The Blue Ridge Parkway

For the early hours of Sunday, I saw very few people or cars on the parkway, just a few motorcycles.   Then a red sports car whizzed past me on a bridge.

At the overlooks, two or three cars were parked, a silent gathering of travelers gazing into the distance and doing what I was doing--trying to capture the moments with a camera.

I saw four young women biking, wearing pink and red jackets, pumping pedals and taking on the mountain.

They were the first sitings of what I'd later learn was an annual bike event, scores of bicycles with rest stops every few miles and signs along the way saying.  "Shut up, calves!" and "You're a pumper!"  

Cars had to slow to avoid collisions on tight turns.

For old time's sake, and because I love it, I went to Floyd and the Troika Gallery, then headed south to Jonesville, North Carolina, where I am now waking up and deciding which best mountain route to take to Georgia.