I have an illness one might call “recurrent sporadic wanderlust.” For the most part, I’m happy to have a set of predictable, even boring routines in my life: walking the dog, certain activities on certain days, et cetera.
But every once in a while, I like to get out and go—far. I’m hardly a “go where the road takes me” type; on the contrary, I want to know in advance that the road will take me exactly where I want to go. That means that aside from maps and GPS, any such endeavor requires planning and precision—a calm, measured approach (with choice additions of spontaneity) designed to squeeze the most out of the time, effort, and expense of road travel.
If you’re thinking that doesn’t sound wild enough to be wanderlust, you’re probably right—a better description would be “wanderlike.”
After much discussion and coordination with family, a recent bout of wanderlike took us to Asheville, North Carolina. It’s not a well-known vacation spot among northeasterners—prior to the trip, more than one person asked me, “Do you mean Nashville?”
I did not. As a concession to age and the roughly 10-hour drive, we planned overnight stops in Luray, Virginia each way, at roughly the halfway point. This prompted a visit to Luray Caverns, a hike to a lookout spot near our hotel, and a trip to Cooter’s Place, a restaurant/museum/place of worship dedicated to the old action-comedy TV show The Dukes of Hazzard.
I was never a huge Dukes of Hazzard fan, but I am a fan of strange museums, so off we went. Assured by the gift shop employees that it was okay to proceed, we wandered through a room of old toys and themed collectibles while a prayer service was conducted just a few feet away.
The congregation, a loose-knit group of about a dozen, sat on folding chairs and punctuated the preacher’s pauses with inspired utterances of “Praise Jesus!” The presence of dusty 1980s memorabilia, along with a more recently manufactured “Cooter’s Garage” two-piece bikini (available in 3XL) did not dampen their fervor.
We moved out of that room as quickly as possible, into a garage that housed some notable vehicles, and folding tables stacked with Tom Wopat merchandise for sale. Apparently, the man who played Luke Duke has maintained a career on stage and screen, and released a number of records to showcase his singing talents—including a 2014 Christmas duet album with former “Dukes” co-star John Schneider.
He was due to arrive for a meet and greet (signed photographs $20 each) in about fifteen minutes. We were on the road in ten.
Our rented North Carolina residence awaited, about a dozen miles outside of Asheville, at the top of a steep hill and winding driveway. How steep? Steep enough that attempts to get a minivan up the gravel-covered first half of the hill were unsuccessful, eventually requiring assistance from AAA.
In Asheville, we toured the Biltmore, a massive residence and estate that still belongs to the Vanderbilt family, and tried our (gloved) hands at falconry. In downtown Asheville, we visited the Moog Museum, an interactive showcase of synthesizers and the science of sound; later we visited our first, and possibly last, cat café.
Cats at Play Café charged $17 per person for 55 minutes of mostly indifferent cats allowing us to linger in their presence. The café also sells beverages, like their alcoholic “Meowmosa” cocktails, or their herbal mocktail “Furtini”—yes, cat wordplay is prevalent, but would you expect otherwise? Proceeds support the Café’s mission of finding permanent homes for the cats, but to me it seemed like a successful exercise in Tom Sawyer-style hucksterism, except instead of getting us to whitewash a fence, we paid for the privilege of feeding, petting, and entertaining felines—and oh yes, watching them sleep.
It seemed these cats should be doing a bit more to impress the visiting humans and lobby for adoption, but then again, from a resident cat’s perspective: Why would you want to leave paradise?
An occasional purr or snarl livened things up, but after trying much harder than the cats to make this meeting of the species work, I couldn’t help wondering if a “Puppy Parlor” across the street, stocked with Golden Retrievers, wouldn’t provide these cats a figurative—and literal—wake-up call.
My kids were interested in checking out local sites where the movie The Hunger Games was filmed, so we visited a waterfall or two, along with the “only in North Carolina” attraction known as Sliding Rock. Named as it appears, it’s a 60 foot natural rock slide, lubricated by a steady flow of water, that ends in an 8 foot “plunge pool.” The whole area is rocky, and safety measures are few, reminiscent of New Jersey’s own Action Park in its glory days.
Signs offered cursory warnings, but mostly emphasized general principles of self-reliance. A lifeguard was stationed at the top of the slide, but there were no attempts to regulate the waiting period between one departure and the next, nor the number or attachment method of concurrent sliders. An abrupt impact into the pool at the bottom jarred loose anything that wasn’t held down, including my brother’s glasses.
We had to return the next day and sift through a tray of about 20 pairs that had been retrieved after hours. He tried a few before the parade of blurry images suddenly sharpened and he knew he had the right pair. It was like watching a male, middle-aged, nearsighted Cinderella find the right slipper.
Our last stop in North Carolina was the Henry River Mill Village, another filming location for The Hunger Games. I’d called a few days earlier to find out if we could still visit, even though the website said they’d be closed the day we’d be passing by. The answer was a flat “no,” but how do you close a village? We didn’t need a fancy tour, so we decided to drive there anyway, thinking we could at least get a look.
Upon arrival, there was no shortage of signage indicating that wandering was unwelcome. But in our infinite parental wisdom, my wife and I, delinquents that we are, encouraged our kids (who were properly hesitant) to go ahead and walk the grounds a little. My wife led the way, and within seconds a deafening alarm sounded. It continued as we quickly hustled everyone back into the car and sped off.
I don’t know what they’re protecting at Henry River Mill Village that’s so valuable, or if there will be a summons forthcomin’ based on security video footage of our daring daylight raid. But I do know that barring legal requirements to do so, I won’t be setting foot in North Carolina anytime soon. That is, unless chronic wanderlike flares up once more.
Peter Dabbene’s website is peterdabbene.com. His story “Chipping” is included in TENacity: Brilliant Flash Fiction’s 10th Anniversary Anthology, available through Amazon.com. His graphic novel biography “George Washington: The Father of a Nation” is also available through Amazon.com for $20 (print) or $10 (ebook).
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