Sheep on Road

Last Year's View (12/3/2011)

What the sign actually says is "Sheep on Road Next 1 Mile."  It's an electric signboard where someone can change the message, and the power comes from the sun.  For as long as I can remember, it's read just what it said this afternoon.  Usually there are no sheep on the road.  Occasionally there will be one or two.  Last winter, my cousin Ron and I slowed down to follow a pair of rams walking at a leisurely pace down the middle of the west-bound lane.  Oh, did I mention we're talking about Montana Highway 200, between Wild Horse Plains and Thompson Falls?  And the sheep in question are Rocky Mountain Big Horn Sheep (Ovis canadensis canadensis).  The sheep are manifest, blatantly taking their space in the narrow canyons between the Clark Fork River and the rock walls along the north side of the highway.  There are at least three sections of road between Plains and Thompson where you are likely to see sheep, and only on rare occasions have I traveled the twenty-five miles without seeing sheep somewhere along the road.

The View West from Lower Lynch Creek Road

This morning Kevin and I drove into Thompson (the Sanders County Seat) to pay the taxes on our new home, check on employment possibilities with the Sanders County Sheriff's Office (for Kevin, not me), and pick up some groceries so I can use up the Thanksgiving leftovers.  It was a beautiful morning, blue skies, sunshine, hoar frost on the trees, low clouds rising off the river, in short--a great day for a drive.  I always intend to have my camera ready, but I have to admit, that more times than not, the camera ends up left on my desk in the library at home, and I find myself staring at absolutely gorgeous scenes with no way to share them.  No so today.

After stopping at the Post Office to pick up any new mail, then hitting Sinclair for Kevin's morning Pepsi, we turned the big red wagon toward the West, and headed to Thompson Falls.  Now the way I direct people to our new home is by telling them to drive west through Plains (Wild Horse Plains, to give it the full and proper name), drive past the bank, past the hospital, past the dinosaurs (yes, there are three concrete dinosaurs next to the highway), then at milepost 75, turn right onto Lower Lynch Creek Road.  After three and a half miles heading north, you'll come to a junction with a poorly designed road sign.  That is the sign shows the names of both roads, but doesn't indicate which road is which.  Take the left fork onto High Country Road and climb the hill for roughly 9/10s of a mile.  At that point, there will be another fork, and this time you take the right fork onto Baldy View Road.  Baldy is the mountain that rises directly behind the town of Hot Springs,  about eightteen miles north of Plains.  If Hot Springs claims the face of Baldy, I guess we view the back side.

Baldy, as seen from Montana Highway 200

A little further west on 200 and you're in the canyon so loved by the sheep.  This canyon extends most of the way to Thompson Falls, with a few sections where the valley floor might be a mile wide.  Most of the way, the mountains come down to the river on the south, and climb right back up on the north. Often there are rock faces, and these are where the sheep live.  There are several places along the highway where I long to get out with my camera in hand, but places to pull off the highway are few and far between.  One of these days, however...

For this trip, I was content to set my camera on Shutter priority in order to beat the highway speed Kevin was driving, and I took my shots through the windshield and side windows of the truck.  I'm not complaining, although usually I am not happy with the results when I try this trick.  In the past, however, I've kept the camera on Aperture Priority, and often end up with very blurred foregrounds.

The River, the Railroad, the Highway, and the Mountains Beyond

In Thompson Falls, we stopped at the Court House and paid our property taxes.  Kevin tried to catch up with a colleague in the Sheriff's Office, unsuccessfully, and we headed to Genki for lunch.  Genki is an "Asian Fusion" restaurant, which means, as near as I can tell, that the menu is a mixture of Japanese and Chinese dishes, as are the decorations on the wall.  Kevin and I both had the daily special "A" which consisted of a cup of egg drop soup, a serving of shrimp and veggie tempura (one shrimp, one slice of yam, one slice of zucchini), a serving of sweet and sour chicken, and a ball of rice which served as the East China Sea separating Japan and China, at least gastronomically.  I'm not normally a fan of egg drop soup, but this was quite tasty, easily the best I've had.  The tempura and chicken were both very good, and I left pleased with my meal.  I have no idea how such a restaurant will survive in meat and potatoes Thompson Falls, but I wondered the same thing about the restaurant that used to reside in exactly the same location.  Years ago, my friend Vaun Stevens and I drove to Thompson for the simple reason that Montana Magazine had reviewed a restaurant there and named it one of the best in Montana.  I cannot at this point summon the name of that place, but I'll never forget the experience of walking in, sitting down, and having the owner ask what we wanted--refusing to give us a menu as he didn't want to limit our choices.  I no longer remember what either of us ordered, but I do remember the meal was superb, and I also remember a special treat that the owner set down before us.  Sliced strawberries in a brown liquid that he identified only after we praised the dish.  That was my introduction to Balsamic vinegar.  I asked him at the time how he planned on surviving in Thompson Falls, Montana, with a choice of entrees that would please the most jaded big city palate.  I didn't ask the folks at Genki that question, but I do wish them well.

The Thompson River at Montana Highway 200

On the way home, I grabbed a quick shot of the Thompson River, just barely catching the river in the frame as I aimed my camera past Kevin out the driver's side window of the pickup. I set the camera on the floor, content to ride home enjoying the day.  The sun was not in a spot conducive to good photography, and besides, I figured I had a nice selection of shots already.

What the sign actually says is "Sheep on Road Next 1 Mile."  It's an electric signboard where someone can change the message, and the power comes from the sun.  For as long as I can remember, it's read just what it said this afternoon.  Usually there are no sheep on the road.  Occasionally there will be one or two.  This afternoon, what the sign should have said was "Sheep on Road Immediately In Front of Your Truck and Before You Ever Actually Reach This Sign."  Kevin hit the brakes as the five sheep, three rams and a couple of ewes, raced across the road directly in front of us.  At one point, all I could see was the tail end of a sheep so close to the hood of the truck I have no idea why we didn't hit it.  But we didn't, and I guess that's what really counts.  It doesn't matter that it all happened so quickly that I didn't have time to pick up the camera and shoot the damn sheep!

P.S. If you're coming to visit, and I really wish you would, once you turn off High Country onto Baldy View, you'll drive a short ways till you see a road leading off to the left with a street sign reading Kay Wood Dr.  Turn onto Kay Wood and proceed to the end of the road. That's where you'll find us--the only house on the street and clear at the end.  The door is open and the light is on.  Ya'll come!

The Second Sunday Drive, End of the Road

 

The Magnetic Valley Resort

Eureka Springs, Arkansas

Walking at night along the meadow way,
Home from the dance beside my sweetheart* gay,
Walking at night along the meadow way,
Home from the dance beside my sweetheart gay! Hey!
Stodola, stodola, stodola pumpa
Stodola pumpa, stodola pumpa
Stodola, stodola, stodola pumpa
Stodola pumpa, pum pum pum
--Czech folk song as we sang it at church camp*

I found many versions of Stodola Pumpa on YouTube, perhaps the most intriguing being a Korean men's choir singing it in barely understandable English, the most charming being a group of small children playing it on their violins at a music camp in Hot Springs, Arkansas (shades of Suzuki Violin Camp).  But only one version used the same lyrics I remember from my childhood, and that's this one played and loaded by kaburto1966.  Curiously, there don't seem to be any versions that give the lyrics in the original Czech.  Sorry, Mark.

(OK, I know you really want to hear the Arkansas kids playing it on their violins. Click here for that.)

We woke on the morning of September 5th to the news that we would have to return home.  A friend was having trouble with the police and needed us immediately, if not sooner.  Having packed the car, we said good-bye to our hosts, Alvin and Charley, at the Magnetic Valley Resort, and headed north into Missouri, stopping at Cassville for breakfast.  While we ate breakfast, Kevin was able to get in touch with our lawyer and was told the problem had been resolved.  We turned around and headed back to Eureka Springs as we had wanted to spend another full day at the resort, enjoying its pool and the company of the handsome men who came as day visitors.  (There was only one other overnight guest staying at the resort.)  Our original plan had been to spend two nights at Magnetic Valley, then head west into Oklahoma, possibly dip down into Texas, then return home via Kansas and Colorado, until we reached Denver and I-25 which would take us north into Wyoming and merge with I-90 for the rest of the trip home.  I had made reservations to stay at a gay campground (Circle J) in the Dallas area, but as we headed to Cassville, I called and cancelled those reservations.  I had met the owners of Circle J while staying at Roseland, and was looking forward to seeing them again in their home environment.  Oh well, that will wait for a subsequent trip.

 

In case you couldn't tell, this is the Missouri State Line

 Back at Magnetic Valley Resort, we spent the day in and by the pool.  A variety of men ranging in age from their 20s up into their 70s came by for a while to sit beside the pool or play in it.  The weather was beautiful, not too hot, but pleasant enough to warrant remaining suit-free.  Even Kevin, who normally won't consider stripping down, was naked in the pool.  

As we learned, a group of these men get together every Wednesday for Prayer Meeting (at least I think that's what they call it).  Instead of going to church, they meet for dinner at an area restaurant, and we were invited to join them.  This evening, dinner was to be at a Thai place in Eureka Springs, and ten of us enjoyed a very pleasant evening and terrific food.  One of the men present actually spoke Thai, and we listened in as he and the waiter discussed the dishes.  At least I assume that's what they were discussing.  My Thai is non-existent.  They could have been saying anything at all--or even just jibberish.

 

Table Rock Lake, Missouri/Arkansas

Back at the Resort, I stayed by the pool enjoying the company of our host Charley, while Kevin returned to our room in the Dudeplex, one of the buildings accommodating guests at the Resort.  Around nine p.m.  Kevin appeared at the end of the pool and called me away from Charley.  We had to leave immediately, he said.  Apparently all was not well in Missoula, and regardless of what our lawyer had told us while we were having breakfast, the police were not done with our friend.  In fact, they had arrested him, taken him to the Detention Facility in Missoula, and left Kevin's Expedition, which our friend had been driving at the time, on the side of the road.  What was worse than the situation with Kevin's car was that our friend had been house and dog sitting, and now there was no one taking care of our kids while we gallivanted around the country.

  

Holiday Island, Arkansas

We packed the Saab for the second time that day, and once again bid adieu to our hosts.  Heading north in the dark, we left Eureka Springs, once again drove through Holiday Island, Arkansas, crossed into Missouri, crossed Table Rock Lake (I'm so glad I got my pictures earlier in the day), and drove back to Cassville.  North of Cassville, we caught a major highway which took us past Kansas City and St. Joseph, until we crossed into Iowa.  We bypassed Council Bluffs (and by extension, Omaha Nebraska which is right across the river), continuing north to Sioux City where we crossed into South Dakota.  The sun came up somewhere around Sioux Falls, and by now we were on I-90 heading west toward home.

It feels like it takes forever to cross South Dakota on I-90, and it didn't help that we'd been driving all night after having a full day in Arkansas.  I don't recall when are where we stopped for food and gas, but at a rest area along the way, I asked about the fires in southeastern Montana.  When I had left, much of Powder River County was in flames, and I wasn't sure if we'd be able to make it home taking our usual route.  I was assured that there was no longer any real danger of being delayed by fire, but construction was causing significant delays on US 212.  As a result, we chose to stay on I-90 crossing northern Wyoming.

Dinner Thursday evening was at our favorite truck stop outside of Laurel, Montana, still over three hundred miles from home.  By the time we reached Missoula, we had been driving for twenty-five hours, with stops only for food and gasoline.  We had driven over 1,600 miles since leaving Eureka Springs, and over 6,000 miles by rail and Saab since leaving Missoula over a month earlier.  I certainly got a feel for how my new car behaved on a variety of roads and under various conditions.  Much as I enjoyed the trip, it was good to be home, and waiting for the next adventure.

 

The Pool at Magnetic Valley Resort

*The words, as we sang them at church camp said "maiden gay," but "sweetheart gay" seemed more appropriate to me under the circumstances.

 The Second Sunday Drive, Day 34

 

A Kudzu Covered Landscape

Western Mississippi

Many years have passed, the trav'lers gay,
Repeat the tune along the highway;
And every voice that sings the glad refrain
Re-echoes from the mountains to the fields of growing grain.

--Music by Colonel Sanford C. "Sandy" Faulkner, lyrics by a committee!

 To hear Bill Monroe play the Arkansas Traveler, click here.

Now the lyrics above are not the lyrics I learned as a child, although under the circumstances they seemed appropriate.  For you old fogies, like me, who remember things a little differently, the words I learned went:

Oh, once upon a time in Arkansas,
An old man sat in his little cabin door
And fiddled at a tune that he liked to hear,
A jolly old tune that he played by ear.

  On Monday evening, Yelp had helped us find Stromboli's and, as I noted in my previous post, the best pizza ever (even Kevin thought so).  Tuesday morning, however, was not as promising.  The earliest opening I found on Yelp was 11:00 and that was way too late for us to have breakfast.  We asked at the front desk as we checked out, and were given the options of Huddle House and Waffle House.  The desk clerk had a definite preference, and for the second day in a row we had breakfast at Waffle House, albeit in a different state than the day before.

After breakfast, Kevin met with the owner of MFJ Enterprises, and filled the back seat of the Saab with catalogs from that amateur radio accessories manufacturer.  He also put in a plastic bag with two MFJ coffee mugs--something I learned only when I heard what I thought was glass breaking behind me.  I had visions of West Virginia wine staining the carpeting, but no, it was the empty coffee mugs, and they didn't even break.

 

Cotton Fields, West Central Mississippi

The last time I traveled through Mississippi, I was riding the train.  In 1999, I attended the winter convention of New Image International which was held in Birmingham, Alabama.  As I had some vacation time saved up and had never ridden the train in the United States, I decided to take Amtrak to Birmingham and back.  My choice of itinerary meant taking the Empire Builder from Whitefish, Montana to Chicago, Illinois, the same train on which I started this Second Sunday Drive.  But the winter conference was in the middle of January, and there was no leaving the station once we got to Chicago.  Way too cold. At Chicago I boarded the City of New Orleans and headed south across Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee, Mississippi and finally Louisiana.  There was an overnight in New Orleans, which troubled Amtrak no end.  When I booked my tickets, the clerk kept trying to change my mind.  From Chicago I should take the Capitol Limited to D.C., then change to the Southern Crescent to reach my final destination of Birmingham.  When I insisted that I wanted to take the City of New Orleans, the clerk despaired.  "You'll have to spend the night in New Orleans."  I replied that there are worse things than spending a night in New Orleans, and indeed changed my itinerary to spend two nights in the Big Easy.

The City of New Orleans crosses Mississippi on a north-south route, and you see a lot of the state.  Even in the wintertime, you cross the state during daylight hours, and I have to say that my impression of the Magnolia State was not good.  This was the ugliest place I've ever seen.  From New Orleans to Birmingham, I took the Southern Crescent, at that time an older train where the cars were only one level and the seating was just above the rails.  (Both the Empire Builder and the City of New Orleans used newer, two level cars where you rode one level above the tracks.)  The route took us across Lake Pontchartrain and into Mississippi near the town of Picayune, then past Hattiesburg and Meridian before crossing into Alabama.  I felt that I had seen quite a bit of Mississippi and was not impressed.  It didn't help that our train broke down somewhere between Hattiesburg and Meridian and we sat in silence on the tracks for about half an hour.

Crossing the state by car, I was able to see a different, and greener, side of Mississippi.  Can't say that I have a much better impression of that state, but c'est la vie.  The one question I can't answer is how anyone lives in such a hot and humid climate.  When we asked natives, the response we got was invariably, "This isn't so bad."

 

The Mississippi River

Helena, Arkansas

We turned off U.S. 82 heading north on Interstate 55.  Past Batesville (of the Batesville Casket Company), we left the Interstate and drove west on Mississippi 315 until we reached the Big Muddy, the Mississippi River itself.  Crossing into Arkansas, we stopped at the Arkansas Visitor Center at Helena where I was offered a packet of brochures, maps and advertisements for various attractions throughout "the Natural State."  When I told the hostess that we were headed for Eureka Springs, she expressed amazement that we would try to get so far in one day--undoubtedly dismayed that we wouldn't be spending more time (and money) as Arkansas travelers.

Kevin did have another stop in mind.  A ham radio shop in DeWitt, Arkansas had caught his attention on the web, so from Helena we drove south and west to the seat of Arkansas County.  Over the phone, the shop owner told Kevin that he would probably be disappointed by his store, and when we got there, we found a small ham business tied in with a satellite tv operation.  While Kevin talked with the store owner, I stayed in the car reading.  By the time Kevin returned to the car, it was pushing 2 p.m. and I was past being ready for lunch.  Turning to Yelp again, I found a café across from the county court house, and that's where we headed.  The café was closed, as was every other food establishment we saw.  A UPS delivery man explained that he carried his lunch with him because "These folks eat lunch at noon, and then the restaurants close until dinner time."  Out by the main highway we found a Sonic and a Subway, and opted for the Subway because I wasn't ready to bring food into my new car.

 
Driving Interstate 40 into the Ozarks

From DeWitt, we drove north through  Stuttgart, catching Interstate 40 which let us skirt Little Rock as we continued north and west across the state.  Bypassing Conway, Russellville and Clarksville, we left the interstate to drive north on Arkansas 23.  We were finally in the Ozarks and this road could give some West Virginia highways a run for their money.  Kevin was driving and got to find out just how well the Saab handled in such situations.  There were a few times he passed trucks crossing double yellow lines to do so, but had he not passed the slow-moving behemoths, we might still be on 23. 

Once in Eureka Springs, we found Magnetic Road and Nancy led us right to the artists' entrance to the Ozark Passion Play.  This was not quite what we were looking for, but continuing on up the road, we found our lodging for the night, checked in, unpacked the car, and moved to the pool area where we visited with our hosts.  The day involved over 500 miles crossing two states, and had taken well over the nine hours that Mapquest suggests. 

 

An Ozark Mountain Farm

Near Huntsville, Arkansas

The Second Sunday Drive, Day 33

Parked in front of our cabin

Bluff Creek Falls, Steele Alabama

Everybody movin’ if they ain’t already there
Everybody got to move somewhere
Stick with me baby, stick with me anyhow
Things should start to get interestin' right about now

                 --Words and Music by Bob Dylan

To hear the Dixie Chicks' version of Bob Dylan's song, Mississippi, click here.

We rose early Monday morning, Labor Day, having spent the night listening to Isaac's rain beating down on the metal roof of our cabin.  I felt sorry for the guys who were tenting.  While Kevin packed up the car, I wandered through the campground and got some pics to remember the place by.  We never made it into the pool, nor did we visit the evening campfire, but we had a good time anyway, and it was now time to head on down the road.

Interstate 59 took us into and through Birmingham, and while I had wanted to photograph Vulcan in all his unclad glory, I wasn't just sure where to get off the highway, so we passed on through the city.  For those of you who don't know Birmingham, let me assure you that the world's largest cast iron statue is not showing full frontal nudity.  He is wearing a blacksmith's apron, but he moons the residential area of the city that lies behind him.  I'd seen the statue, front and rear, the last (and only previous) time I'd been in Birmingham, back in 1999.  At that time, I was attending the winter conference of New Image International, held over the three-day Martin Luther King holiday.  What a time to be in the Deep South.  As it turns out, the Ku Klux Klan held a rally in protest of the holiday, and where did they hold it?  Exactly midway between our downtown hotel and the Birmingham-Jefferson County Convention Complex where we were meeting.  What fun.  What had been a pleasant four block walk on Saturday turned into a harrowing mile-long drive to get around the police barricades.  It reminded me of my college days.

 

 

The Pool at Bluff Creek Falls

(Note how wet the deck is--thank you Isaac)

 

This three-day holiday weekend, Kevin and I drove unmolested through the city, never getting off the interstate, until we decided it was time (past time, actually) for breakfast.  Waffle House is ubiquitous throughout the South, and that's where we ended up, in one of Birmingham's southwestern suburbs.  I mentioned to the waitress that Kevin had never eaten at a Waffle House, and she promptly brought out a WH hat for him to wear.  I think he's still got it somewhere.

After breakfast, we continued on I-59 to Tuscaloosa, where we drove through the city on Lurleen B Wallace Boulevard, crossing the city till we turned onto U.S. 82 heading west.  Tuscaloosa is the home of the University of Alabama--the Crimson Tide--and has many streets named for famous people, not all of them football heroes.  For example, there is also a Helen Keller Boulevard, a Jack Warner Parkway, and a Paul W. Bryant Drive.

 

 

Heading west across Alabama

 

Heading west from Tuscaloosa, we passed miles of farmland, and miles of Kudzu covered landscape.  We crossed into Mississippi heading for Starkville, home of Mississippi State University and MFJ Enterprises, "the world leaders in amateur radio accessories," according to the souvenir mug I have before me.  As Kevin is a ham (amateur) radio operator, I leave it to you to figure out just why we had driven so many miles out of our way home.  As it was Labor Day, we couldn't visit MFJ, so after we found their offices, we checked into the Days Inn on Veterans' Memorial Drive.  What is it with these southern cities?  Can't they just use letters and numbers to name their streets?  As we were leaving the front desk, we noticed the sign advising us that the pool was closed for repairs.  The temperature was approaching 100 degrees and the humidity was right up there with the temp.  A closed pool was not a good sign.

 

 

Welcome to Mississippi

 

We didn't do much in the way of sightseeing while in Starkville, opting instead to stay in our air-conditioned room.  We did, however, head to Stromboli's for dinner, having found the place on my iPhone's Yelp app.  The place was packed, to the extent that we had to wait for a table.  I couldn't help but notice that we were old enough to be the grandfathers of most of the clientele.  Well, this is a college town and we were in a pizza place.  But the owner(?) who greeted us was very friendly, and took our order before we ever got a table so that the wait was minimized when we were finally seated.  And the pizza?  I can say right now that it is bar none the best pizza I have ever had.  Can't say I recommend travel to or through Mississippi, especially not in the summer, but should you find yourself in Starkville, by all means visit Stromboli's.

Later that evening, Kevin and I walked about a block from our motel to enjoy an evening ice cream, then it was bedtime.  We had driven less than 200 miles from Steele, Alabama to Starkville, making this one of the shorter days of the drive.

 

Hail State

Mississippi State University

The Second Sunday Drive, Day 32

 

Downtown Cincinnati

(as seen from Interstate 71)

When you hear the whistle blowin' eight to the bar
Then you know that Tennessee is not very far
Shovel all the coal in
Gotta keep it rollin'
Woo, woo, Chattanooga there you are

- words by Mack Gordon, music by Harry Warren

To hear Glenn Miller and his band play Chattanooga Choo Choo, click here.  

 

Kevin has spent time as a long-haul trucker (as any of you who read my posts about riding in the big rig can attest).  For long-haul truckers, the Eisenhower Interstate Highway System has been a God send.  With Kevin in the car, it was no longer a matter of twisting, turning back country roads.  Now we were dealing with miles to cover and how to get to the next destination in the most efficient way.  Nancy's shortest gave way to fastest, in other words.  Well, for the most part.

After the complimentary hotel breakfast, we turned right onto Hamilton Road and left onto I-70, a block north of the hotel.  Nancy (and Mapquest, I might add) wanted us to turn left on Hamilton and take city streets to some point south and west where we would catch I-71.  Instead, we drove west into the center of Columbus where we bore left onto I-71 heading toward Cincinnati, the Ohio River and Kentucky.

We did have a new traveling companion on this leg of the drive.  Hurricane Isaac had hit land a couple of days earlier, devastating the Louisiana lowlands, and moving up the Mississippi River.  By Sunday, September 2, the middle of Labor Day Weekend, Isaac had been downgraded but was pelting the Ohio River Valley with torrential rains.  The storm's path was wide, and we had heard thunder during the night in Columbus.  Most of the day's drive would be in rainy, and sometimes windy conditions.  It was not a day for stopping, admiring the scenery and getting out the camera.

 

A Kentucky Barn

(Near Berea, Kentucky)

We crossed the Ohio, passing from Cincinnati to Covington, Kentucky, home of the Cincinnati airport  (now you know why your luggage tags for Cincinnati are marked CVG--CoVinGton), and continued south across Kentucky on I-75 toward Lexington.  I've spent many a pleasant day in Lexington, and wouldn't have minded getting off the highway to visit  Joseph Beth Booksellers or have lunch at Joe's Crab Shack, but it was not to be.   We also passed by Berea, Kentucky, a place I have wanted to visit for many, many years.  As we drove into London, we saw a sign for Biker's Leathers, and decided that maybe, just maybe, it was time to get off the road for a bit.  Ah yes, it was Sunday of Labor Day Weekend and the leather outlet was closed.  But the truckstop restaurant next door, the one with the huge sign reading "Home Cooking" was open and it was lunch time, more or less.  

The restaurant gave us the choice of getting in line for the steam table buffet or sitting at a booth and having a waitress bring us a menu.  We choose the latter option, and when our waitress arrived at the table, Kevin asked if the sign was correct.  As the walls were covered with signs, the poor woman didn't know what to say until Kevin pointed out the large one reading "It's all good!"  She assured us that it was.  Now I have to admit, I never actually heard her say "Kiss My Grits," but if Florence Jean Castleberry had a human model, it was surely our waitress.

With an order each of Pork Chop Sandwiches in our bellies, we climbed back into the Saab and continued south through the Daniel Boone National Forest and into Tennessee.  Just north of Knoxville, the rain, which had been intermittent all day long, became torrential.  I don't recall ever seeing a rain as heavy, and as I could no longer see the road nor any of the traffic on the road, I became very nervous--not the best state for a driver on the Interstate.  I pulled off the highway and let Kevin take over as he claimed he could see the road.

 

A Rainy I-75 in northern Tennessee

It would get much, much worse

Passing through Knoxville, the weather alternated between heavy rain and overcast, but dry conditions.  Some stretches of the highway actually seemed dry, but then, in a quarter mile or so, we'd be back in the rain.  It reminded me of the Montana saying, "If you don't like the weather, wait five minutes."  

At Chattanooga, we missed the opportunity to see (and ride) the Choo-Choo, but left I-75 for I-24 heading west.   Now one of the things I like to capture through the windshield is any sign indicating that we were crossing into a new state.  But I had been relying on Nancy and didn't have a Tennessee map, so the sign saying "We're Glad You're in a Georgia State of Mind" flew by before I could get my camera up and ready.  I mean really, the last milepost I had seen indicated that we still had over one hundred miles of I-24 in Tennessee.  I missed the fact that the road dipped into Georgia, then curved back north into Tennessee to head on to Nashville and points north and west.  We, however, wouldn't as we turned onto I-59 toward Birmingham.

 

 

A Knoxville, Tennessee, residential district

If Interstate 75 is one of the longest sections of the system, running from southern Florida to Sault Sainte Marie on the Michigan/Ontario border, Interstate 59 is one of the shorter sections.  Designed to connect Birmingham, Alabama with New Orleans to the South and Chattanooga to the north, it never actually enters Tennessee due to that dip in I-24.

There are only three Georgia exits from I-59, and we passed each of them, heading into Alabama.  Kevin offered to turn around so I could get the Georgia sign from the southern side, but I said thanks, but no thanks.  We were headed for Bluff Creek Falls, a gay men's campground outside of Steele, Alabama, and I was worried that we might be running out of time.  

I had called Bluff Creek Falls earlier in the morning, asking about the possibility of getting a cabin for the night.  It was Labor Day Weekend, after all, and I wouldn't have been at all surprised to find them full up.  On the other hand, Isaac had been playing havoc with people's travel plans for the past week, and I could always hope for the best.  When I called, I was told that at present the campground was full, but I could call back after noon.  We were still on eastern time and Alabama is in the central time zone, so by noon C.D.T. we would be quite far south.  I was pleasantly surprised when a couple hours after my initial call, my phone rang and a man asked if I had called earlier about a reservation.  Indeed I had, and they now had an opening, in Papa Don's cabin.  I quickly reserved it and we had driven south knowing that we had a place for the night.  

I did have some unanswered questions, however.  Some gay campgrounds have cabins that are more like hotel accommodations, and some are more primitive.  A few are like Roseland and have both.  I wasn't sure what would be the case with Bluff Creek, nor did I know if they had any facilities serving meals or selling food.  As we drove south through northern Alabama, these questions became critical.  Best to call and ask, I guessed, and that's what I did.  For future reference, if you're staying at Bluff Creek, bring your own bedding.  Ditto on the food.  We pulled off I-59 at Gadsden, told Nancy to find us a WalMart, and ended up purchasing an entire bedding ensemble, complete with four pillows.  We needed queen-sized sheets for the campground, and knowing that our guest room bed at home also takes that size, I rationalized the purchase as getting an extra set for guests.  We also needed to eat before getting to the campground, so I called On Star and asked if there were a Popeye's or KFC nearby.  Indeed there was--right next to the WalMart parking lot, so Kevin was initiated into Popeye's chicken.

Once at Bluff Creek, we were quickly made to feel part of the family as it were, and once we had made up our bed, we were welcomed into the community and passed a very enjoyable evening.  For the day, we had driven almost 575 miles and had been on the road for close to twelve hours.  I thought this was one of the longest days we would spend on the road.  Boy was I mistaken.

 

 North Georgia's Southern Appalachians

From I-59

The Second Sunday Drive, Day 31

 

"A Winding Road That Beckons Me to Roam"

Ohio 536, Monroe County

All things, they say, must end, and by the first of September, I knew it was time to go home.  After returning from Evansville, I left Sharon in Parkersburg to catch up on her chores, and headed back to Roseland for a final day with Ron.  On Saturday morning, September 1^st, I packed up the Saab, asked Nancy to plot a course to Columbus, Ohio, and said good-bye to West Virginia, Roseland, and Ron.

Nancy gave me two choices, the shortest and the fastest.  As the shortest was a series of back roads with lots of twists and turns, and the fastest was almost entirely made up of Interstate 70, I chose the former.  This led me back down the mountain to New Martinsville, where I crossed the Ohio and turned, briefly, onto Ohio 7 to Hannibal.  At Hannibal, I left the river behind and climbed up a road every bit as twisting as the one I had driven down on the West Virginia side.  Ohio 536 has been reviewed as a great motorcycle ride, and it was great fun in the Saab.  I sure wouldn’t want to have my F250 with the Lance Camper on this road.

After about twelve miles, 536 dead-ends into Ohio 78, and I turned toward Woodsfield, the seat of Monroe County.  The impressive court house in the center of town is clearly marked “County Court House,” but unlike any other such building I’ve seen, you have to look carefully to find out which county.  A ground-floor door on the left side of the structure’s front says “Monroe County Prosecutor’s Office,” but even the brass plaque which tells us that the building was “erected in 1907-1908” and gives the names of the members of the Building Commission, is labeled with just two words, “Court House.” According to Mapquest, I had just covered 37.6 miles, and that should have taken me over an hour.  Sounds about right for the day.

"County Court House"

Woodsfield, Ohio

 

From Woodsfield, I continued on Ohio 78, past Lewisville and its Buchanan Presbyterian Church, taking a variety of back roads out of Monroe and across Noble County.  I missed the Noble seat of Caldwell, and crossed under Interstate 77 on my way to Chandlersville.  Just after crossing into Muskingum County, I passed The Wilds—a name which meant nothing to me at the time.  I have since learned that The Wilds is one of the largest privately owned non-profit conservation centers in the country.  Covering almost 10,000 acres of reclaimed mining lands, The Wilds has as its mission “To advance conservation through science, education and personal experience.”  The more I read about the place, the more I’m convinced that next time I have to add it to my schedule.

I finally joined the modern highway world at Zanesville, seat of Muskingum County and second capital of Ohio.  From October 1, 1810 to May 1, 1812, Ohio’s business was conducted from a building on the site of the present county court house.  Other than this nineteen month period, the state capital was Chillicothe from statehood in 1803 until 1816 when the capital was moved to the center of the state, i.e. Columbus.  I had now covered ninety-nine miles through Ohio’s back country, and the road on to Columbus would be a mere forty-nine miles covered in as many minutes on the Interstate.

 

Buchanan Presbyterian Church

Established 1826

Columbus is not only Ohio’s largest city, but also the state capital.  It is almost exactly in the geographic center of the state, which makes it convenient for all to reach.  Once there, drivers have a choice of many different spur and ring roads to speed them through the city, around the city, or to their destination in the city.  I had reserved a room at the Hawthorne Suites—Airport, which was just a block off the interstate, but, as it turned out, over five miles from the airport where I was to pick up Kevin at 10:30 that evening.  With several hours to kill, I settled in to a very nice hotel suite, and looked for someplace interesting to have dinner.  As I looked, I couldn’t help notice that I was not in the most upscale neighborhood.  Just next door to the Hawthorne Suites was an abandoned Howard Johnsons and there were many blocks in the neighborhood that were just empty lots.  Turning to Yelp, I found a west African restaurant nearby, but when I found the place, the restaurant had closed.  My cheap gas app showed the lowest prices at a nearby independent station, but they didn’t have a blend with an octane rating high enough for the Saab, and to get the cheapest price, you had to pay cash—which I didn’t have, well not enough to pay for a tank of high-test gas.

Heading back up Hamilton Road toward an Ethiopian restaurant mentioned in Yelp, I saw a seafood place over on the right.  At this point, fried shrimp sounded better than kitfo and injere, so I pulled into the parking lot and ordered my dinner.

 

An Eastern Ohio Farm

What I should have done was drive out to the airport and make sure I could find the terminal.  The hotel desk clerk had told me that it was just fifteen minutes up Hamilton Road, and I gave myself a half hour to get there.  Kevin’s flight, of course, was quite early, and he called as I was on the way.  Actually he texted me.  Had he called, I would have been able to talk to him through the car’s sound system as my phone was linked via Bluetooth to the car.  But text messages are another matter, and there was no way I was going to try to read and respond to his text while driving a new car on an unfamiliar road in the dark. 

When I did get to the airport, neither Nancy’s directions nor the airport’s signs got me to the terminal.  Instead, I found myself driving through the airport grounds and back onto one of the interstate spurs that would take me into central Columbus.  Getting off at the first exit, I managed to make a series of u-turns that eventually got me headed back toward the airport.  Turns out the signs for the terminal are quite clear, when you come in from the west.  From Hamilton Road, it was a different matter. 

Kevin was standing on the curb in front of the terminal, and he jumped in the car so we could head back to our hotel.  I was so glad to see him.  As it was now past eleven at night, we filled up the car’s gas tank, got to our room and crashed for the night.

 

The Muskingum County Court House

Zanesville, Ohio