August 5 to August 13, 2016—A Layover in Tennessee; Western and Piedmont North Carolina
It is a neat sight, coming southbound downhill on Interstate 75 and seeing the hills of Tennessee framed in the distance through a cut in the Kentucky stone lining he highway. We are making a quick run through Tennessee on this leg. We might return in the fall but on this pass we only had time for two nights.
En route to our camp we took a detour at the urging of a mandolin player we had met in Berea to see Cumberland Falls. It was only twenty-some miles out of the way, but a long twenty miles. I could barely go fifteen miles an hour the whole way the road was so tortured. The front wheels of my truck were entering a right turn hairpin curve before the trailer tires had come out of a left turn hairpin. Our informant got my attention by calling Cumberland Falls “the Niagara of the South.” Indeed, the falls are widely known by that moniker. Who could resist.
The Niagara of the South is to Niagara Falls as the Grand Canyon of Pennsylvania is to the Grand Canyon. The falls are seventy five feet across and seventy five feet down. The remarkable thing about the falls, which we could not witness, is that under the right conditions the full moon will produce a rainbow in its mists. It is said to be the only waterfall in the western hemisphere that produces such a “moonbow.” Now that is some bragging rights and might be worth a detour when the astronomical details align. Actually we were glad to have visited there, making a lunch and leaving the cats in the trailer while we took a walk around.
Arrived at our camp in Milton Hills Dam outside of Knoxville, TN. Another on-the-cheap campsite, on land owned by the Tennessee Valley Authority (and bordering the Oak Ridge National Research Center where they play fast and hopefully not loose with every form of matter and energy). The camp is built around one of the TVA hydroelectric dams on the Clinch River, a relatively small dam built in 1960. Talk about a social engineering project, the TVA takes the prize. It was a concerted effort to not only bring electricity to an impoverished region but an overhaul of agriculture and manufacturing practices. A massive federal project started in the 1930s and still going on. I want to hear candidates for national office in an hours-long debate in which the TVA is the only topic of discussion. The damming of the rivers for hydroelectric power displaced some 15,000 people and presumably disrupted natural biological flows. Was it worth it? “Who can say?” if I may quote the estimable Mr. Hines.
We spent a day in Knoxville. I had passed through here in January of this year, arriving late at night on a weekday and found it deserted and dead (although I did have a genteel conversation in a bar with a high school latin teacher waiting for his wife. I managed on that occasion to dredge up a Latin joke he hadn’t heard before. It would take too long to tell and really isn’t funny at all, but ask me about it next time I see you if you care. It really isn’t funny.) On this occasion, a Saturday morning, Knoxville was popping. There was a huge farmers’ market in the town square—scores of vendors offering beautiful produce, baked goods, etc, (free samples of peach slices I relished until I imagined Brenda saying “They didn’t advertise lunch.”) and an entertaining sampling of buskers, including a nose flute player. Crowds were flowing in and out of little shops and restaurants. Brenda bought a backpack. We took in that scene for a while, walked to other parts of town, and down to the site of the 1982 Knoxville World’s Fair. The Sunsphere was the symbol of that event which had Energy as its theme. Knoxville is nicknamed Scruffy City. I thought this was an old appellation used by truckers but it only started in the 1980s when a national newspaper reporting on the idea of a world’s fair in Knoxville called the town “scruffy.” The town adopted it as a badge of honor. Scruffy City Hall is a nice bar where you might have the chance to talk to a latin teacher, or a place to avoid for the same reason.
It has been grotesquely hot and humid since Ohio; makes everything a drag and even in the mountains of Tennessee we were affected. Stayed in the shade of the camper and watched the comings and goings of locals in the campground. A girl recognized a guy from high school. An old woman berated her 40ish mentally feeble son. Not what I signed up for but the day passed and we headed east.
Stayed at a fairly luxe RV park outside of Ashville after the harrowing trip through the Smoky Mountains. Actually we were driving the dividing line between the Smokies and the Alleghany mountains—all Appalachian to me. The Smokies are smoky looking, owing to the mists and fogs that are always shifting around between valley and summit. Magical to look at if you can take your eyes off the road for a second which you can’t towing a trailer.
Took advantage of the park’s pool the first night and explored Asheville the next two days. Spent a day at the North Carolina Arboretum and took a long, grueling hike after looking at the extensive displays. Came back to the camper and checked on the cats, showered, then went back into town. An outside jam at a small funky bar in West Asheville (WesAsh? WAsh?) which I would have liked if one of the half dozen players had invited Brenda to join in. She had her fiddle case sitting in plain sight on our table not twelve feet from the circle of players but after an hour not one of the musicians had reached out. Brenda would have fit in fine and maybe even have taught them a thing or two. In consolation we had a nice conversation with a couple at the next table who lived in NYC in a neighborhood I know well near St. John’s cathedral. After a while they said they were going to a contra dance and we followed them there. It was in an on old industrial part of the city, a big space with a tacqueria and a bar. Danced a few dances with the other hundred-or-so dancers in the cavernous hot space, had some delish tacos and couple locally-brewed pints, watched some Olympic action, had a nice chat with the bartender. All-in-all a first rate day excepting the lack of courtesy of the local old-time jammers.
Next day we walked all over Asheville’s downtown and spent the evening at an Irish bar featuring a local cajun/zydeco band. (On the steet I spotted the faded remains of a painted NuGrape soda ad on the exterior of a building; a special treat for me. Do yourself a favor and google the NuGrape Twins singing a weird jingle for the product circa 1930.) The evening was made special by some old guys and gals who knew how to two-step to the music. One guy had alligator boots that must have stuck out a good six inches from his toes, coming to a spectacular point, the kind that can kill cockroaches in corners. I still don’t get the dance step but they looked cool doing it.
There seems to be trouble brewing in Asheville. It has grown faster than St Mary’s county in recent years and the newcomers are driving up the cost of living space and the bohemian-types are having to relocate to smaller surrounding towns.
From Asheville we descended into the piedmont region of North Carolina. We took advantage of a cheap campsite at the NC State Fairgrounds in Raleigh. An unremarkable camp with no shade, but the cool thing is we had the run of the fairgrounds which were empty of people. (I recognize this is the second time I have mentioned being enamoured of a place because it lacked humans.) The cop who oversees the place gave me a tour of the whole complex, driving me around the grounds in his police cruiser. We (Brenda and I, that is, not the cop and I, tho we had become close) used the showers in the equestrian section of the fairgrounds. I don’t think Maryland’s state fair can compare to this –stables to house over 300 horses individually, a huge open arena for jumping and cantering or whatever horses do in contests, and an equally huge covered arena for same. It was a strange and beautiful space to wander around it in silence.
Three or four hours then to Nags Head, NC. We were to meet up with our children and their spouses and their children AND our friends and neighbors Donald and Lucy and their children and their respective mates and proto-children, at an oceanfront house. We are giddy at the prospect.