Uncorked

Only one week after returning to Highlands, we drove to Bryson City for an event on the Great Smoky Mountains Railroad called “Uncorked.”  When Martha signed up (it sells out very quickly) before we left for France, we knew that we might still be suffering from jet lag, but not that I would be dealing with the lingering effects of Covid as well.  It was not a strenuous excursion – basically, it involved sitting and eating and drinking and watching the scenery go by – but I was glad that we had arranged to drive over the night before for an early-morning departure on the historic #1702 locomotive, which dates back to 1942, one of only two remaining in the United States.

 
The description on the website sounded like just the thing for two possibly jet-lagged passengers who enjoy both good food and good wine:

Passengers will enjoy a full service All-Adult First Class ride in our First Class cars with a private attendant and plush, well-appointed dining seating.  A narrator will accompany the ride to present each pour to guests and share knowledge and history of the wines selected.  Passengers on this specialty car will enjoy an exclusive sampling of cheeses and a surf and turf meal prepared fresh.  We have carefully selected our wine samples to accompany the meal. All passengers will receive a GSMR souvenir stemless wine glass, four samples of selected wine, and a dessert that’s perfect for the season!

It certainly sounded First Class, and when we climbed aboard our dining car we were pleasantly surprised.  The facilities were very nice, as we imagine dining had been at the height of rail travel in this country.  We pulled out of the Bryson City station right on time and headed into the Nantahala Gorge, which we had driven through many times by auto but had never seen from this perspective on the north side of the Nantahala River.

As we went around some of the sharper bends, we could look out the window and see the engine ahead, a cloud of smoke billowing from its stack.  I was enjoying the scenery a great deal:  deep woods, huge tangles of kudzu in open fields, junked cars, quarrying facilities, and Fontana Lake.  We went past Fontana Lake and saw some kayakers paddling out in the water, and they waved at us as we chugged past on the old trestle.  So did folks standing out in their yards, and groups of rafters out in the Nantahala River busy negotiating the currents.

 

 

We were immediately presented with a nice cheese plate accompanied by mimosas, and much earlier than we had expected the main course came along, followed eventually by dessert, each accompanied as the description had said by an appropriate wine.  Both the food and the wines were very good, and even included a pricey Biltmore Reserve Cabernet Franc that was just excellent.  I was so busy taking photos of the scenery and enjoying the food and wine, that I neglected to take photos of the food.  But Martha remembered to do that, and these photos are courtesy of her.

The train turned and came back past Nantahala Outdoor Center, a frequent stop for us over the years where we have enjoyed watching rafters and kayakers paddling by.  We stopped long enough for the curious to step outside and see the NOC and the famous bridge where the Appalachian Trail crosses the river.  By that time the usual summertime afternoon shower had materialized, so we were content to stay inside, sip wine, and watch the rafters.

We told the young man pouring our wine that we were amazed that such delicious food could be prepared on a train, and a lot of it – there were 150 or so diners, we learned, in addition to other passengers who were in non-dining cars enjoying box lunches. 

At the end of the day, we met some nice folks who were sharing the journey with us.  And the food and wine was even better than we had expected. 

First Run in Highlands

The combination of Covid and jet lag has left me with little energy, but since we arrived on Saturday afternoon I have improved day by day.  It has been a good opportunity to sort through photographs and bring this blog up to date.  For the first time today, exactly three weeks after our last run with Jean-Charles in Paris – it seems so long ago! – I felt good enough to try running.

I parked at the usual place near Kelsey-Hutchinson Park, and I saw some early-morning dog-walkers enjoying the relatively cool temperatures.  I started out at a walk, but quickly felt good enough to run, although with some walking breaks.  My goal was to complete a full mile, and I was halfway through when, at the top of Chestnut Street, I paused to stretch and walk a few steps.  I continued down Sixth Street, when I was surprised to see a very large black bear, slouching majestically across the road perhaps 15 feet in front of me.  A bear on my first run in Highlands!  I stopped immediately and let him make his way out Meadow House Lane and across the road, where I could see him walking down the middle of the driveway to the Highlands Biological Station, the uncontested proprietor and ancient master of all that he surveyed.

I have been communicating with Jean-Charles, who took us on a running tour in Paris (see post of July 13) and is the latest follower of my blog.

I wrote:  “It was so good to meet you and run with you.  What an introduction to Paris!  If you are ever anywhere near Highlands, North Carolina, I would be privileged to show you our little Town, so much different from Paris!  Today I went running for the first time, three weeks exactly since our run in Paris, and encountered a large black bear!  They are not uncommon here (they love looking through garbage cans when they can find one open), but still a little scary to see crossing the road only 15 feet in front of a defenseless runner!  Something you probably have not seen crossing the Rue de Tocqueville.”

He wrote back:  “Yes, since you gave me the link to your blog, je suis un de vos fidèles lecteurs. I really like the way you describe your adventures in Paris.  I am honored by the article you wrote about our tour (I wrote a comment on the post just after the publication).  A bear! Yes, I guess your landscape is very different than the large “Haussmannian” Parisian boulevards…”

C’est vrai!  But no less interesting. . .