9:32 PM |
Woody pissy again and took his time to start. Decide not to go to ATM because bank is uphill. Head to Asheville where I can look at Biltmore, huge house of robber baron Vanderbilts. Surprised by really nice drive through mountains. Forget that nice drive through mountains means no gas stops. Pray that there will be spot flat enough for someone to put a gas station. See turn off for Pigeon Forge which is where Dollywood is. Dollywood is up on my list with Graceland. It is Dolly Parton to Graceland's Elvis. Can't remember if it is open in March. Definitely not January or February, but March? Besides, I have a reservation at Inn at Biltmore and it will be very nice. I am looking forward to having lunch in the library. Wear khaki pants and cashmere sweater instead of jeans and t-shirt. Drawing the line at makeup. Those khaki pants, by the way, are the low cut kind that keep you from looking like a mom. You have to wear special brazilian lace underpants with them so that your thong doesn't show. Not that I have worn a thong since my mid-life crisis thing with underage private jet pilot. Anyhow, said panties hurt like hell, I don't care what you say about getting used to it. This is the sacrifice I must make for staying at a real Inn instead of the Holiday Inn Express.
Stop for gas before absolutely empty. Meet cool bikers. This is Bill and Phil. They have been riding since they were sixteen and are wearing rain gear for the rain. Uh oh. I didn't count on rain. This is Don Ryan. Hi Don. Bill and Phil say no, Don Ryan. That's to keep from confusing him with Don Jr. Why can't they just name him something sensible like rich people do, say Trey or Biff or Buck. Don Ryan is smoking where I just spilled gas all over the pavement. He wants to see the engine. Cool. Bill and Phil and Don Ryan are going to Bike Week in Florida. They came from Lexington. Hit road in hopefully not too rainy weather. Got to Biltmore.
Once again, we address the issue of valet parking Woody. I am going to an Inn which we all know is code for expensive. When you go to the Biltmore main gate, you have to give your reservation number, the secret password, your shoe size and alma mater to get in to the Inn. If you don't have your reservation number Right Away, you hold up every single car going not only to the Inn, but into the Biltmore for any reason which is basically the only reason you go to Biltmore, to see Biltmore. I do not have my reservation number. They email it to you. They are supposed to have my name on a little sheet as I am an inferior guest as I booked today. Otherwise is it in the nice alphabetized card file. Now, I have taken the extra expensive package as it is the weekend and what the heck, it's one of my last nights on the road. I expect some extra expensive service. I told the flustered gate guy that I can get the reservation number on my iPad but I will need to download 1758 messages (true) to do so. He told me to do that. There is a line of cars all the way out to the road behind me. This is a problem as it is 2.4 miles to the road. AT&T being what it is, this took quite a long time. Five minutes maybe. Five minutes may not seem like much but there are a lot of pissed off people behind the stupid lady in the old car. Finally get the number at the same time the other gate guy comes out and finds my name on the special list. Go to Inn, another 2.6 miles.
Pull up to Inn. Very rich looking guy in black Mercedes behind me is crazy nuts about Woody. That is the nicest car I have ever seen. Gets his baggage out for bell guy. That is the nicest car I have ever seen. Turns to go into Inn. Looks over shoulder as he hurries because his wife is very impatient and is pushing him in. Valet with name consisting totally of consonants says I can't park under the canopy to check in. Guy in black Mercedes could pull under canopy to check in. Okay, where can I park to check in? Around the other side of the oval. Park on other side of oval. They want my keys. Here we go. I will not give you my keys. It is our policy. I will not let you drive Woody (besides, you have no idea where the starter is, can't drive three on the tree, and don't realize you can't stop because there are no power brakes not to mention no power steering and 2 tons of steel). I will need your keys. Where is the parking lot? Down there. I park. Now what the fuck do I do with my luggage as we are a quarter of a mile away. Go back to valet. Hand him keys. Tell him to go get it. Which key is it? You figure it out (there is only one key on it). I guess this guy is one of those Swiss guys the hotel chain sends over to learn to manage before they go back to Europe to wait on actual civilized guests. The name throws me, though. Ask to see manager in private. Go to manager's office which is a cubicle with pictures of his friends tacked to the walls and papers all over the place in no apparent order. I want my manager with the black suit and lots of gold braid to have a proper office, with a walnut desk, oriental carpet and fresh flowers. I have uncovered the man behind the curtain and this guy isn't even the Wizard of Oz. Explained that I will not be checking in as the service is unacceptable, especially because I purchased the extra expensive package (includes the $125 breakfast and $18 tickets for both today and tomorrow except check in is at 4 o'clock and the Biltmore doors close at 3:30). The manager belligerently explains that this is policy, like having a protocol for 70 year old cars really exists. He cannot get my car back from the parking lot because his valet did not park it there. Can he make arrangements for me at a nearby accommodations? Are you fucking kidding me? Maybe I wasn't wearing enough jewerly. Note to self: when checking in to inns, wear not only the diamond bracelet and Cartier watch but also south sea pearls and huge diamond earrings that I have in my purse. And maybe a few more expensive bracelets. Oh, and drive a black Mercedes that you can get at any Mercedes dealer for, say, $75,000. No more good cars for you.
Go to Bistro at vineyard. Have you noticed that there is a vineyard on every square block of the entire country? Where do the grapes come from? Certainly not there. In my neighborhood two doctors decided to play vineyard and produce Red Truck and White Barn. They come in gallon paint cans. Really. That's why I live in the country. Anyhow, had steak and an expensive glass of Biltmore cab. I prefer Pinot but some nice waiter at the semi-fancy (Hermes scarf with your jeans) restaurant in my part of the world to me that I would be sorry if I drank the Pinot with my flat iron. Waiter looks like Herman Munster but short. Has that flat head and sunken eyes. Herman pours olive oil on my dish and then pours vinegar in with it. Hello. Hasn't anybody told the Bistro that they are part of a vineyard and vinegar is not exactly a good complement for wine? Guess not. Steak good. Spinach so salty it is inedible. I like spinach so this is a disappointment. I was waiting for waiter to ask how my lunch was. Never did. I hate this kind of french fry, you know the huge ones with no crispy. My son says they are like someone already chewed them and then they refried 'em. Asked if they have anything extra-caffeinated. I don't want to have another night on the road like yesterday's. I was hoping for some espresso, perhaps a double shot. They have coffee. Okay. Have coffee and forgettable cranberry tart. At least they have gelato that is not the same flavor as they put on the tart (see ThirtyA on 30A).
Felt better after wine. Think of pouring bottle into Woody's tank. Heck, with 10% ethanol in the gas anyhow, he might as well enjoy it. Decide to go to the house. Big sign in parking lot "Must Have Tickets To Enter House." I don't have tickets because I went to the Inn from the gate that sells tickets in the belief that I will get my tickets for today and tomorrow at Inn. Needed to find out if I need to go the 5 miles back to gate and piss off another 50 cars to buy ticket. Decided to drive to the house and find out. So I drove to the house. I mean really to the house. As in up the driveway to the front door of this 2.4 million square foot house (true). No one told me I couldn't park there, and I bet there is a major policy for this. Bought a ticket and nicely parked in appropriate parking lot.
You can take an audio tour at Biltmore. I hate audio tours. Opt for numbered brochure. This place is very very big. They have been renovating since 1970. They have finished three bedrooms. This is a family business. The Vanderbilts still own the thing. They never go there, well almost never, and observe the no food or drink rules like everyone else. The DuPonts in my neighborhood have a huge to-do each year for the approximately 2,750 blood relatives to E.I. duPont. Why don't the Vanderbilts do that? After all, it is 2.4 million square feet and I'm sure there is room for everyone. Well, they did that once for the 100th anniversary of the house and when one Vanderbilt retired and another one took over. They had dancing for 100 in the Tapestry Hall. Oh. Here's the deal. Since the 1930's, the Vanderbilts could not afford the house. They opened the doors to paying customers in 1930. Why didn't they just send enough money off-shore to run the place like any reasonable hedge fund manager would? Just think of the tax savings. They were the robber barons after all. There is even a very pretty book describing the "unique business model" of Biltmore. Anyhow, I know they are hiding something because they had a big place in New York with their V's and acorn insignia all over it so that people would know it was theirs. The Vanderbilts are in the Blue Book. They are part of Society. Hello. The Vanderbilts can't afford their own house. Tres tacky. And definitely the reason Amtrak sucks.
Most of Biltmore is exactly like you expect it to be. Dinner for 45. Big man cave with billiards, bowling and gym. Also special smoking rooms (hmmm...) and gun selection room for guests. Big pool. There are dressing rooms for the ladies and buzzers for food or someone to help you dress. They say there are dressing rooms for the men, but as in the Racquet Club and other gentleman's hideouts from wives, I think the men swam nekkid. There are two showers right in the middle of the gym. Just metal supports and skimpy curtains. Hmmm..... There are a lot of hmmm's at Biltmore. Mr. Vanderbilt was a very snappy dresser.
In the Tapestry Hall they have one with the famous triangle of Venus, Vulcan and Mars. Sounds like me, my imaginary boyfriend and my almost-real imaginary boyfriend. Covered Lila Rae's eyes. Also Domine amidst other things in frieze. Uh huh. We know you have a home equity loan.
As always, I like the downstairs better than the upstairs. I surreptitiously listened to the guy giving the "Butler's Tour" for which you pay extra. His uncle Floyd used to work there. There are two potting rooms with plastic watering cans and wheelie trash cans. They should just shut the door on those. In the rotisserie kitchen, they have a plastic turkey with a cleaver on the butcher block. It is one helluva cleaver, shaped a bit like an axe head. After scissors and farm machinery, I like cleavers. Conspicuous lack of gift shops. Business Model a bit off there. You could probably renovate another 3 rooms in a speedy 10 years if you sold gifts. Should've gone to Dollywood.
Have to drive 10 miles to get out of Biltmore. Realize it is really very beautiful. Wait a minute. It looks just like my neighborhood but we don't put out signs that say Horse Crossing. Duh. Also, we do not have zillions of tourists visiting. Note to self: there is no place like home.
Feeling very jaunty after my Cab and coffee, I hit the road. Except I couldn't find the highway. Asheville has one of those screwy ring roads but instead of naming it something useful like 295 or 295 or 495, it is called a different thing at each quadrant. Even my emergency GPS got lost. Pulled into a Country Day School (we have one too, it is where you put your rich kids when they are used to getting whatever they want and can't deal with the restrictions of, you know, ordinary schools). Checked map. Decide to take whichever highway I can find. They all eventually reach Pennsylvania, a couple of thousand miles or so, give or take. Can't get out of Country Day School. Driveway straight up at light. Finally waved off soccer dads and took flying start diagonally from parking lot. Think about taking Blue Ridge Parkway. Getting dark. Ridge not a good thing. Get on I-whatever and drive until I can find somewhere I can locate on map. Got into the groove. It is a really good day when I can find a vehicle that drives like I do, the same speed in the same kind of conditions. Got really lucky behind and orange Sneider truck. Enjoying the signs.
Also Accident Investigation Patrol Area. Why dont' they just bust drug cartels or fry that serial rapist instead of investigating accidents? Yellow sign with that tippy truck thing on it. Pay attention to curves. Certified Entrepreneurial Community (no community to be found for miles). Yellow sign with two trucks falling off curve upside down. Really pay attention to curves. Arrow on exit to Bryson. Water tank above it Welcome to Shelbyville. French Broad. Okay, this must go with Fancy Gap. Earlier in the day, Forbidden Caverns. You do the math. Shortly after, exit to absolutely nothing but Day's Inn. I think I know where the French broads with the fancy gaps go. Rhodhiss. I know this is not funny to you, but after 34 days on the road it is to me. Yesterday saw Cherokee Pharmacy with Jittery Joe's with a cup of hurtling coffee.
Have to get gas. Lose spot after orange Sneider truck. Bummer. This is Jeff and Jimmy. They have just gotten back from fishing. They catch crappies. Jeff used to work for Dana and sometimes had to go to Pennsylvania. He always brought his rods. They catch crahppies up there. Jim has a 1937 Lincoln. He has been looking for that one for 28 years. He used to do all the service on a 1937 Lincoln when he was a boy. He knew everything about it, inside and out, especially since he started working on it when it was brand new. He waited for the owner to eventually sell it. He loved that car. His friend bought it, he said, misting up. He is the third owner of his matching Lincoln, technically because one of the guys didn't title the car. Jeff and Jimmy asked me which way I am going. I have no idea. Go on 77. You can go 40 East too. Jimmy says I will go straight into the ocean if I go all the way on 40. Needed to change out of nice khakis because I am beginning to freeze. I have figured out the heater, though, so I can freeze or scald my right ankle. Changed in gas station bathroom which was remarkably clean. Passed Krispy Kreme case. I don't even have enough money for a Krispy Kreme. Remembered I stopped here to use ATM as advertised in red lights on the front. ATM broken. No donut.
Yawned once. Having learned lesson, look for very next Holiday Inn Express. It is at Independence, next to Galax. Doubly good because galax leaves are very helpful in flower arranging. This Holiday Inn Express has a 2009 Quality Excellence Award from Intercontinental which is even better than the ones that just come from Holiday Inn corporate. Because I am a Preferred Member, I got a bottle of water and a bag of Chex Mix. Good thing as I have no money for dinner. Must go to ATM tomorrow morning. Update: found $2 in other purse. Krispy Kreme in morning!
Stop for gas before absolutely empty. Meet cool bikers. This is Bill and Phil. They have been riding since they were sixteen and are wearing rain gear for the rain. Uh oh. I didn't count on rain. This is Don Ryan. Hi Don. Bill and Phil say no, Don Ryan. That's to keep from confusing him with Don Jr. Why can't they just name him something sensible like rich people do, say Trey or Biff or Buck. Don Ryan is smoking where I just spilled gas all over the pavement. He wants to see the engine. Cool. Bill and Phil and Don Ryan are going to Bike Week in Florida. They came from Lexington. Hit road in hopefully not too rainy weather. Got to Biltmore.Once again, we address the issue of valet parking Woody. I am going to an Inn which we all know is code for expensive. When you go to the Biltmore main gate, you have to give your reservation number, the secret password, your shoe size and alma mater to get in to the Inn. If you don't have your reservation number Right Away, you hold up every single car going not only to the Inn, but into the Biltmore for any reason which is basically the only reason you go to Biltmore, to see Biltmore. I do not have my reservation number. They email it to you. They are supposed to have my name on a little sheet as I am an inferior guest as I booked today. Otherwise is it in the nice alphabetized card file. Now, I have taken the extra expensive package as it is the weekend and what the heck, it's one of my last nights on the road. I expect some extra expensive service. I told the flustered gate guy that I can get the reservation number on my iPad but I will need to download 1758 messages (true) to do so. He told me to do that. There is a line of cars all the way out to the road behind me. This is a problem as it is 2.4 miles to the road. AT&T being what it is, this took quite a long time. Five minutes maybe. Five minutes may not seem like much but there are a lot of pissed off people behind the stupid lady in the old car. Finally get the number at the same time the other gate guy comes out and finds my name on the special list. Go to Inn, another 2.6 miles.
Pull up to Inn. Very rich looking guy in black Mercedes behind me is crazy nuts about Woody. That is the nicest car I have ever seen. Gets his baggage out for bell guy. That is the nicest car I have ever seen. Turns to go into Inn. Looks over shoulder as he hurries because his wife is very impatient and is pushing him in. Valet with name consisting totally of consonants says I can't park under the canopy to check in. Guy in black Mercedes could pull under canopy to check in. Okay, where can I park to check in? Around the other side of the oval. Park on other side of oval. They want my keys. Here we go. I will not give you my keys. It is our policy. I will not let you drive Woody (besides, you have no idea where the starter is, can't drive three on the tree, and don't realize you can't stop because there are no power brakes not to mention no power steering and 2 tons of steel). I will need your keys. Where is the parking lot? Down there. I park. Now what the fuck do I do with my luggage as we are a quarter of a mile away. Go back to valet. Hand him keys. Tell him to go get it. Which key is it? You figure it out (there is only one key on it). I guess this guy is one of those Swiss guys the hotel chain sends over to learn to manage before they go back to Europe to wait on actual civilized guests. The name throws me, though. Ask to see manager in private. Go to manager's office which is a cubicle with pictures of his friends tacked to the walls and papers all over the place in no apparent order. I want my manager with the black suit and lots of gold braid to have a proper office, with a walnut desk, oriental carpet and fresh flowers. I have uncovered the man behind the curtain and this guy isn't even the Wizard of Oz. Explained that I will not be checking in as the service is unacceptable, especially because I purchased the extra expensive package (includes the $125 breakfast and $18 tickets for both today and tomorrow except check in is at 4 o'clock and the Biltmore doors close at 3:30). The manager belligerently explains that this is policy, like having a protocol for 70 year old cars really exists. He cannot get my car back from the parking lot because his valet did not park it there. Can he make arrangements for me at a nearby accommodations? Are you fucking kidding me? Maybe I wasn't wearing enough jewerly. Note to self: when checking in to inns, wear not only the diamond bracelet and Cartier watch but also south sea pearls and huge diamond earrings that I have in my purse. And maybe a few more expensive bracelets. Oh, and drive a black Mercedes that you can get at any Mercedes dealer for, say, $75,000. No more good cars for you.
Go to Bistro at vineyard. Have you noticed that there is a vineyard on every square block of the entire country? Where do the grapes come from? Certainly not there. In my neighborhood two doctors decided to play vineyard and produce Red Truck and White Barn. They come in gallon paint cans. Really. That's why I live in the country. Anyhow, had steak and an expensive glass of Biltmore cab. I prefer Pinot but some nice waiter at the semi-fancy (Hermes scarf with your jeans) restaurant in my part of the world to me that I would be sorry if I drank the Pinot with my flat iron. Waiter looks like Herman Munster but short. Has that flat head and sunken eyes. Herman pours olive oil on my dish and then pours vinegar in with it. Hello. Hasn't anybody told the Bistro that they are part of a vineyard and vinegar is not exactly a good complement for wine? Guess not. Steak good. Spinach so salty it is inedible. I like spinach so this is a disappointment. I was waiting for waiter to ask how my lunch was. Never did. I hate this kind of french fry, you know the huge ones with no crispy. My son says they are like someone already chewed them and then they refried 'em. Asked if they have anything extra-caffeinated. I don't want to have another night on the road like yesterday's. I was hoping for some espresso, perhaps a double shot. They have coffee. Okay. Have coffee and forgettable cranberry tart. At least they have gelato that is not the same flavor as they put on the tart (see ThirtyA on 30A).
Felt better after wine. Think of pouring bottle into Woody's tank. Heck, with 10% ethanol in the gas anyhow, he might as well enjoy it. Decide to go to the house. Big sign in parking lot "Must Have Tickets To Enter House." I don't have tickets because I went to the Inn from the gate that sells tickets in the belief that I will get my tickets for today and tomorrow at Inn. Needed to find out if I need to go the 5 miles back to gate and piss off another 50 cars to buy ticket. Decided to drive to the house and find out. So I drove to the house. I mean really to the house. As in up the driveway to the front door of this 2.4 million square foot house (true). No one told me I couldn't park there, and I bet there is a major policy for this. Bought a ticket and nicely parked in appropriate parking lot.You can take an audio tour at Biltmore. I hate audio tours. Opt for numbered brochure. This place is very very big. They have been renovating since 1970. They have finished three bedrooms. This is a family business. The Vanderbilts still own the thing. They never go there, well almost never, and observe the no food or drink rules like everyone else. The DuPonts in my neighborhood have a huge to-do each year for the approximately 2,750 blood relatives to E.I. duPont. Why don't the Vanderbilts do that? After all, it is 2.4 million square feet and I'm sure there is room for everyone. Well, they did that once for the 100th anniversary of the house and when one Vanderbilt retired and another one took over. They had dancing for 100 in the Tapestry Hall. Oh. Here's the deal. Since the 1930's, the Vanderbilts could not afford the house. They opened the doors to paying customers in 1930. Why didn't they just send enough money off-shore to run the place like any reasonable hedge fund manager would? Just think of the tax savings. They were the robber barons after all. There is even a very pretty book describing the "unique business model" of Biltmore. Anyhow, I know they are hiding something because they had a big place in New York with their V's and acorn insignia all over it so that people would know it was theirs. The Vanderbilts are in the Blue Book. They are part of Society. Hello. The Vanderbilts can't afford their own house. Tres tacky. And definitely the reason Amtrak sucks.
Most of Biltmore is exactly like you expect it to be. Dinner for 45. Big man cave with billiards, bowling and gym. Also special smoking rooms (hmmm...) and gun selection room for guests. Big pool. There are dressing rooms for the ladies and buzzers for food or someone to help you dress. They say there are dressing rooms for the men, but as in the Racquet Club and other gentleman's hideouts from wives, I think the men swam nekkid. There are two showers right in the middle of the gym. Just metal supports and skimpy curtains. Hmmm..... There are a lot of hmmm's at Biltmore. Mr. Vanderbilt was a very snappy dresser.
In the Tapestry Hall they have one with the famous triangle of Venus, Vulcan and Mars. Sounds like me, my imaginary boyfriend and my almost-real imaginary boyfriend. Covered Lila Rae's eyes. Also Domine amidst other things in frieze. Uh huh. We know you have a home equity loan.
As always, I like the downstairs better than the upstairs. I surreptitiously listened to the guy giving the "Butler's Tour" for which you pay extra. His uncle Floyd used to work there. There are two potting rooms with plastic watering cans and wheelie trash cans. They should just shut the door on those. In the rotisserie kitchen, they have a plastic turkey with a cleaver on the butcher block. It is one helluva cleaver, shaped a bit like an axe head. After scissors and farm machinery, I like cleavers. Conspicuous lack of gift shops. Business Model a bit off there. You could probably renovate another 3 rooms in a speedy 10 years if you sold gifts. Should've gone to Dollywood.
Have to drive 10 miles to get out of Biltmore. Realize it is really very beautiful. Wait a minute. It looks just like my neighborhood but we don't put out signs that say Horse Crossing. Duh. Also, we do not have zillions of tourists visiting. Note to self: there is no place like home.
Feeling very jaunty after my Cab and coffee, I hit the road. Except I couldn't find the highway. Asheville has one of those screwy ring roads but instead of naming it something useful like 295 or 295 or 495, it is called a different thing at each quadrant. Even my emergency GPS got lost. Pulled into a Country Day School (we have one too, it is where you put your rich kids when they are used to getting whatever they want and can't deal with the restrictions of, you know, ordinary schools). Checked map. Decide to take whichever highway I can find. They all eventually reach Pennsylvania, a couple of thousand miles or so, give or take. Can't get out of Country Day School. Driveway straight up at light. Finally waved off soccer dads and took flying start diagonally from parking lot. Think about taking Blue Ridge Parkway. Getting dark. Ridge not a good thing. Get on I-whatever and drive until I can find somewhere I can locate on map. Got into the groove. It is a really good day when I can find a vehicle that drives like I do, the same speed in the same kind of conditions. Got really lucky behind and orange Sneider truck. Enjoying the signs.
School for The Deaf
Div. of Prisons
Have to get gas. Lose spot after orange Sneider truck. Bummer. This is Jeff and Jimmy. They have just gotten back from fishing. They catch crappies. Jeff used to work for Dana and sometimes had to go to Pennsylvania. He always brought his rods. They catch crahppies up there. Jim has a 1937 Lincoln. He has been looking for that one for 28 years. He used to do all the service on a 1937 Lincoln when he was a boy. He knew everything about it, inside and out, especially since he started working on it when it was brand new. He waited for the owner to eventually sell it. He loved that car. His friend bought it, he said, misting up. He is the third owner of his matching Lincoln, technically because one of the guys didn't title the car. Jeff and Jimmy asked me which way I am going. I have no idea. Go on 77. You can go 40 East too. Jimmy says I will go straight into the ocean if I go all the way on 40. Needed to change out of nice khakis because I am beginning to freeze. I have figured out the heater, though, so I can freeze or scald my right ankle. Changed in gas station bathroom which was remarkably clean. Passed Krispy Kreme case. I don't even have enough money for a Krispy Kreme. Remembered I stopped here to use ATM as advertised in red lights on the front. ATM broken. No donut.Yawned once. Having learned lesson, look for very next Holiday Inn Express. It is at Independence, next to Galax. Doubly good because galax leaves are very helpful in flower arranging. This Holiday Inn Express has a 2009 Quality Excellence Award from Intercontinental which is even better than the ones that just come from Holiday Inn corporate. Because I am a Preferred Member, I got a bottle of water and a bag of Chex Mix. Good thing as I have no money for dinner. Must go to ATM tomorrow morning. Update: found $2 in other purse. Krispy Kreme in morning!