In The Neighborhood
My grandsons love a good story, especially oral history, the legendary stories about the good old days and of their dad growing up. For a while now, they’ve been wanting to see the historic Tuggles Gap Restaurant and Motel, where both their dad and their uncle had their first jobs, washing dishes as teenagers.
In those days, my sons rode their bikes to work. It’s only about a two mile jaunt on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Yesterday, we followed in their dad and uncle’s footsteps, or bike pedals, I should say.
I think there was mention of a famous apple pie when we got there, but I knew the restaurant would be closed. And the real reason the boys wanted to make the trip was because of a particular story I had told them.
When their dad was a boy, he and a friend walked to Tuggles, to buy some candy, I recall (which we rarely had in our house). I don’t think I knew about the walk, but they made the trip, and all went fine, at first. When they were walking back home, a police car pulled over and they ended up being drive home. Maybe the policeman was worried about them walking and being so young, or maybe he thought he was doing them a favor. They were terrified to get in any stranger’s car. By the time they were dropped off, Dylan’s peace-loving friend was crying. She saw the policeman had a gun and lost it right then.
