Feeling the Strain of Scheduling in Pisgah

An unusually smart and energetic Weimaraner named Pisgah was my neighbor when I lived in Atlanta. Among many tricks, he would do that one where you make the dog wait with a bone on their nose until you say Go, and then they flip it up and catch it and chow down. Pisgah had much taller tales about him, but I didn’t see his person on this visit, so I can’t ask if they’re true enough to repeat.

We’re in Pisgah National Forest in North Carolina, near the funky town of Brevard, the home of my former neighbor who named his dog after this beautiful area. Except my friend is not in town.

We have been texting each other pretty regularly: photos of our dogs not sleeping in their expensive beds, quick videos of bands we like, and tons about ACL reconstruction (he’s had at least one). But, turns out, we did not text each other the dates I would be visiting, at least not when I got close enough for him to know what his travel-for-work schedule was like.

But, we came anyway. Tracy and I spent the one sunny day here following his advice, hearing local music and drinking local beer (above) and meeting up with another former neighbor whom I hadn’t seen in 20 years. I’m certainly not calling this stop a mistake. It’s gorgeous here along the Davidson River in Pisgah National Forest.

There’s an historic stone chapel right inside the campground, and this tree in front of it is in bloom. I was taking pictures when the wind blew its petals right over me.

The mountains, the rivers, the thick rhododendrons, all make this a special place.

Heck, everyone here seems to love it; they all ride mountain bikes, and I mean everyone rides mountain bikes. Note that I’m not even hiking yet—so not appreciating the reminder. In fact, I could not be more frustrated with the knee. Turns out my ACL reconstruction type is one of the hardest surgeries to recover from, harder than full knee replacement because your body needs to re-graft the cadaver tendon (or whatever official terms I should be using), which takes 9 months or more.

I am still doing over an hour of PT each morning and trying to walk about a mile a day, but as soon as I do too much I’m miserable with a swollen knee that night. I knew this would be a long road, but I thought I would be at least walking more than a teeny bit by now. Walking is the way I get out of the trailer, the way I spend time by myself, the way I talk on the phone, the way I think.

This long, long recovery has me about as grumpy as I get. I sit at the brewery stewing. I sit in front of the computer for Zoom trivia glowering. And I feel this way right when I’m scheduling seeing friends. At this point, no matter how badly I want to see you, if you’re not on my calendar then I’m not sure it’s going to happen. Heck, I couldn’t even manage to see this one friend in Brevard whom I thought I had communicated with.

So, friends on the Friends and Family Tour ‘24, be warned. One grumpy, limping, overweight, no-clothes-fitting, stymied-in-every-way nomad is coming your way.