Mountains and Fast Food
I am woken at 6.30am by two excitable dogs breaking into my room and licking my arms. I pat them, and kick them out. One of them pushes the door open for another attempt – and repeats this maneuver every fifteen minutes. Little do I know that these dogs are going to follow my every move over the next few days, licking every bare inch of skin and wagging the entire time.
We meet Marshall for breakfast at a diner-style café called Mammy’s. It is chock full of locals – it seems breakfast is an important meal around here. I know I don’t want grits and liver mush just doesn’t sound appealing, but I have to try something southern, so I opt for biscuits and gravy with my eggs and bacon. The biscuits are like slightly salty scones and the gravy is a white sauce with unidentified scraps of something or other in it. It’s not bad, but I’m not convinced I would voluntarily order it again. I also have a filter coffee that is endless – every time the waitress wanders past she slops some more into my cup. I’ll be buzzing for the rest of the day.
Jeff is having some work done on his Harley, so we spend an hour or so at the garage – fifty-five minutes of waiting and five minutes of actually talking to the mechanic. Some of the conversations I barely understand through the distortion of an unfamiliar accent. We finally head off to Pilot Mountain, north east of Hickory. It’s a pretty area with rolling green hills and the Blue Ridge Mountains in the background. From the car park, there is a viewpoint and several short walks, including one around the knobbly top of the mountain. There are a lot of birds of prey, including ospreys and falcons, as this is on the migration route.
We then drive to Mt Airy, which contrary to the name is a small town, rather than a mountain. Along the way I get an education on trailer homes. When I hear the words “Trailer park”, I imagine a permanent caravan park. Nope. Trailers are pre-fab houses that you buy off the rack and have delivered to your piece of land or a trailer park, which is just a block of land with a number of these homes on them. They are almost like porta-cabins, but longer. They all seem to come in the same length, but there are two widths available – single wide and double wide. The latter is double the first, funnily enough, which looks about the width of a standard room. I’m fascinated. It seems like a good solution for budget housing.
We stop at the Dairy Centre for lunch. This is Jeff’s favourite restaurant and is owned by a distant cousin. Its diner-style – again – and we sit on stools at the counter. The place is known for its ground steak. Not being a fan of mince meat, I’m reluctant, but Freddy prepares a little tasting for me. The mince is tender and slightly spiced and comes with coleslaw. It’s good. I get the full order, where the mince is piled into a really soft bun and topped with tomato and slaw. The buns are steamed then grilled to keep them soft. Freddy insists I also try a hot dog, slathered with mustard, sweet chili, and slaw. I have to admit, it’s tasty. As we get ready to pay, Freddy tells Jeff it’s on the house since I’m the best thing Jeff has ever brought him. Sometimes an Australian accent pays off.
We drive into central Mt Airy, known for its association with the Andy Griffith Show. The show is blatantly set in the town, but the man himself denies the association, despite the references to local landmarks. Either way, the town has claimed him as its own and uses him on every piece of tourist memorabilia. The main street is the epitome of a tidy country town. As we pull into a parking space, an old fashioned police car drives past – the police car used in the show, which is now privately owned.
Our final sight-seeing moment is a drive up Squirrel Spur, which used to a be a rough, winding mountain road. Much to Jeff’s disappointment, it has now been smoothed out. We continue along the Blue Ridge Parkway, which wraps around the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains, with spectacular vistas.
Back at the house, I finally get to meet Jeff’s mum, Nancy. She is a typical country Mom, who bakes cookies and is full of love. I adore her immediately. We sit and chat, then head to Wild West Wings for dinner. It’s chicken wing night – 45 cents per wing. I opt for smoked BBQ sauce with blue cheese dressing. This seems like a good deal until I realise this is all we are eating – no salad, no vegetables, nothing with vitamins. Jeff seems to have fast-food tastes…or maybe it’s a southern thing?
The Rain Gods Speak
We’re up early as Jeff has a doctor’s appointment and I need to try and get a medical examination for the volunteer position I’ve applied for. We go to another urgent care place. The hearing test makes me laugh – the nurse stands behind me and whispers a sentence that I have to repeat. With a strong southern drawl she whispers “I love your accent.” I get the all clear.
It is an average day weather wise and we’re both tired, so we head back to the house to chill for a while. I use this time to catch up on email while Jeff has a nap. Much like me, he’s not a cheery person when he’s tired, so I hope this improves his mood.
Jeff has a young professionals meeting in the evening, which I decide not to go to. I spend the time with Nancy, who cooks me chicken quesadillas for dinner, with fresh squash from the garden. I am meant to go to a baseball game with Jeff after his meeting, but by the time he returns, the heavens have opened up and it’s bucketing down. The stands at the baseball pitch are not undercover, so we ditch that idea and pack to go to Nashville the next day. We’re leaving at 6am. I have no idea why we need to leave that early. What’s wrong with a decent night’s sleep?
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