End of the Parkway

Things come to an end; there are only 490 miles of Blueridge Parkway and even at an average speed of 35 mph with all the overlooks possible stopped for, sooner or later we must run out of road. That was today's event: every inch of the 490 miles driven over, several of them more than once. In all the days that we have been at it, the Parkway has become our private road, a source of wonder, awe and solace. We left it to find lodgings at night, or to descend into towns or cities on side trips, but we inevitably relaxed the moment we got back on it. We grew used to polite, interested and interesting strangers talking freely to us at overlooks and trails, to a route with no litter and no road signs taken by people who wanted to be there. Once or twice someone hurried past - and if there were more than that, by the end of our drive, I had forgotten them. Sunlight through tall green trees on a downhill curve, the slow snaking of the car across the ribs of a mountain, the sight of farms 1800 feet below a weathered stone wall tends to rearrange your priorities. Some men built that road for my personal enjoyment, and if all of them are now dead then I still owe them a great and unpayable debt. I will drive it again, but never again for the first time.