Hues of Orange and yellow..

The Camry glided through the meandering mountain road. A gently rising hill on the left, a steep decline exploding with an abundance of trees on the right and an umbrella of leaves of every shade of orange and yellow glowing in the warm sunlight. The cool wind caressed my face as I eased my machine through beautifully winding S curves and hairpins.

Fall break - A time to get away from the troubles, hassles and stress of the graduate life and give in to nature's seduction। The night before, we were at Helen a quaint little german town nestled in the mountains away from the hustle and bustle of the cities. We had walked through the town to the feste hall, a germanesque gathering with gallons of beer and live german music. The place was a throwback to the Renaissance days in europe. The feste hall evoked images of big, burly men sitting on long wooden tables, guzzling beer in one hand and gnawing on a giant turkey leg or pork chop in the other. Voluptuous dames in corsets and flowing skirts flirted, laughed and danced away. We got into the act downing 6-7 pitchers of beer between 8 of us and burnt up the dance floor.

The next morning saw us gliding through helen's outskirts following a stream for some way which coalesced into a full blown lake. The crisp and chilly mountain air lay heavily on the water, the rising sun seared it, vaporizing the top layer and releasing a steam floating over the lake in a serene symphony. All through helen and its outskirts, we encountered a plethora of biker gangs of all types and ages guzzling beer and milling around in pubs and cafes. Clad in leather biker jackets, jet black helmets and all-weather boots they screamed past us in their harleys, the handles glinting like diamonds in the sun, the thundering growl of the engines echoing through the mountains. A short trek through the forest canopy brought us to the small, albeit picturesque Anna ruby falls. The large stream from the falls tumbled through a twisted river bed, bounding over rocks and foliage, glistening in patches in places where golden shafts of sunlight managed to permeate the canopy. All around were nature's handiwork at its best. The canopy cast speckled patterns on the forest floor, the gentle wind flirted with the trees, kissed our faces, the rays of sunlight danced across the glades lighting up the leaves, trees, and folk alike.

The drive from Robbinsville, NC to our campsite - roughly 25 miles was one of the most astoundingly beautiful drives I've ever been on. We hardly passed a single car during that stretch. It was just the winding 2 lane road, thick forests on either side and the low growl of the camry. Occasionally, a break in the woods would reveal stunning vistas. We got glimpses of an idyllic lake, its smooth, mirror like surface reflecting the sky so perfectly there almost appeared to be two skies one on top of another! Another such break revealed the undulating summits of the smokies , the tops of the canopy painted by the supreme power in a wild and vibrant conflagration of red, orange, brown, yellow and so many hues in betwixt. The dry, aging and multi-colored leaves sauntered across the road driven by an unseen breeze, only to be whipped up into a psychedelic frenzy by our car.

Rattleford Campsite atlast - two to three clearings in pristine, untouched forest land, a small shack that served as the camp host's office and a small brick building housing the restrooms. All these surrounded by miles of virgin woods. The paths to the clearings were thickly carpeted in reddish brown and yellow leaves, that crackled and crunched under our feet. Night came fast, like a hungry beast swallowing up the warmth and the light. The blood red sun slunk behind the mountains, reluctantly as if cowering under the darkness' gaze, but not without one last fiery red blaze that set the woods aflame with a reddish halo. We got a cozy little campfire going, the tents were up, the spicy, succulent chicken and the veggie patties roasting over red, hot coal. As the night grew older and colder, we all huddled together near the fire - a cool guiness in hand, 20 awesome people around, singing, dancing and laughing. It was sometime then, amidst all the camaraderie, the haze of the fire, the cold fingers of the night, the alcohol induced swagger, that I mused - I wasn't doing well at school, a real job remained a distant dream, a mountain of debts taunted me and I was well and truly in a mid-life crisis . I realized, despite all this doom and gloom, there were still moments in life, especially when one was so close to mother nature, so close to friends, that it was the little joys in life that truly mattered. I realized that I did not need truck loads of money , I did not need fame, I did not need social acceptance to revel in such a visceral tryst with nature, to close my eyes and feel the heat of the fire on my face, to laugh without a care, to dance like no one was watching, to lie on my back and stare up at the heavens on a chilly fall night. I realized that it was the journey and not the destination that mattered, that I was truly happy in that bubble right there, even though it might last for just a day or two. And so it was that my trials, troubles and tribulations lay forgotten, and receded into the dark recesses of the night, and I turned back to the laughter to enjoy my tiny little bubble of happiness into the waking hours of the dawn.