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Asheville is only a short distance from the Great Smokey Mountains and Cherokee country, and we wanted to see some of it, so off we went on a day trip, departing about 9 AM. The drive was fabulous -- uphill, further into the Appalachians, until they become the Smokies, so named for the layer of blue haze that often hangs between the peaks. During the highest parts of the drive, spring had not yet arrived -- the trees were bare of leaves, and there was still snow on the ground in spots. This gave us pause, as we had been planning on backpacking in the Smokies in the next week or two. The small town of Cherokee sits on the Cherokee Indian reservation directly south of Great Smokey Mountain National Park. Most of the town was devoted to the tourist industry, with way too many Indian-themed souvenir shops selling rubber tomahawks. Also featured were run-down motels and diners, and pathetic places that advertised that you could 'feed the baby bears'. We ignored all of that junk. Fortunately, there is an excellent living history museum there, re-enacting a Cherokee village; however, it did not open for several more weeks, so we went just to the Museum of the Cherokee. This was highly informative, telling the story of the Cherokee peoples from their pre-history around 10,000 years ago, up to the present day. Cherokee staffed the museum, and I was surprised by their speaking accent. In Navajo country, the Navajo we met all had accents, resulting from the fact that their first language had been Navajo -- English was learned much later, in school. In Cherokee, I expected some kind of native-flavored dialect, similar to what we had encountered in Navajo lands. However, all the Cherokee I heard speak had rather strong Carolina upcountry accents (a type of Southern accent). It was incongruous. After our brief tour, we raced back to camp -- we were not staying there that night, and needed to pack up and move on, which is what we did. We were planning on meeting up with my brother Scott's wife and kids the next day. They were coincidentally visiting her sister Karen in Advance, due South of Winston-Salem. The drive East across Western North Carolina was again wondrous -- this is a beautiful state, full of woods and seemingly sparsely populated. Much of the state is rolling hills or mountains -- the 'upcountry'. We did have some trouble getting ourselves into an RV park. Our park of choice never answered their phone, but this often meant nothing more than that no one was in the office all day, which is common when things are not too busy. When we pulled up, we found that the campground was closed. We searched our park-finding resources, and found another park 10 or 15 miles away, taking the precaution this time of calling ahead. This was a "Thousand Trails" membership campground, but the gentleman we reached assured us that we could stay there that night for $20, and that they had room. When we arrived at the gate of the park just before dusk, a polite portly lady inquired if we were members. We said no. Were we guests of members, or did we otherwise have an appointment? No, we did not. "Well, then, you can't camp here". Puzzled, we explained the conversation we had just had with someone there. Of course, this gentleman was no where to be found, but they at least acknowledged that they knew who he was based on my description of his voice. The portly lady said she would have to get "the park ranger". When he arrived, he was very sympathetic, but firm: this was a membership campground. No one but members or guests could camp, period. Given our sad circumstances (it was approaching full dark now), he was willing to let us pay the $20 and camp that night as "guests of membership sales", but we would have to sit through a sales pitch the next day, where some pimply college kid or greasy sales guy in a wide tie would try to sell us a membership in the park. Sure. I'd (this is Doug talking) rather have someone hit me on the head with a medium large stick -- several times. So, we left. Lake Myers RV Park was about 15 miles from there. It was now full dark, well after 8 PM, so we did not even try to call. When we got there, we did find someone in a side office -- Mr. Myers himself. He jovially welcomed us, and told us to just go ahead and find a site and set up, and register in the morning. A bit easier said than done, but done it was. Lake Myers RV park was nearly full with parked-but-empty RVs. In other words, most of the sites were full, but their occupants were weekenders or seasonal, and not currently there. Kind of like an RV ghost town. Not at all unpleasant, though. We got set up, called Kristin, made some dinner, and wearily hit the sack.
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