Road Trip Destination Appalachia- Ocoee River- Middle section& Tsali North Carolina 16 miles 2.5 hours

Have you had that thought as you go to the carwash when you think..”I wonder if I have enough quarters to get this clean and get the soap off”. Should I go to the ATM and get more cash, or wonder if the guy next to me can change a 20? You think..”well I guess I will try it and figure out later what to do if I have soap left on the car. I have had this conversation with myself many times, because a majority of the time car washing for me is spontaneous -not planned.

I actually went through this conversation today with myself, but not about washing my car…it was about washing myself.

A shower, something that I take for granted and tell you the truth I could not really care if I have one every day or even every other day. I guess you can call me a closet hippy. Mom told me I was always a dirty kid. I would go to the beach, sand box, grass area and throw myself down and roll around till I was absolutely covered in filth. She said I took great pride in my food art creations that I molded with my hands and that usually made it to the floor to feed my childhood dog Clancy. As a adult I know better then to buy white clothes, and I have learned that most of the time I have a collection of food on my face and remnants stashed on my clothes; majority of the time food can actually be found down my shirt and in my hair. When I go biking I come back looking the filthiest. Mud on my face, energy gel smeared on my jersey, chain ring grease all over my legs, some type of bodily fluid dried and crusted on my face because I have not mastered the snot rocket or loggie spit.

Today is not different I need a shower, really need one for multiple reason. One being that I am on a 10 day adventure of the Appalachian mountains range

and so far half way through my road trip, my days have consisted of me traveling around to the Ocoee river

and Nantahala river. Me, Cleo, and Snickers have been car camping, crashing on friends couches and raft outposts; our days are filled with kayaking, biking, going for runs, doing yoga, working on my laptop, all in 100 degree hot humid weather. They hang out on their leashes in the shade as I play and work hard for a living.

One other reason for needing a shower is the fact that I have somehow acquired poison IVY that has made its self from my hand- to forearm- to leg- and who know what next? Maybe face tomorrow? I am told I need to take a shower to get the oil off.

So as I looked at the shower at the Nantahla Outdoor Center’s Outpost, there is actually a little box, a change machine, and a sign that states one minute of water for one quarter. I have 2 quarters this means 1 minute for washing and one minute for rinsing. “ What will I do if I do not get all the soap off. Ohhhh welll. I would not change a thing being here covered in poison ivy, filthy from the mud, dirt, and sweat for the 100 degree weather, and about to take my first 2 minute shower ever…. all good because If not -I would not of had all these awesome days like being….

On the Ocoee river with Dub, a graduate student that summers as a raft guide; graciously offered to be my Kayak buddy down the class IV Ocoee River that was home for me 8 years ago.

Now it scares me….really scares me. I actually shake, my stomach gets in knots, and multiple times I considered taking my kayak up the gorge and just say “forget this!” I do not know if it is because I have not been here for the last 8 years, or if it is because I am getting older and wiser and I can see my life flash before my eyes alot easier. However that day on the river was a good day. I made one combat roll (this means I flipped over, not on purpose, and flipped upright on purpose) only swam one time (this means I flipped over, not on purpose, tried and failed to flip upright, and then ejected myself out of my boat to swim the rapids while trying to hold onto my kayak and paddle all while tring to swallow as little water as possible), and did a boof move (I have no idea how to describe it, but gave myself definite style points). So I was so happy to make it down the 5 mile stretch of river.. without bloodying my face, losing a shoe or paddle, with limited cussing, and most importantly having such a good time that I may have refound my passion for white water.

I would also not of had such a wonderful day with Debbie Sue and Mark as we rode Tsali Mountain Bike Train System http://www.mtbikewnc.com/trailheads/tsali.html, one of my top 5 trails of all time.
This place has alot of good memories, my hunny-moon was actually at this place. I can remember the excitement of a beginning with my husband, doing what we both loved to do, riding fast on the single track that covers about 40 miles of trails around Fontana Lake.

So being back here brings a since of sadness that he is not here with me to enjoy a place we both loved so much, but instead my new life has brought meeting a wonderful friend like Debbie Sue. She would not be in my life- this day would not of come unless he was not my husband anymore. Giving, thoughtful, strong, genuine woman that has been brought into my life under ironic circumstances.

So I reflect on this; how I came to find my new friend. I find myself imagining my ex-husband peddling in front of me, determined to no be passed by me, becoming irritated that I was on his wheel, and remind myself that things are better this way, remind myself I am happy this way.

This way….. Remind myself that I am happy this way. I am happy to be a girl that is a little dirty, does not plan simple common sence everyday things, seems to find herself being in the wrong places that end up making her itchy, a women that is not phased because she locked her keys in the ignition of her running car that was parked in the Walmart parking lot with her dogs trapped inside (yes did this yesterday and two wonderful women helped me),

a person that is hooked on a adrenalin rush from going too fast on her bicycle or kayaking rivers that she probably should not be on, a adult that can act like an "adult" or behave like a child...but no matter what knows how to have fun. I am learning to not appologize for me anymore... becuase this is me.

amore

Katelyn

4. I found my laugh again, Bent Creek Trail, Pisgah National Forest, North Carolina: miles: who knows time: no idea either

I guess I could be considered a Tom Boy. What does this really mean anyway? As a kid I remembered I liked to play sports, get dirty, and race the boys. I was the only girl on a all boy’s select soccer team; likewise made a lot of people question and laugh at why “the bull” would want to be a football cheer leader her senior year. On the other hand, as a kid I loved to play house, apply makeup to my little brother, and remember how excited I was to wear my first pair of pantyhose. As an adult, I still struggle with a balance of tom boy vs. girly girl. I go through phases where I am really into having nice clothes, perfect nails, highlighted hair; and throw myself into domestic activities like knitting, cooking food, an gossiping with the girls. A month later, my nails will be ripped off, I could care less with what I have on, my hair never leaves a pony tail, and I find myself in the company of men usually with a saddle between my legs.

Not by preference really, but I realize as I get older women that play outside are hard to find, especially for multi day adventures. I guess women are still the ones to stay home with the kids why the dad goes and play.

This time in my life, I am in the tomboy phase. I feel like one of the boys this weekend as I find myself riding mountain bikes covered in mud,

joking around,

and drinking beer with the boys.

No deep conversations, no talk of how hot Justin Timerlake is, no hugging, I am not getting advise on what I should wear to dinner and I have not even looked in the mirror. Just riding and laughing.

As I ride with my friends, mark and Farmer, we are laughing. As we eat and drink we are laughing, When we are in the car, we are laughing, Dancing-laughing. Listening to music-laughing. Walking through crowds- laughing. Lauging so much that my face hurts.. my abs feel like I have done a million sit-ups.

I reflect on all this laughing I am doing, as I ride through the lush forest of the Pisgah National Forest. http://ncnatural.com/NCUSFS/Pisgah/So green, drafts of cool air chill my wet skin, mud splatters on my face and legs and I smile because I like it.

Laughing is something for a long time that I was unable to do. I remember the first time that I caught myself laughing during a sad point in my life. My grandmother had come to Cheyenne to visit me. We were taking a walk around the lake and I just had asked her that if I left my husband would she come and stay with me. In the middle of this it seems a family of birds did not like that we were walking by. They started dive bombing our heads, we both started running, covering our heads, dogs in tow, laughing, the birds continue to follow us, dive bombing, squawking…. It lasted for minutes. As this event settled, I distinctly remember being happy that she was there with me, that I was laughing; but then sadden that I could not recall in a long time when I had laughed at all…….

So this weekend, filled with laughing, I am reminded how better my life is..now that I am laughing.

Bellchere Music Festival, Ashville North Carolina

I look at things differently now; my life is different now….. no life is the same but the way I view life is different and people have taught me this...

People watching, I have always been a fan of the sport, but was never so attentive until my trip to Europe. I had a mere mission to understand things differently, change my paradigm of life, and create more options. A quest to find what story could be told, what puzzle would be put together by immersing myself in the music, language, food, and art of a culture.. the people. As I stepped off the plane onto Tennessee concrete, that afternoon after traveling 20 straight hours, I made a promise that my new found passion would not disappear but evolve as I emerge into a new life in the south east. I knew I did not have to travel half way across the world to learn from foreign people, I had a wealth of unique culture at my finger tips.

I find myself this weekend in good company …. Two southern born and raised, home grown fellas, Mark and Jeff, have invited me to join them for weekend days full of mountain bike riding and evenings filled with a music festival that is taking place in Ashville, North Carolina http://www.exploreasheville.com/index.aspx in the heart of the Appalachian mountains. I ask my friends to define the Appalachian culture as they see it, growing up on the outskirts of this way of life Mark answered instantly…”It means starting everything with …” momma says”……I can see it. I sense this in the southern culture, and maybe especially the Appalachian culture as it seems to be deep rooted in family. So I guess what mamma says is best. That is.... what my momma says is always best.....
I have more to learn from Bellchere, the festival located downtown Ashville that has given reason to close the streets of this small city that is nestled in the Appalachian Mountains. Temporary stages, beer stands, food vendors, and artist selling their creations take over the streets that would normally give passage to the “city” life.
Ashville, or what I remember from a previous visit, is defined by the artist community, blue grass music, and vegetarian food. A unique culture defined by mountain life, a movement of people searching for the natural life; their ancestry is spanning back to Scottish immigrants that were pushed to the mountains. Poor people that adapted to their environment; these people have a very unique culture

Music is an obvious defining component of any culture, and is especially evident at a music festival. Belchere, has a venue of all music from folk and bluegrass to techno, southern rock and blues. What I find interesting is the prominent feel of blue grass; this music is rooted in the young. I am almost taken back by two young ladies, with an outward appearance of what could be unfairly defined as “Hippies”, embracing the traditional bluegrass instrument that for me is normally associated with older mountain men finessing the stands. However, their petite hands gracefully manipulate the instrument to accompany their perfect harmony.

I assume the traditional Scottish dance was taken, manipulated, and adapted to fit the needs of the people hundreds of years ago. I see hints of the traditional dance as I watch a child and her mother “clog” dance in perfect accord to a bluegrass band that is performing on a small stage.

You can tell a lot about people by the food they eat and prepare. It is evident in grocery stores as you scan the carts of what people plan to purchase and can also be discovered at local festivals. Apple pie pilled high smothered in what appears to be camel sauce. I do not think you can get any more southern then this. My mouth begins to water as I stop and hesitate ..hmmm…. it would surely spoil my dinner.

One other thing distinctly southern is Church. Yes there are such things as snake handling churches around these parts. With any festival, a group of people, a gathering of the saved or unsaved; here in the south, the Bible belt, we have those extreme Christian groups that believe the forceful hand of God is the most effective. Crowds gather, protest against what this extreme Christian is saying. Condemning these people, not knowing their hearts, judging, slandering what Jesus was all about. I am instantly sadden, because being a Christian myself I know that this mere person with his forceful antics is turning all that is good about Christianity into a circus.
People amuses me, I could stay here all day a learn, absorb life, learn about myself, and reflect of the world as I see it through my new eyes.

Girls Best Friend,Hamilton Creek, 11 miles 1hr 20 min

Today I am taking an adventure at a place that has been considered “home” since I started to ride mountain bikes. I started riding the trails at Hamilton Creek when I was in junior high school. My basket ball coach thought I need to lose weight so “the bull ,as I was called back then, would be a little quicker on her toes…. So he talked me into riding for exercise thus-this is when the monster was created. Just for information sake, I did not end up losing any weight..I just ate more. Anyway, now 14 years later I have returned to live very close to the trail where it all began…….

As I ride my mountain bike, I am by myself; no other person around. However I am not alone. I actually feel like I have all that I will ever need in life. I have my bike, a smile, and cleo running in front of me. She is been there with me, riding, cross county skiing, rock climbing, running, swimming, kayaking, riding in the car, playing ball in the yard, and giving me kisses when I did not want them. I think back when snickers, her mother would have been with us. Going for a ride, always slower and behind…but there with us. Today I left snickers to sit in the Air Conditioning, because a 14-year-old dog would not make the 11-mile mountain bike ride, in the summer, in the south. I begin to think about my girls and how they have always been with me.

Snickers was originally my little brother’s dog. We got her when I was 15. A little short for an “American” Jack Russel, I assure you she is the master mouse catcher that has ever claimed the name of the breed. I went from being snicker’s sister to her momma when I was 21. She came to live with me in my apartment in Bowling Green Kentucky. It seemed that she tried to beat up my brother’s 1 year old pit bull…and the pit bull won. So this is how the many years of friendship and vet bills came to pass. I think we are a lot alike, me and snickers. She is a funny little dog that likes to play and make you happy. She is an emotional creature, with a heart of gold, very intune with people’s feelings. We both make funny little faces and interesting sound effects… and we both love chocolate. Like me, she takes up too much space in the bed, due to her pattern of sleeping horizontal with her little paws stretched out. Sometime we both get too excited and yet can both relax to the point where we can sleep pretty much anywhere. I have a backpack that is actually a front pack that I can carry her in. This has come in handy during our roller blading and cross-country ski trips. After 3 miles or so she gets a little tired and asks to be picked up for maybe a 15 minute break . I slam her in and off we go until she gets squirmy…put her down again and she is good to go for a few more miles until the next rest break. As you can imagine we get lots of triple takes.

Cleo, a eight year old Jack Russel, has been on many adventures. The dog with 9 lives has jumped out the car window while driving ( because she had to go pee) she has been hit my a car, she electrocuted herself by chewing on a lamp cord, her foot has been slammed in the trunk door and, she has fallen down a 15 foot ravine while we were hiking and well… you can say she has had many other incidents that have resulted in many more vet bills. She is “ball crazy”, loves to swim, likes to sleep under the blankets, needs attention, is jealous of her mother, like to have her belly scratched, loves to drink the bath tub water, thinks she is a big dog, and is an absolute beauty with those droppy brown puppy-dog eyes.
Both can sense when I am sad.. they come and comfort me and kiss me on the hand. Snickers will scratch at my leg so I would but her in my lap. They have been there when I was all alone. When I was 1200 miles from my family and when my ex-husband left- left to go live somewhere else, I was alone in our big house. I would be scared and put the girls in the bed with me. With them I did not feel alone. I had family with me. It broke my heart to but them on the airplane last October to go live with me family in Tennessee. I was afraid that my ex-husband would insist on taking one of them, a right he had, but I knew I could never separate a mother and daughter. So now I have my girls back, we are on a new adventure. Me and the girls will have a good time and I will have them with me everywhere possible.

A beautiful Woman, Robin Munis

http://www.wyomingnews.com/articles/2007/07/15/featured_story/01top_07-15-07.txt

Writers block… never had a problem is my life knowing what to say. If anything, I have too much to say never taking he time to listen. For weeks I had something I wanted to say, to share, to write, but could not make myself sit down and actually do it. Something in my life was causing me to keep so absolutely busy or distracted that I was not taking the time to do the one thing in my life that has reunited me with a long lost gift of creativity. But today I have the familiar overwhelming need to write you- to share what I have to say. Not about my bicycle- but share about a woman- a woman that is now gone.

I went numb. I felt as I was floating on the ceiling and looking down at my self sitting on a couch- at a rafting outpost- located in the Cherokee National Forest. My mind was stripped from my body searching for a sense of reality. Am I imagining this? Am I high? Am I dreaming? Did I read this right? I read again, a email that was sent from a friend in Wyoming. Yes, I read this right. Instantly every orifice on my body that could release moisture was stimulated. Tears from my eyes-sweat from my brow-my mouth watered- and my nose began to run. I read the first line of the email that read… Katelyn I hate to give you this news.. but Robin Munis was shot be her husband, she is gone.

She had a smile that lit up the room. Gorgeous brown yes, dark brown flowing hair that was always full of body, maybe from a curling iron or rollers..but only a southern girl would go through this much trouble- no mistake. I was instantly drawn to this southern beauty. She had a familiar Tennessee ascent that reminded me of home. A voice of an angle, a grin of a gal that liked to have fun, and a heart of gold that you could see in her eyes. She took the time to ask how you were doing, to truly want to know how things were. We became close very fast. We had a lot in common. One being we were both Tennessee girls. We both had a spirit of adventure. We both loved our husbands but could not figure out why things were not better. Her husband, was a lot like my husband. They treated us the same, said the same things, did the same things, liked the same things…. good and well not so good. We were there to support each other, to provide encouragement that things would get better, that if we tried harder, did things different, lost the weight that they complained about, we would make them happy…things would be different. Many nights at the bar, time shared at work, days hanging out; we were there for each other.

The last time I say her, was a time in my life where I was selfish. Trying to get the guts to get out of bed, go to work, make it through the day. As we spoke in the parking lot, I asked her how she and her husband was doing. She paused and said…OK were doing OK. She looked at me, cracked a smile, shook her head as she gazed at me, and in her own way let me know she was not telling the truth. She asked if I wanted to go to lunch. I told her ya sure..give me a call. As I said this I knew that this was not going to happen. I was moving home next week, because I finally left my husband. I did not have the “time” to take one hour of my day to see a old friend that was there for me when I needed her.

Guilt, has overcome me. Why did I not go to lunch! Could something I would of said resulted in something different? Is it silly to think this? I question how could a man-lose it? Completely go insane to end the life of his child’s mother. How was this man, that seemed so similar to my ex-husband, have gotten to this breaking point. She said she needed to stay, this was her 3rd marriage, she had 4 kids, she could not give up, and I agreed with her. I gave up. I ended mine. I got out. Out of something un known, but only known was the direction it was headed. A direction that was not good. Hers ended her life. Did she get out too early, too late, not the right way?

So ya…. Today as I read the email from my ex-husband asking if I would ever take him back if he gave 100%. I thought to myself what Robin would of said, what advise would she of given? She would of said, “NO girrrrrl, you deserve better!”. She would of said this with the most intense passion, from knowing what I felt like, from being through what I have been through, from crying the same tears, fearing the same fears, and having her heart break in a million pieces…just like mine
So that sweet southern voice is still heard in my ears, I can see her smile, imagine her dancing, imagine her laughing as she would throw her head back and make those silly little kissy faces. I will miss my friend, but she will always be with me

Ironic Bike Ride, Cold water lake Michigan to Shipshewana Indiana 55 miles

Ironic, Latin for ironia, is the use of a word to express something other than and especially the opposite of the literal meaning. Today is filled with this…..

This is the word that popped in my head as I approach the cross roads of a small town in Michigan. Saddle between my legs, and delighted as I looked down main street to see quaint little shops adorned with American flags. Pizza joints, art studios, and café’s now replace what was once a hundred years ago hardware stores, butchers, and pharmacies. Today, the Walmart down the street has taken any need for these services from the old heart of this once metropolis.

Incongruity between what is expected and what occurs; Ironic. Again this comes to mind as I read the town history marker that reads “This township was first establish centuries ago….only first- after the local Indian tribe was removed”. This is the first line stated before anything was mentioned about the first mayor, the train, and how many people lived here “that were obviously not Indians”.

I pass black covered buggies that are pulled by horses. “American’s”, Amish Americans choosing not to change, evolve, with society, the American society. Not wanting to do so anything to place them above God. Their faith brings the community together, but ironically will divide a family apart if one chooses not to follow “the way”. A decision each is given on their 16th birthday. A decision that will determine if they will ever speak to their family again, drive a car, go to college, eat at Mc Donalds, watch MTV, or see the world. A decision that will be made at a time where most 16 year olds most difficult decision is wither they are going to the movies or the mall.

Women in bonnets, simple hand made clothes adorned with nothing; no patterns, not buttons, no zippers. Men with straw hats, white shirts, black pants, always a beard. Children with no sponge bob tennis shoes, they are not screaming for ice cream, and not running off. I see this as I go to the Amish market and buy Amish baked goods from teenage girls with no makeup-high lights- finger nail polish. Raw- Simple- beautiful in a way. No very beautiful, but Ironic. They try so hard to not be different, to stick out, or bring attention away from God; but they do this very thing as people come from all over to see this unique culture, get a ride on their buggy, take their picture, and buy their baked goods and produce.

They live here in this community to live a independent life from society, a life they choose, a life that is free, but not free… Ironic.

Again, I think to my self…would I have seen this, thought this, if I was not on my bicycle… probable not. Maybe a little simpler is better.
Amore, Katelyn