Watauga Dam
As we were riding about in the Carter County wilds yesterday, Carolyn turned onto a road we had never tried before. The name of the road was Wade Bulla Road, and as my cousin had married a man by that name—probably before I was born—I figured it would be a nice place to see. After going around the first blind curve the road narrowed to one lane with no place to turn the long van, so we kept going deeper into a hollow. After negotiating a couple more sharp curves, I spied an abandoned house ahead on the right and I told Carolyn to stop so I could get out and get a shot, mainly because it had a large tv antenna beside it that looked ridiculously out of place. I saw that there was a house on down closer to the road and near the shack, with men and kids in the yard. When I stepped out of the van, I almost went to my knees because the pavement fell off into a ditch that was hidden by grass and weeds. I caught myself, and shut the door as I began to work toward the front of the van. Again, I nearly fell, grabbing the outside mirror to steady myself. Now this all wouldn't have been terrible except for the fact the men in the yard were heartily laughing at my antics. I finally hollered for Carolyn to move the van farther toward the center of the narrow road, and as soon as I turned loose of the mirror for her to do so, I started falling again. This time when I grabbed, it swiveled forward and I fell into the van just as Carolyn started to move away. I was swinging, dragging, and cussing, while Carolyn—not knowing I was in dire straits—was looking in her side mirror trying to back up and the gentlemen in the yard were having a conniption fit. Carolyn finally looked around at me and stopped the van, and I was able to get some footing on the road surface. I put the mirror back in place, raised my Pentax and snapped a shot of the lonely old house. The men suddenly quit laughing and began hollering for me to get the hell away with the camera. One of them, a medium build man in overalls, a blue plaid shirt, and huge black beard started my way, making hand gestures. I jumped back in the van and Carolyn took off, but we still had to drive right by all of them. Some were still laughing and two more—including the beard—didn't seem too happy. Perhaps they thought I had taken their picture and stolen their souls?! Anyway, we got by and continued our journey up the hollow for about 250 yards when the road quit at a driveway. Oh, shit; we had to go back by those guys. In my minds eye, I could see the beard eating my fried balls along with his mountain oysters and cornbread. Nothing to do but ease on down the road and act innocent, which we did. To our surprise, all of the men, including the beard, waved and smiled as we hurried by. Not a bad day after all; my camera came through unscathed!
As we were riding about in the Carter County wilds yesterday, Carolyn turned onto a road we had never tried before. The name of the road was Wade Bulla Road, and as my cousin had married a man by that name—probably before I was born—I figured it would be a nice place to see. After going around the first blind curve the road narrowed to one lane with no place to turn the long van, so we kept going deeper into a hollow. After negotiating a couple more sharp curves, I spied an abandoned house ahead on the right and I told Carolyn to stop so I could get out and get a shot, mainly because it had a large tv antenna beside it that looked ridiculously out of place. I saw that there was a house on down closer to the road and near the shack, with men and kids in the yard. When I stepped out of the van, I almost went to my knees because the pavement fell off into a ditch that was hidden by grass and weeds. I caught myself, and shut the door as I began to work toward the front of the van. Again, I nearly fell, grabbing the outside mirror to steady myself. Now this all wouldn't have been terrible except for the fact the men in the yard were heartily laughing at my antics. I finally hollered for Carolyn to move the van farther toward the center of the narrow road, and as soon as I turned loose of the mirror for her to do so, I started falling again. This time when I grabbed, it swiveled forward and I fell into the van just as Carolyn started to move away. I was swinging, dragging, and cussing, while Carolyn—not knowing I was in dire straits—was looking in her side mirror trying to back up and the gentlemen in the yard were having a conniption fit. Carolyn finally looked around at me and stopped the van, and I was able to get some footing on the road surface. I put the mirror back in place, raised my Pentax and snapped a shot of the lonely old house. The men suddenly quit laughing and began hollering for me to get the hell away with the camera. One of them, a medium build man in overalls, a blue plaid shirt, and huge black beard started my way, making hand gestures. I jumped back in the van and Carolyn took off, but we still had to drive right by all of them. Some were still laughing and two more—including the beard—didn't seem too happy. Perhaps they thought I had taken their picture and stolen their souls?! Anyway, we got by and continued our journey up the hollow for about 250 yards when the road quit at a driveway. Oh, shit; we had to go back by those guys. In my minds eye, I could see the beard eating my fried balls along with his mountain oysters and cornbread. Nothing to do but ease on down the road and act innocent, which we did. To our surprise, all of the men, including the beard, waved and smiled as we hurried by. Not a bad day after all; my camera came through unscathed!
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