Sunday, June 17, 2007
Cherohala Skyway
While writing the page on the Cherohala Skyway, I remembered this story and even though this happened a few years ago, I feel, from one traveler to another, it is fitting to include it in the site.
Janet and I took a ride over the Skyway on a beautiful Sunday a few years ago. We approached it from the Tennessee side of the mountain and came up through Maryville to Deals Gap.
We should have yielded to the “sign” we received that screamed, TURN BACK NOW. A huge tree had fallen across the road, just beyond Tapoco and there were several men who had gotten out of their cars, or trucks, and were jumping up and down on it. I am not sure why they thought this would help, but another guy decided he could remove the obstacle and he tied a rope to the tree and attempted to pull it out of the road. This did not even budge the giant tree, not one inch.
Not to be outdone by a big tree, someone decided they could drive their car under the tree, and surprisingly they did!
It seemed to me that Janet’s car could fit through the triangle shaped opening just under the tree. Her car was small enough, other people were doing it, and I’ll be damned if this tree is going to stop us from seeing the Cherohala Skyway.
The tree was about five feet thick at the base, and had fallen across the road to form a small tunnel between the base of the tree and the side of the mountain. We made it under the tree and safely to the other side. This may be the single dumbest thing I have ever done in my life, but we were through and heading up the Cherohala Skyway.
I posted the description of the Skyway above from their website so that you would know the gravity of the situation when Janet’s car started to make a terrible squealing noise at about 5300 feet, and shortly thereafter the fan belt had broke.
The predicament we were in weighed heavily on us both, we were located at the top of one of the most isolated places in the entire eastern region of the country, it was nearly five O’clock and on a Sunday to boot. We had twenty dollars between us, but more worrisome was the fact that there weren’t many cars passing by.
Then out of the blue this little pick up stops, and the fellow inside asks if we are broke down. We tell him about the fan belt and he immediately says, “hhmmm don’t know where you’ll find a parts store open on Sunday, but hop in and we will go down to Robbinsville and see if we can find the fellow that owns the parts store and get him to go let ya’ll buy a fan belt”.
Janet decided it would be best for me to sit in the middle of this tiny Datsun pickup. The pickup was a straight shift that came up through a small indented area of the seat, so basically right between my legs. I had this fellow, Buddy, on one side shifting gears between my legs and Janet on my other side, well actually she was sitting on my other side and leg, crammed up against the window, then down the mountain we all went to Robbinsville.
Buddy was a local woodworker, or at least he worked in a wood or furniture factory in Robbinsville, NC. I remember He had course hands, a thick Appalachian accent, and hypodermic needles strewn all over his dashboard.
“Give my dogs their shots” he said “It would cost a fortune to take em all to the vet” Janet was quite and I sensed nervous, I was also, so I do that thing that I do when nervous or scared, I talk, and talk, and talk some more.
I spotted some brush on the side of the road, I remarked, “I love wild blackberries.” Buddy replied, “don’t care for them myself, theys tuff no matter how you cook em.” He added, “besides, poaching is illegal up here in the park, but I know some that hunt them anyway.”
Janet’s eyes were wide, and upon realizing that my conversation had led us to discussing wild black bear poaching. I decided to stop talking so much. We finally reached Robbinsville.
Later Janet and I both shared with each other that we thought we were “fixing to meet our maker” when we turned off the paved road. We wound around a small gravel road only to come to a stop up a steep hill, at a mobile home. Buddy said, “well come on, let’s go see if he’s home.”
Inside, we were greeted by a man who had been awoken from a nap on the couch. He was wearing the type of t-shirt that doesn’t have sleeves, and in some circles it is called or nicknamed a “wife beater t-shirt.” The man was surrounded by a few empty beer cans and I can only assume he and Buddy had discussed where the fellow who owned the parts store was, because the entire conversation between them in the mobile home completely escapes my memory.
Buddy said, “ he’s over at his mama’s house.” We piled back into the truck again and off we went. We pulled into a drive way at a very nice brick rancher that appeared to be built in the seventies or maybe eighties. Buddy went to the door and a women emerged, the part store man’s mama, Buddy came back to the truck to tell us that we were heading to downtown Robbinsville, and to look for a car with a Tennessee Volunteer license plate on the front. The part store owner had gone for a drive before dinner.
In downtown Robbinsville we spotted the car. After that time seemed to move by quickly. We were in the part store and purchased a fan belt and a small tool set, just to be sure we had what we needed to repair the car once we were back up on the mountain. The total cost for both the fan belt and small tool set came to $19 and some change.
We headed back up the mountain and when we were in site of Janet’s car, I asked Buddy if I could give him something for his trouble. After all, he had spent three hours of his Sunday driving us up and down the mountain. He refused to take any money, or at that point, even a check for anything. He said that he likes to drive back and forth across the mountain on Sundays anyway and he didn’t mind helping people. Buddy even offered to help us put the fan belt on, but I insisted he go on with his day. So with Buddy’s little truck disappearing over the mountain, I put the fan belt on quickly.
We pulled out Just as darkness was falling over the Cherohala Skyway.
Thank You, Buddy from Robbinsville.
Dan and Jan
