What was supposed to be a 60 mile ride turned into at least 70. Taking a side road to avoid heavy traffic resulted in many extra miles and an uphill climb that nearly killed me from exhaustion. I arrived in near darkness and got the last room: a second floor smoking room. No matter.

By the stairs were several ladies chatting and enjoying the evening. Hoisting my bike with my good hand, the eldest one said "Come on down when you're done and talk a bit". The name tag plastered on her more than ample bosom read "Dolly Parton". Not wanting to appear unsociable I showered and came back with my stove and entertained the ladies with it's operation. I was grimacing at the prospect of eating yet another bland prepackaged pasta dish, but if I've learned anything it's that carbs by the truckload are lifeblood to the touring cyclist.

While shoveling in the noodles, a gentleman came over and brought me a plate of food that was lifted straight out of my dreams. Several meatballs, Polish sausage with sauerkraut, two cupcakes and two pieces of fudge. "You look like you could use this" he grinned and was he ever right! The food never stood a chance. In a few more minutes he brought me a big piece of blackberry cobbler that I inhaled with equal gusto. There was no boundary to this man's kindness.

All of these folks were part of a large family reunion that met at the Breaks every year. Dolly was the matron and she had a sense of humor that matched her huge bosom. "If you're going to North Carolina, I'll pull you in my van" she would say with a straight face and then laugh. We talked for about an hour and I learned that Dolly didn't have a dream life. She was happy nonetheless, a quality that reminded me of my mother and that stung a little. I slowly began to realize exactly where I was and my place in it.

This is a spectacular and rugged country where Clinch mountain forever echoes the beautiful sounds of Ralph and Carter Stanley. It's where moonshiners still make their whiskey and Amazing Grace is sung for it's spiritual strength. It's nothing like a Coen brothers movie. While I often reinvent myself by slight degrees to people I meet, deep inside I know that this will always be where I came from. The hills will always be home and I'll never escape that.

That's a great thing.