Beautiful little farms were sprinkled along the ridges. . We were feeling the weight of our heavy gear, which now included extra food and winter clothing. Marty did a valiant job of not complaining about pulling the trailer, and still managed to keep ahead of me. Working your way up a big mountain takes a certain kind of concentration, or better yet, the ability to put yourself in a different time or place. You start to call up pleasant memories of a quiet dinner by the fireplace, a favorite haunt, childbirth . . .
Breathing becomes a rhythmic chant. .
God for his goodness. And then it's time to face another uphill. The Blue Ridge is not for whimps. . With no services available. The point we chose was Boone, a college town with all the ammenities we craved.