Roll the Credits

Day 62

The ride today makes up for the one two days ago. The weather is perfectly dry and sunny, with big silvery gray clouds here and there. The morning is absolutely wonderful. My tailbone is still very sore, so I am wiggly today. I must admit, I have never been so acutely aware of my coccyx, and how much I balance the entirety of my weight upon it when I am sitting.

Lunch is in Blowing Rock at the Village Cafe, a quaint little eatery best found by meandering down a fern lined path from Main Street. The Village Cafe has been around forever, I think. In all of it's years, it has probably seated millions of Izod, Talbot's and Liz Claiborne clad asses. It is a sight as interesting as going to the zoo, in my opinion. It's anthropological, to watch these cookie cutter rich folks, whose lack of outward eccentricity diminishes the very wealth that they are so proud and protective of. Anyway, the meal was as uncreative as the majority of the folks eating it, so I won't go in to it's description.

I really love the section of the Parkway between Floyd and just north of Boone. It's my favorite part. It does not have the grandiose features that the Boone section has, like the viaduct or Grandfather Mountain, it's almost because of this that I find it so beautiful. The entire length of the Parkway from Floyd to Asheville is truly magnificent, favorites aside.

We roll into our driveway that we left 62 days ago, peaceful and happy. We are not overly thrilled to be home, nor are we sad that the trip is over. We are simply in the flow, a state of mind that seems to have crept into our psyches without much effort on our parts. It is a nice feeling, to simply be content with whatever is in front of us. We end this trip much as we did the last one: feeling that as long as we are with one another we are home.

The Girl, however, would kiss the ground if she could. We have limped her home, for sure. She still has a bit of a gas leak. Her stator is dead. None of her gauges work: the clock died in the rain on MDI, and the speedometer and tacometer died during her diagnostic surgery in Harold Jackson's garage. The Pirate has become an intuitive pilot, feeling when to get gas, and the correct speeds.

But now, dear readers, about you. You have kept us company on this grand adventure, and for that we are so very grateful. You have been loyal, encouraging, inspiring and constant. You were grounding when we felt lost, interested when we triumphed and patient while we kept you waiting. Thank you. We are humbled and flattered that you stayed with us.

There were a number of people who helped us out directly, and kept us moving along on this adventure like the smooth, seamless castors of a conveyor belt. Thanks to the support crew who looked after us while we were away: Jessamy and Charles & Marlene. Thanks to the folks who let us rest our heads in their homes: Lach, The No-Nox Crew, Amy & Harold Jackson, The Blueberry Campers, Colleen & Cliff, and Elizabeth & Douglas. And thanks to everyone, whether we formally met you or not, who reached out and showed us kindness along the way.

We could never have completed this trip without all of this support and encouragement. But while we're at it, we'd like to ask you for a couple of favors.

~ Find 'The Pirate & The Mermaid' on facebook and 'like' us. Feel free to share our posts.

~Let us know if you'd like for us to keep posting, and about what (motorcycles, food, adventures, restaurant reviews, all of it, none of it...). You can write us on our facebook site, or send an email to pirateandmermaid@yahoo.com.

Well, I guess this is goodnight, ya'll. See you soon.