All bundled up and sitting on the frozen, snowy summit of Poke-O-Moonshine Mountain in the heart of the Adirondacks of Upstate New York on Christmas Eve, I let out a sigh, my breath visible in the 12-degree weather. 

It’s 9:21 a.m. Monday. Room 130. Super 8 Motel on the outskirts of Valdosta, Georgia. The air in the space is cool from the ragged old air-conditioner underneath the window. TV blaring some holiday rom-com flick, but the sound is muted. The Rolling Stones’ “Moonlight Mile” swirling around the bed from the laptop speakers. 

It’s 11:16 a.m. Wednesday. Sitting in the lobby of the Dunes Inn & Suites on Tybee Island, Georgia, I can finally collect myself and write this column, seeing as the Wi-Fi is only good in the lobby and not the motel room (#132) at the back of the property. 

Finishing up my scrambled eggs and black cherry yogurt, I washed the dishes in the small sink. Dried off my hands and took another sip of my coffee. Mosey over to my ragged desk in my humble abode, in front of a dusty window with a slight view of Russ Avenue in downtown Waynesville. 

Standing in the photo pit last week between heavy metal icons GWAR and a sold-out roaring audience at The Orange Peel in Asheville was something to behold — more so a spectacle of unknown possibility and artistic merit. 

It was Saturday. Having just strolled into my neighborhood bar in Waynesville, I walked over to say hello to my new musician friends at a nearby table who were performing that night. 

Standing in a sea of thousands of music freaks at the Asheville Civic Center (aka: Harrah’s Cherokee Center) on Sunday evening, it was surreal — more so poignant — to absorb the sights and sounds of Billy Strings on Halloween night. 

By the time you read this, my folks will be motoring through Southwestern Virginia, probably deciding whether to just keep driving back to their native Upstate New York via Interstate 81 or maybe east onto I-64 and Charlottesville to visit Monticello again. 

It was mid-afternoon Sunday and I couldn’t stand to be in my apartment another minute. I was done with all my writing for the day. I’d already eaten a hasty breakfast and had two iced coffees. It was time to disappear into the depths of Mother Nature. 

Finishing my beer and burger, I emerged from the depths of Jimmy V’s bar in the lobby of the Sheraton hotel in downtown Raleigh last Thursday evening. In a sport coat, dress shirt and bolo tie, I headed for the Duke Energy Center for the Performing Arts.