The late‑night ride from the ferry to somewhere — anywhere — far enough inland to feel safe from the coast was supposed to be simple. It was dark, raining, and I was tired, but the GPS promised a loop road that would swing me around and drop me back onto the route I’d missed.
Well.
A) It was not a loop road.
B) It was barely a road.
C) I turned too sharply, and the rear tires of the RV slid straight into a ditch.
The good news? My truck had the muscle to pull the trailer out.
The bad news? The ditch was deep enough that it ripped off my brand‑new stabilizer — the one that was installed just a few months earlier. So my next stop was already decided for me: Camping World outside Asheville, North Carolina.
By Monday morning, the rain was still coming down in sheets. I hit I‑40 near Durham and drove through a wall of truck traffic and water. By the time I reached Hendersonville, I was done. I found a lovely RV park, plugged in for air conditioning, and didn’t bother unhooking. I just needed stillness.
The next morning, I rolled into Camping World. The stabilizer replacement was quick — but, as always, not cheap. With a few days to kill before my reservation in Sevierville, I stayed quiet, rested, and enjoyed being in a landscape that felt familiar. The Asheville area and the Smokies share the same bones — soft mountains, misty mornings, and that deep green that to me, feels like home.
My trip from Asheville to Tennessee took me on I-40 through the area that had been devastated by Hurricane Helene in 2024. The highway was open, but it was one lane in each direction and the work continued on the eastbound section. The pictures here were taken while traffic was stalled, so forgive the odd angles.
When I finally pulled into Sevierville that Thursday morning in October, a wave of peace washed over me. I was home. People ask me where I’m from all the time, and I usually give them the same answer: I had the good fortune to be conceived in Cookeville, Tennessee, and the misfortune to be born in Dayton, Ohio. The North doesn’t want me and the South won’t have me.
It’s a joke, but like most jokes, it’s rooted in truth.
I had a perfectly good childhood in Miamisburg, Ohio, but I never quite fit the mold. Everything my family did — the food, the traditions, the way we gathered — was Southern. And every chance we got, we headed south. I spent two to four weeks every summer in deeply Southern Kentucky. We went to Cookeville constantly. I can’t remember a Thanksgiving that didn’t involve Tennessee Tech playing Middle Tennessee State in football and all of us cheering on Tech’s Golden Eagles. That said, as much time as I have spent in the South, I don’t sound like I belong there. My accent is decidedly Midwestern. I grew up thinking there were twice as many battles in the Civil War as there actually were. My northern high school textbooks called them by the bodies of water they were near. My southern college textbooks and my parents called them by the closest town. See why I was confused?
Some places settle into your bones long before you understand why. Years ago, on a work trip from Nebraska to Nashville, I detoured east to see my dad. As we passed Buffalo Valley along I-40 in Putnam County, I looked at my coworker — who was perfectly content in Alliance, Nebraska — and said, without thinking, “I’m home.”
It hit me harder than I expected. That feeling of being in a place where the air matches your heartbeat. Where the landscape feels like it recognizes you.
From the top of the hill coming up I-40 from Buffalo Valley to the ridges of upper East Tennessee, down through Chattanooga and over into Albany, Kentucky — that whole region is home. It always has been. And no matter where I park my RV, that’s the area that feels like it’s welcoming me back. Sevierville will eventually be my home of choice. I can feel it every time I roll into town.
My first few days were a whirlwind. Cousins were in town until Friday, so Thursday night I had dinner with my cousin from Louisville and her guy. Friday night, it was dinner with friends from Ohio who now live in the area. Saturday, I cooked for my cousin from Huntsville, and we spent the evening catching up.
Then Monday arrived… and with it, the dentist.
I’d scheduled the appointment early so any needed work could be done while I was in town. Painful? Yes. Expensive? Absolutely. Necessary? Without question. I had a tooth that felt like it might just fall out of my face. They arranged the extraction two days later. Thankfully, I had a cousin nearby who could drive me. We even managed to have a good time — or at least as good a time as one can have while missing two teeth. I spent the next week recuperating and staying out of sight. Once the temporaries were in, I felt human again and started reconnecting with friends. It was a wonderful time of catching up and swapping stories.
One night, I had my granddaughter Sky, age 6, and her family over for dinner. The kids played with the little ones from the RV next door, and the adults enjoyed the kind of easy conversation that only happens when children are happily occupied.
I tried taking daily photos of the same mountain view to track the fall colors, but the leaves were stubborn and slow to change. Eventually, I gave up. Then, about two weeks into my stay — and finally off pain meds — I took a drive with a good friend who had never been up English Mountain.
The timing was perfect. The colors were at their peak. We stopped at overlooks, wandered through little roadside spots, and soaked in the views.
The Baker family is restoring an old mill up there — a place I’ve watched for more than a decade. English Mountain is one of my favorite drives in the country: beautiful vistas, two excellent switchbacks, and hardly any traffic.
We ended the day in Cosby at the apple orchard, where we had a wonderful meal. I bought apples — many apples — and took photos of the produce and gifts displayed around the store.
The next day I was out cruising around when I saw a rainbow over the mountain. I chased it for several miles trying to find just the right spot for the perfect photo.
Many years ago, I babysat for a former teacher of mine. I am friends with his oldest daughter, Theresa, on Facebook. I decided to add Kentucky to my “been to on this trip” list. It made sense to combine time there with Theresa and a visit to Cumberland Falls. Theresa lives in Williamsburg, Kentucky, but she met me in Jellico, Tennessee. I then drove to Williamsburg to see the falls at foliage time.
Early the next week, I went to Gatlinburg. By day, I went to Anakeesta, where there was snow on the mountains and beautiful foliage and harvest decorations all around us.
.By night, I slept in a real house for the first time in over a year. The friend I stayed with and I chatted until we were both up way past our bedtimes, but it was great to catch up. Her home has some beautiful landscaping and views, and I tried to capture much of it.
My last dentist visit was later that week. I extended my stay by a week to make sure everything healed properly. When it was all done, I was significantly poorer — but I had the best smile of my adult life, and the toothache was gone.
The day before I left, Sky’s mother gave me permission to pick Sky up from school and take her into the national park for some grandma time. She hopped into the car, bubbling with excitement, and we headed from Pi Beta Phi in Gatlinburg straight into the Roaring Fork Motor Nature Trail.
It’s one of my favorite drives in the park. Even on a Wednesday, it was crowded — peak foliage will do that — but we didn’t mind. I took pictures, and I let Sky take pictures. She’s excitable, but she handled my camera with such care that I eventually relaxed. My heart was in my throat the first few times, but she earned my trust.
I loved my time back home. But as the nights grew colder, I knew it was time to head farther south. My first year on the road was coming to an end, and the next chapter was waiting. So I packed up, took one last look at the mountains that always feel like they’re welcoming me back, and headed on down the road.
