A day off work....

Today is Friday. I keep thinking it's Thursday.

Last week on my day off work I climbed into my gray, 1999, Ford Explorer wondering where I would go. Movie? Bookstore? Blue Ridge Parkway?

I had wanted to go hiking, but the weather called for one to two inches of rain in the mountains.

Maybe I should just go to a movie.

I headed south on Peacehaven Road. When I got to the junction with Highway 421, I made a choice.

I'll head north on 421 and see where I end up. Maybe I could hit Interstate-77 and go north and just enjoy the mountains as I drive. But, if it's raining a lot, there won't be a view. I'll just see fog.

As I headed up I-77, I took an exit near Elkin, I think it was, to stop and fill my gas tank. While there, I pulled out a North Carolina map. On the map, I located the area where I was driving.

I haven't been to Sparta in awhile. I'll go there and see what I can find.

I think of my father when I think of Sparta, North Carolina. Dad used to smoke a pipe. It seems he often used cherry pipe tobacco. The smoke would lay heavy in our family room. It wouldn't really lay; rather, it would float...like smoke waves hanging in the middle of the air. A sweet waft would fill the room.

Sparta is home to Dr. Graybow Pipe Company. Dad smoked from Dr. Graybow pipes.

Come to think of it, Dad may have had his car wreck around Sparta. I'll have to inquire sometime to see if either of my siblings know exactly where Dad collided head on with a flatbed truck that left Dad paralyzed. In my mind, it was around Sparta. Or maybe it was near Burnsville. I'd like to know which mountain curve it was where that almost-fatal accident occurred. That seems an odd desire, bordering on morose. Oh well.

After arriving in Sparta, I landed at Backwoods Bean Coffee Shop. I ordered a drink and picked a table toward the back. I had gotten a late start from my house and arrived at the coffee shop around 4:15 PM. They closed at 5:30.

I sat and wrote and read. At closing time I inquired about a place to eat supper and maybe hang out a bit more. The folks referred me to a local family restaurant down the street.

At the restaurant I ordered the sauerkraut with sliced hot dogs, pinto beans, tossed salad, and hush puppies. The menu didn't offer corn bread; I thought that odd. It was a good meal. I noticed one African-American in the restaurant. The thought hit me about how I seldom see African-Americans in the North Carolina mountains.

I finished my meal and paid at the register. It must have been around 6:45.

I walked to my Explorer and again pulled out my map wondering where to go on this day off.

Carol, you've wasted your day. No, I haven't. I've enjoyed the ride. But you haven't seriously written anything; you've just spent money on gas and food.

I chose to not pay much attention to my self-critical analysis of how I was spending my afternoon and evening off.

I pulled out my map, wondering if I should just head back home to Winston, or go somewhere else.

O.K. I wanted to do something special today. The day's not over yet. I hope I run into something special.

I pondered the map.

I'll head to Galax, Virginia. I think I'll take the Parkway; maybe there'll be some good scenery now that the rain has settled.

When I arrived at Galax, the sun had all but set. Galax is a small town and I expected nothing on a midweek night.

But, as I approached the town section I saw cars ahead parked on the side of the road.

That's odd. Wonder if something is going on?

As I slowly drove down the dimly lit street, I gazed to my right and caught site of musicians through a large storefront window of a coffee shop. There was a crowd at the back of the shop.

I found a parking spot about 1-1/2 blocks up from the coffee shop.

Something special in deed. It was jam session night.

The coffee shop employee, or maybe she was the owner, told me that every night there is a jam session in Galax. Tonight it was at the coffee shop. Not many people had shown up because it had rained two inches that day. Weather can keep folks from going out.

In one room of the coffee shop was a stage in the window. That's what I had seen from the road. Five men were on stage making music, gospel to blues to bluegrass. All strings...acoustic guitar, slide guitar, bass guitar, banjo, and a fiddle.

One room over, though...that was the really special part to me. Thirteen locals were gathered for a jam session in the one-room over.

Three banjos.
Three guitars.
Two lap dulciimers.
Four fiddles.
One floor bass.

My god, they were awesome. They played old time music. It was like an old time symphony. I was tapping my toes and even danced a jig, adding my old time percussion.

But I noticed there were no mandolins.

Even now, over a week later, it makes me smile. It was perfect, even without a mandolin.

Foggy September late afternoon, Blue Ridge Parkway, 2012