Expecting the Unexpected

This blog post was supposed to be called “Fall in the Appalachians.” From the moment we decided to stick around Asheville, North Carolina until Phoenix’ leg healed and we could remove his cast, I started planning this post, which would be about experiencing the renowned spectacle of color that is fall in the Appalachians.

See, I’d done a bit of calendar calculating. I knew that, instead of finishing up with the Blue Ridge Parkway at Smoky Mountain National Park by the end of September, now we wouldn’t arrive until mid-October. That – according to my research – put us in the Smokies at peak leaf-changing season.

If there was a silver lining to Phoenix’ leg break, that was it. At least that was how I tried to console myself after the accident. I imagined all the breathtaking panoramas and all the stunning shots Bruno would capture that I, of course, would showcase boastfully on this blog.

Things didn’t turn out that way. The fall colors weren’t there yet. We were too early.

It had been an unseasonably warm summer and fall in the region. Though there were many dead leaves scattered on the ground, and a few yellowing here and there, it was obviously that, even though mid-October is generally peak fall colors time in the Smokies, this year we were a week or two too early.

Usually, this wouldn’t be a problem for us. We generally have a pretty flexible schedule. But, with our US visa almost up, Mexico still oh-so-far away, and transit travel less than pleasant with a baby, we didn’t have the luxury of hanging around the Smokies any longer. Not to mention, I was able to snag a reservation for the last spot in the campground, available for a total of three nights. By Friday, the weekenders would be in and we were booted out.

Still, we were in Smoky Mountain National Park – the most visited park in the United States! It was exciting to be there and I, for one, wanted to make the most of it. I suggested we drive up to the highest point in the park, where a viewing tower offered those breathtaking views – minus the fall colors – I’d been hoping for. The road up to that point changed elevation so drastically that it was the ecological equivalent of taking a drive from Georgia to Canada – super cool! We could hike a little section of the Appalachian Trail (which we hadn’t seen since Virginia) and take in one last mountain view as a perfect ending to our three months in the Appalachians.

Alas, things were not meant to be. The weather turned rainy and foggy mere minutes into our drive up and we could hardly see oncoming traffic, let alone panoramic views.

Ever the optimists, we kept driving up. We parked in the slightly sloped lot at Clingman’s Dome and decided to have lunch while waiting for the fog to [hopefully] clear. We’d been there almost an hour, finishing our indoor picnic when, suddenly, I could see the trees moving past. Our bus was moving!!! Quickly, Bruno jumped into the driver’s seat and I shielded Phoenix, who was in his booster seat on the ground finishing his meal. Bruno managed to stop the bus, but not before it scraped past two parked cars.

The whole incident happened very quickly. No one was in the other cars, and none of us was hurt. It’s actually amazing because things in our bus weren’t secure – drawers weren’t locked, plates were on the counter – heck, I had even left the oil and vinegar bottles on the counter! Not a single item hit Phoenix, and he, frankly, thought our little ride was loads of fun!

We spent the next few hours dealing with insurance, park rangers, police reports, and apologies to the owners of the other vehicles. Needless to say that after all that, none of us wanted to hike up to the observation tower for a view. The weather hadn’t cleared up, anyway.

The rain continued the following day. We spent most of it inside the bus at the campground. We did manage a little stroll in the late afternoon – but no bears, no views, no leaves. The Smokies were a total bust. My blog post could not be.

It was when we emerged from the Smoky Mountains and got a phone signal that we learned about Hurricane Michael tearing through the United States. Apart from the fact that this hurricane was devastating for so many people and communities, it actually directly affected us. After the Smokies, we’d planned to hightail it to the Florida Panhandle and spend a few weeks exploring its state parks (which offer some of the most beautiful beaches in the country – not to mention, ahem, laundry facilities!).

Since we know that the media often exaggerates news, we wondered if, perhaps, the devastation wasn’t quite as serious as it was being portrayed. Perhaps our plans wouldn’t have to change, we thought. One phone call to a single ranger at a single state park along the Panhandle confirmed that it was just as bad as on the news.

And just like that, our plans had to change. We are very lucky to have a home-on-wheels and the ability to pick it up and move it to a new, safer place when disasters like these destroy the livelihoods of so many. Driving across Alabama may not have been on my bucket list, but at least we could drive our home away from the devastation.

And, anyway, Alabama proved to be surprising. We rolled up to the Magnolia Branch Wildlife Refuge expecting to spend a transit night there before continuing toward Mississippi and onward. When we reached our campsite, though, I turned to Bruno and said, “I feel like we’re in Africa.” He looked at me, puzzled. “It doesn’t really look like Africa here,” he replied. And it didn’t. We were surrounded by some kind of pine tree, and there definitely weren’t elephants or giraffes wandering around.

It took me awhile to figure out why I was reminded of Africa, but I did. It was the way this campground made me feel. Because here we were, parked right – I mean right – at the edge of a little lake, on a gigantic rough patch of grass. There was hardly anyone around, tons of space, restroom facilities slightly run down. It was just the kind of campground we loved – just like the ones we often found in Africa.

It had been so long since we’d found ourselves in the type of campground. Even the ones in the national and state parks are too busy, too well-organized, too full of retirees (no offense) for our taste. Here, in Alabama, I felt like we’d slipped into a beloved well-worn pair of shoes. That had gone missing. That I’d forgotten about. And that I’d suddenly found again.

Oh yeah, it felt that good.

Who knew, Alabama?

In all things travel – as in parenthood, I’m finding out – we have to expect the unexpected. Oftentimes, our expectations lead to disappointment; our plans have to change; and the pleasant surprises are found in the least-likely places.