A cross country journey from the MidWest to the Appalachians
We hit the “Fast Lane” early, but not quite so much so as originally planned. The Rolling Stones kept us out a little late the night before, but Sunday morning traffic was negligible, and we made good time. Indeed, it really turned out to be the best day for this trip. Along the entire route, it was clear with temperatures in the mid 20s C, and traffic was virtually non-existent, in most places.
The plains of western Missouri faded quickly from view as we launched into the bluffs at Rocheport, after only a couple short hours. The river was high from the seemingly never-ending parade of storms that had lasted longer into the summer than normal.
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| View of the Missouri River at Rocheport, Missouri - Oct 2014 |
The Mighty Missouri River consumed most of the bottomlands of the southwest bank, but could only continue its tireless effort to scour away the high bluffs of the northeast bank. Passing quickly into the hills surrounding and protecting Columbia from this onslaught, we paused only briefly to swap drivers; our plan to switch every two hours would turn out to be the one thing that kept from destroying us during the 12-hour journey to Gatlinburg.
We reached suburban St Louis, just as traffic began to build. I am not quite sure Warrenton really qualifies as a suburb, but it seems close enough to fit the bill. Nearly 60 miles from downtown, the long pestilent arm of civilization continues its march along I-70, towards Kansas City. I suspect that one day the two towns will meet, without ever having spread more than a couple of miles beyond that particular corridor, and there will be great fanfare.
The traffic only slowed us a bit though, and we made it through the megalopolis without incident; an hour later, and church traffic would have likely made progress impossible. Caseyville, Illinois provided the first real opportunity to stretch and get some food and fuel, and we abused this privilege thoroughly for 10 minutes. There was nothing to see there, and no reason to stop in particular, except that it was on the other side of St Louis traffic.
We reached suburban St Louis, just as traffic began to build. I am not quite sure Warrenton really qualifies as a suburb, but it seems close enough to fit the bill. Nearly 60 miles from downtown, the long pestilent arm of civilization continues its march along I-70, towards Kansas City. I suspect that one day the two towns will meet, without ever having spread more than a couple of miles beyond that particular corridor, and there will be great fanfare.
The traffic only slowed us a bit though, and we made it through the megalopolis without incident; an hour later, and church traffic would have likely made progress impossible. Caseyville, Illinois provided the first real opportunity to stretch and get some food and fuel, and we abused this privilege thoroughly for 10 minutes. There was nothing to see there, and no reason to stop in particular, except that it was on the other side of St Louis traffic.
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| Blue Star Memorial Highway signage at Tennessee Welcome Center at Clarksville in Tennessee - June 2015 |
The land between the two great rivers of the Mississippi and Ohio stood before us; the only barrier, aside from boredom, in reaching Kentucky and points beyond. I had only seen that part of the country at night before, and was mildly interested to see what the scenery had to offer during the day. It turned out that there was not much more to see than in the Missouri bottomlands surrounding Kansas City. Substantial high water persisted in many areas, enhancing the state of the marsh and wetlands we observed along the way. The Shawnee Hills provided some relief to an eye weary of staring at flat low lands, but they did not persist long enough to be of much more note than that.
Crossing the Ohio River, and passing into Paducah, civilization had returned to mock us again. There had not been much population throughout the Illinois portion of the journey, but suddenly it was upon us again, and seemed to persist all the way to Nashville. We paused ever so briefly at the Tennessee Welcome Center, on the outer edge of Clarksville. With the recent flurry surrounding the Confederate Flag, it was amusing to see Tennessee still flying their own variation, unencumbered by the political-correctness of the day; this would remain true during our journey throughout all parts of the South. It is funny how a flimsy piece of dyed cloth can create such an uproar, and detract from the real problems at hand.
We were back on the road again in under 10 minutes, and passed through Nashville without incident, pushing eastward through Knoxville. The forest and hills continued to rise out of the plains, gradually building towards to the great Appalachian range. The scenery was finally getting interesting, and the interstate was blissfully devoid of traffic’ however, I remain confused about crossing the Little Tennessee River in ten different places. It does not appear to be possible on the map, but the signs seemed to indicate otherwise.
Crossing the Ohio River, and passing into Paducah, civilization had returned to mock us again. There had not been much population throughout the Illinois portion of the journey, but suddenly it was upon us again, and seemed to persist all the way to Nashville. We paused ever so briefly at the Tennessee Welcome Center, on the outer edge of Clarksville. With the recent flurry surrounding the Confederate Flag, it was amusing to see Tennessee still flying their own variation, unencumbered by the political-correctness of the day; this would remain true during our journey throughout all parts of the South. It is funny how a flimsy piece of dyed cloth can create such an uproar, and detract from the real problems at hand.
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| Tennessee Welcome Center historical display at Clarksville in Tennessee - June 2015 |
We were back on the road again in under 10 minutes, and passed through Nashville without incident, pushing eastward through Knoxville. The forest and hills continued to rise out of the plains, gradually building towards to the great Appalachian range. The scenery was finally getting interesting, and the interstate was blissfully devoid of traffic’ however, I remain confused about crossing the Little Tennessee River in ten different places. It does not appear to be possible on the map, but the signs seemed to indicate otherwise.
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| Tennessee River — Map by Shannon1 |
Turning south and leaving the interstate that had been so good to us along our route, we passed through Sevierville, TN, the birthplace of Dolly Parton; as well, the impact of her contribution to an attempt to create a Branson-type experience out east, Pigeon Forge. Later stories of the nightmare that traffic could be in this town further emphasized how correct we had been to choose a Sunday departure. The town was chaotic at 9 pm on a Sunday night. Cars and people seemed mill about aimlessly in the glow of block after block of excess neon construction. We talked briefly about coming back the next evening to photograph this light display, but quickly changed our minds. I am sure that there were plenty of folks having quite a bit of fun here in this seemingly never ending carnival of neon distractions, but a sinister undercurrent running through prevented us from pausing any longer than the traffic signal insisted. Branson was never this bad, and never this obsessed with neon, either.
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| Pigeon Forge at night — photo by W Dean Brown |
A small band of Great Smoky Mountain National Park forces a small break in the action, between Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg, and seems to subdue the chaos just enough to prevent it from persisting at the same scale. It does make an effort though, and continuing into Gatlinburg, we braced ourselves for another onslaught. It popped and fizzled, and tried a time or two, but failed. The carnival atmosphere persisted, but not quite on the level of that previously noted. There were still folks everywhere, moving in and out of trinket shops, ogling stuff in the windows, or getting a late night sweet snack. We just kept moving, intent on reaching the Clarion on the edge of town, hoping desperately that it was not surrounded by some carnival-type chaos or another.
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| Street scene in Gatlinburg, Tennessee - June 2015 |
The hotel turned out to be a fantastic location and only two doors down from the entrance to Great Smoky Mountains National Park. We had made it in exactly 12 hours, but were feeling the need for something more substantial than a hot dog or a cracker, so inquired about the same at the front desk. Most places were closing, but fortunately, the Smoky Mountain Brewery was just around the block, and open until 1 am!
We quickly dumped our things in our suite, pleased at the wealth of space within, and amused by the fireplace with an on/off switch. We discovered only one drawback later. Calling the front desk about the issue, they explained that in order to have a hot shower, one had to run the hot water for 20 minutes. While normal in many older buildings, it seems rather peculiar in an area built to serve those interested in witnessing conservation first hand.
As we made our way down to the street, we first thought we might take a short walk and have a look around that end of Gatlinburg. A combination of road-weariness and hunger quickly nullified the idea though. We made it to the corner we were supposed to turn for the Brewery and gave up the thought of a short walk in favor of a cold beer.
The Brewery was busy, but we had a couple of options. We could wait on a table for 20–30 minutes, or take a seat upstairs in the bar area; a simple enough choice, we made for the stairs. A band was playing some random pop tunes on one side of the room and there were plenty of tables everywhere. We picked out a spot next to the window on the other side of the room from the band, but a server stopped and said we would have to wait for that table. While milling about, another server indicated she would seat us, and started to move towards a table in front of the band. We balked immediately. While the band was not bad, the situation was entirely too loud for the small space. We suggested the empty table we had originally desired. She seemed a little put off at the request, but acquiesced; we found out later they were trying to close down that area.
The band played on, and some folks danced a bit. We enjoyed the company we had with each other and our server, from across the room. After quenching our appetite with real food and a few of the local brew selections, we headed back to the hotel, quickly dismissing any thoughts of roaming the streets. We had a big day planned for Monday, and did not want to sleep in late. There would be time for that the next day.
We quickly dumped our things in our suite, pleased at the wealth of space within, and amused by the fireplace with an on/off switch. We discovered only one drawback later. Calling the front desk about the issue, they explained that in order to have a hot shower, one had to run the hot water for 20 minutes. While normal in many older buildings, it seems rather peculiar in an area built to serve those interested in witnessing conservation first hand.
As we made our way down to the street, we first thought we might take a short walk and have a look around that end of Gatlinburg. A combination of road-weariness and hunger quickly nullified the idea though. We made it to the corner we were supposed to turn for the Brewery and gave up the thought of a short walk in favor of a cold beer.
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| Smoky Mountain Brewery Windy Gap Wheat label - June 2015 |
The Brewery was busy, but we had a couple of options. We could wait on a table for 20–30 minutes, or take a seat upstairs in the bar area; a simple enough choice, we made for the stairs. A band was playing some random pop tunes on one side of the room and there were plenty of tables everywhere. We picked out a spot next to the window on the other side of the room from the band, but a server stopped and said we would have to wait for that table. While milling about, another server indicated she would seat us, and started to move towards a table in front of the band. We balked immediately. While the band was not bad, the situation was entirely too loud for the small space. We suggested the empty table we had originally desired. She seemed a little put off at the request, but acquiesced; we found out later they were trying to close down that area.
The band played on, and some folks danced a bit. We enjoyed the company we had with each other and our server, from across the room. After quenching our appetite with real food and a few of the local brew selections, we headed back to the hotel, quickly dismissing any thoughts of roaming the streets. We had a big day planned for Monday, and did not want to sleep in late. There would be time for that the next day.
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