I awake on the third day of my tour in a 17th-century country house and it occurs to me that human beings have been conceived, born, lived, and died in this very room for over 400 years. The walls are freshly-painted plaster, their yellow hue the perfect shade for the faint early morning light.
Music is an easy way to celebrate Appalachian culture.
This is Part Two of my series on Italy by motorcycle. Start the series here.
I've been traveling the Appalachian Mountains all of my life, first in the family station wagon, then on my motorcycle. It's gorgeous country, and the people who call it home are often misunderstood. I know this because they are my people.
Did you hear me interviewed on an ABC radio affiliate today?
My travels have blessed me with countless—countless—chance encounters. From a fry cook walking across America before he goes blind, to a homeless Vietnam veteran, and the people who shared their journeys with cancer with me, I have been blessed, and my character molded by each one of them.
After sunset, we took a gravel road that was designed to cross the park. However, we found that it was completely unmarked, which left us to our own devices.
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My dear friend Jeri and I learned how to be grownups together.
