packing in a fury (cont.)

The pasta's still hard, so I'll write a bit more.

As I drove away from Mississippi I was feeling a little sad about leaving and not being a part of the summer in Oxford (and I still have a little hint of I-wish-I-was-there when I hear about Sardis Lake and that there's a fiddle player among the first-years). I was quiet reflecting on my time back there.

And then I hit northern Alabama (I couldn't resist a drive by the Sipsey Wilderness - at least a peek!), and the hills got bigger and bigger, so by the time I was coming into Chattanooga my car was laboring on the uphills, and I was flying down the winding downhills. I've always loved that entrance into Chattanooga via the interstate. Besides the terrain, you go through three states, which keeps you on your toes.

I-81 passes through rolling farmland in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, and it's really beautiful, except I was sleepy and numb to it because of all the driving. But when I got off at Winchester, and started heading west on Hwy 50 into West Virginia, I perked up, and I could feel my spirits rising. Mountains! I was heading into the mountains! Down with the windows! (Or the one still-working window.) My poor, old car groaned uphill, like I do silently when I'm biking, but just like I do on my bike, I didn't temper my speed on the downhill, just let myself fly so I could feel the wind in my face. And again, let's do it again! Oh, I was so happy! I was SO ready to get on the trail. Without anyone to feel self-conscious around, I whooped and laughed aloud and raised both hands in the air like you do on a roller-coaster. I was a madman like I hadn't been in a long, long time.

I was awake like never before and grinning hard when I pulled into Jess's driveway. Mountains. Jess understands. I know a lot of people that like mountains, but she shares with me the love that can only come from living somewhere flat and missing them. If you're lucky enough to be in the mountains, you're lucky enough.