Civil War General, Clingman measured the tallest peaks in North Carolina and Tennessee using complex mathematical algorithms. Fellow mountain measurer Elisha Mitchell got in a scuffle with Clingman about who measured what would later become Mt. Mitchell. Both pegged Mt. Mitchell as the highest in the Blue Ridge range. The debate was about who measured the mountain first and so could claim naming rights. Mitchell went back to re-measure the mountain falling thousands of feet to his death. Clingman withdrew his protest ensuring the mountain was named Mount Mitchell. The base of the mountain was aptly named “Mitchell Falls.”
Descending from over 6,000 feet on a crowded highway was hairy. We stopped, pulling over at overlooks every mile or so to give cars hurtling past time to pass even though we were going just as fast as the cars. It was still exasperating to not know if cars right behind us were behaving (following the slow speeds associated with such a steep pitched curvy road). At a spot further downhill craned my neck back to view the top of Clingman’s Dome. It is no wonder why in Boeing B-29 Superfortress crashed into the mountain killing all twelve in 1946. I noticed many dead Spruce Firs. Firs were attacked by the unremitting Balsam Woolly Adelgid, an insect who emigrated from Europe to New England then made its way south to kill off almost all older fir trees. The good news is that young Firs are slowly replacing the loss.
We dismounted our bicycles outside of Gatlinburg, a tourist trap brimming to capacity with cars and people. Pigeon Forge, home of Dolly Parton’s twenty-five year old theme park Dollywood, was even more massive with six lane highways. The only way to get around was by an overpriced trolley. After a delectable Free Dinner To Cure Cancer meal of catfish at
Huck Finn’s Restaurant we too full to ride any of Pigeon Forge’s six Go Cart tracks or visit the Celebrity Cars Museum. Back at the RV Park we called it a night early and got some much needed rest.
5:00 AM comes early EVERY morning and early starts would be critical now since the cool mountain air was almost all behind us. One more day in the foothills of Tennessee and we would be in rolling hills and then flats. We left mountain measurement controversy, beautiful vistas and cool mountain air behind us.