My medical supplies eventually turned up on Monday morning, just in time for me to use them before we stopped by our favourite espresso bar (It was called the Fox Park Coffee Shop, by we thought of it as Nebraska Joe’s, after the origin of the owner) and a visit to Brodo’s Bagels. (Whole Wheat with BYO Vegemite on mine please). This served as both breakfast and lunch.

Soon after we were on our way, gunning along the interstate in our newest version of the PT Cruiser we had earlier in our trip – a Chevy HHR, a PT Cruiser look alike, although slightly bigger and boxier, and a bright fire engine red. Both Bob and I thought that it was ideal for this stage of our journey.

We joined the Blue Ridge Parkway, at the point where the Skyline Drive terminated, and had relatively clear skies as we began this part of the all-American scenic road trip, a 469 mile (785km) depression era construction through the Appalachian Mountains and the states of Virginia and North Carolina.

Despite it being late in the season, the fall season trees were still bright in their glory for the most part (locals blame global warming), although at the highest point of our afternoon’s travels the bare spindly sticks of the trunks and branches stood a testament on their own, devoid of leaves and steeling themselves for winters full onslaught.

We were planning to reach the town of Roanoke that afternoon, a mere 185 kms away, although a slow speed limited and gasping at every bend route – even without stopping. There were large tracts of road which were almost blinding in it’s intensity of luminous yellow foliage; others where evergreen conifers, red sugar maples and yellow elms competed with each other in a riotous patchwork that assailed the senses.

After stoping for a few minutes to consider whether to visit the ‘must see’ eight wonder of the world, Natural Bridge, at the Lynchburg (think Virginia Tech shooting) turnoff, we continued, gawping all the while before passing a rare structure at Peaks of Otter, alleging food and lodging. It took us a while to take this in, as I consulted the guide and a kilometre or two down the road jointly decided to do a U=turn and check it out.

Despite being out of season (it finishes at the end of October), accommodation was available 365 days a year. Rooms were described as basic, no tv or telephone, and seemed quite expensive for their age and the time of year. However the view over Abbott Lake from the picture window was intoxicating and it didn’t take long to decide to stay here for the night.

I soon changed into running gear – not over bundling this time, restricting myself to knee length tights, and a cool running tri top, and while I headed off for a run, Bob pulled on his new hiking boots bought for his Himalayan trek, and started off in the opposite direction.

White tail and bum on display, we sauntered across the trail in front of me, barely a couple of arm lengths away. I fumbled for the camera in my waist pack, back he moved into the woods on the other side of the track by the time the battery was fired up. As tempted as I was, I knew that sunset was in about a quarter of an hour, and reluctantly packed up and continued on my way.

The trail climbed and became a little rocky, with many tree roots, but was a beautiful course. A note looked as though it was placed on a stump with a rock on top, however I was running and not about to disturb it. As the rough trail joined a wider 4wd track, another note appeared under a similarly smooth stone, however this time I saw that it was not handwritten, but had typeset printing on it.

Johnson Farm appeared, a wonderful old little collection of apple sheds and farm buildings. Beyond the clearing, I saw another note and had to stop this time to read it; an aproseletizing, 'find Jesus and be saved' note. Incredible!

More deer, squirrels, chipmunks and dozens of birds of prey overhead circled, as I made my way along the path and continued to the track on the other side of the lake, and around a picnic area alongside the river. It was very beautiful, and, while my run was slowed by the need to consult the map and working my way across country and on occasional bush bashing excursions, it was a very satisfying run nevertheless.

The knee gave me no trouble.

While I had a bath, Bob made his new best friend in the Bear Claw Bar over a Sam Adams or three (an American beer he actually can drink), before we joined the rest of the geriatric crowd in the restaurant for dinner. The waitress (server is the approved term) had the sweetest southern accent and it was a dlight just to listen to her, y'all hear. After a shared appetizer of Fried Green Tomatoes with a spicy home-made salsa, Bob and I had a 'measly' 6oz 'flatiron' steak (3 onces each was more than enough), and some broiled catfish with sides of vegetables (we opted for overcooked green beans and carrots, foregoing the more common, universally sweet offerings such as buttered apple slices, apple sauce etc). It was a great night, in a delightful setting.