Tuesday, November 3, 2015


After our brush with death of driving off of 441 and then meeting Falling Rock up close and personal I layed down in the back seat to rest.  Thirty minutes later Chris slams the brakes and yells "here's your bear Marna". I jumped straight up almost into the front seat.  There. Was. No. Bear.  Disappointed ran threw me.  Chris told his mom "I knew that would get her up".

Chris stopped in Pigeon Forge for a carmel apple.  I guess he felt bad about tricking me about the bear.  He bought me a little bitty tiny black bear to make up for the fact I didn't see hide nor hair of one.

Driving 441 in basically unsafe conditions

Crossing 441 in the darkening of night during a slight rain in the middle of the "smoke" of the Smoky's at the very top?  Not a very good idea.  Visionability gone in a split second with a flash of thoughts of driving off the mountain to your death, much like Uncas and Alice in "The Last of the Mohicans".

You can see NOTHING in a split minute and somehow, somehow, thank the Good Lord, come to rest in a pull off near Clingman's Dome. The car behind you never seen again.

Your husband taking the wheel isn't much better.  The curves of 441 are nothing like our Cherokee mountains and he should never think something across the road is a branch.  Ummm....hence the warning signs of "Falling Rock" everywhere you turn.  Maybe we should have let Nana drive last night.  Bless it.  She remained amazingly calm while gripping the hound outta the door handle.

The unfair part?  I drove the climb up from North Carolina during the mess of weather.  Chris driving down on the Tennessee side?  Clear as a bell.  Except for that fallen rock he ran over, which wasn't a branch, honey.