Closed

I suppose the first question to answer is why we failed to blog from Nashville. The answer is two-fold: first, not all that much of interest transpired between Hot Springs Arkansas and Nashville Tennessee (I am just seeing if I get all the double letters right, putting that elementary school education to use - - I am sure you all would be perfectly happy with two-letter state abbreviations.) The second reason is that we were simply trashed, bone-tired and exhausted from long-distance travel. And Nashville made it pretty easy for us to settle into a minimal activity pattern - - after hours of searching for an intelligent place to eat, we reached the conclusion that Nashville, while undoubtedly a fantastic place to discover up and coming talent in a club, is not a particularly evolved food city. So taking the easy way out and walking less than two blocks to the nearby brew pub made sense, especially after checking out the seedy brew pub just one block away, which allows smoking in most of its premises. For our Portland friends, let me just state immediately that our beer industry has nothing to fear from the burgeoning brewpub industry in the Southeast, other than the lack of taste by their clientele. I am not saying that the beer is bad; rather it simply lacks the intensity and subtlety of flavor developed by our brewmasters, perhaps because in the Northwest they have access to a panoply of unique hops and malts to work with. Or maybe we just like our beers with a bit more kick (this is the land, after all, where ‘beer selection’ often amounts to the following list: Bud, Bud Lite, Coors, Coors Lite.)

One of the Hot Springs Bath Houses

Our exhaustion in Nashville started with the trip between Oklahoma City and Hot Springs. Usually moving over to the two lane roads is an enhancement; almost anything is better than the numbness brought on by continuous hours of interstate driving. However, having come from the previously reported enrapturing scenery of Utah, New Mexico and, in part, Arizona, we have borne witness to a rapid decline in natural beauty and stop-worthy sites since leaving Santa Fe. We chose to follow Arkansas Scenic Byway Route  7, touted as one of the most scenic drives in America. Meh. Lots of rolling green hills, which, granted, were more interesting than the not so rolling terrain of Oklahoma. Maybe drive it in the Fall. Maybe it is the best Arkansas can do, but it was lacking by our now highly-refined standards for scenery.

Really Worthwhile BBQ in Memphis

Travel from Hot Springs to Memphis TN, on the way to Nashville, held promise. Little Rock has a very groovy sector called the River Market, which has situated interesting shops, a farmers’ market, restaurants and businesses in old buildings lining the riverfront. It sounded great and fully worthy of a stop. Alas, it was Sunday, and this was the first but not the last place we underestimated the hegemony of businesses in the South when it comes to being closed on the Lord’s Day. The entire market was empty and the lights were out. This did allow us an opportunity to drive by the front of the Clinton Presidential Library, an impressive modern building with a similar lack of activity. The final insult was that our GPS program on the iPhone (more on that in another blog) refused to understand the highway system of Little Rock, so badly that in the end we relied on our eyes and dead reckoning to get us back on the road to Memphis. There things became even more frustrating. First we decided to at least get a glimpse of Graceland. Big, big mistake, not so much because of the zoo scene just to get into it, but rather because it is way the hell out of Memphis on the southwest side, and was a huge time sink.  Our preselected Barbeque Joint turned out to be located equally far away, now in the southeast quadrant of outer Memphis, smack in the middle of an industrial and trucking neighborhood. It was Sunday. Need I say more? CLOSED, and another time sink! This then required triage using the smartphone, although it might have been smarter to just use the telephone and figure out if places were open to begin with; but Andrea cleverly came up with an alternative within minutes and accurately guided us through the deserted neighborhoods and avenues of Memphis (we did pass Sun Records which looked suitably vintage and neon-signed from outside, but did not feel the need for the tour.) The Barbeque Shop did not disappoint, with $4.95 sandwiches redolent with chopped pork or brisket, topped with superior cole slaw and served on Texas Toast or a bun (“Try the Texas Toast, honey, it’s really good” advised the waitress in her finest Tennessee drawl. And so we did. And all was right in the world.) Next we discovered that Beale Street might be interesting for entertainment late at night, but it was the middle of the day, so it mostly appeared to be a place where you could not park on the street, and men were gesticulating energetically trying to get you to park in their $10 lot for the privilege of strolling down a famed avenue where it was Sunday and . . . everything was closed. This rated a U-turn and a request to our GPS to find us the most direct route out of downtown Memphis and back onto the interstate. Alas, Mr. GPS was not up to the task, but by cleverly ignoring it at strategic points and using common sense, we were back on the way to Nashville.

So you could see why, hundreds of miles and many hours later, we were beat, and had little more than a randomly discovered sandwich to show for our day’s travail. Notice the close similarity between “travail” and “travel;” it proves that it can be hard work to vacation.

Sea of Shining White Faces: Cracker Barrel Site

This day began hopefully, with a visit to our second Cracker Barrel restaurant (and Old Country Store,) a huge chain that has a pervasive presence throughout the South and much of the Southwest, mostly at interstate highway interchanges. Since Andrea is officially dieting and I am working on providing positive support, we’ve found that we can spend exactly $6.99 plus tip and tax and feed both of us more than adequately. For this princely sum Cracker Barrel will supply you with two eggs, two pieces of sausage or bacon, a big serving of vanilla lo-fat yogurt loaded with fresh fruit, a tasty and sizeable blueberry muffin, and a little side of house-made granola to add to the yogurt. Andrea and I just divide it up - - eggs and meat for me, plus ½ the muffin; the rest for her. If “Cracker Barrel” sounds like a name that might not appeal to people of color, that might be true. I would have to say that the two we have visited had the most homogeneous white-skinned clientele I’ve ever encountered. This screen shot from their web site pretty well tells the story. But - - they do get credit for making their food in house at each location; using good ingredients; and doing it all with good service and low prices. Not bad for road food. Thanks, Elinor and Rex for that little tip.

Somewhat of a View

Army Corps of Engineers, Hard at Work

Torrential Rain on Blue Ridge

We decided to spice up the trip between Nashville and Asheville with some two-lane driving. The idea was to drop down off the interstate on some scenic roads and then end up on the Blue Ridge Parkway, easily one of the finest roads in the U.S. when it comes to car touring. Our path took us down Tennessee 129 and North Carolina 28, on advice from another friend (Donald.) Turns out these are two of the premier motorcycle roads in the country, and they live up to the hype. Lots of elevation gain; loads of switchbacks, and spectacular runs along, across and above rivers and lakes created by the Tennessee Valley Authority and their towering dams, visible at several points along the way. Traffic was not an issue, yet we were eating up quite a bit of time and it was turning into yet another too-long driving day (made worse by crossing into the Eastern time zone and losing another hour,) but I was determined to take in at least 50 miles of the Blue Ridge Parkway, and after quite a schlep we intersected it for the final run to Asheville. Andrea happened to be driving, and as we turned to go up the ramp to the Parkway, the skies, which had gone from partly cloudy to drizzle and periodic moments of rain, let loose with a torrential waterfall, that went on to the point that visibility was near zero with the wipers beating as frantically as possible. Andrea pulled over and we changed places, and sat for a couple of minutes. Conditions improved, so I took off on the Parkway. The road is quite well marked and, although full of curves, can generally be negotiated at around 45 MPH. In good conditions. We were not so lucky; the torrents returned periodically, followed by moments when it seemed the skies would clear. We’d go to an overlook, only to be thwarted by fog rising from the valleys, veiling the distant mountains and valleys. Finally, near Asheville, we were treated to somewhat clearer vistas, but over all the feeling was one of disappointment, and much energy spent to little avail. 

Contrasting Architectural Styles in Asheville's Downtown

I’ve rambled far too long and at too great a length about these days, but let me quickly finish with a visit to downtown Asheville. This is a town with many brewpubs and ambitious and creative restaurants, plus brunch spots and loads of cute shops. We found a great sounding place called Posana Café. The meal was excellent (especially Andrea’s seared scallops with grits and unique saucing and spicing.) Afterwards we took a stroll and noticed a crowd gathering at a viewing point for fireworks. Andrea had researched this subject, and learned that the city had moved their event to Sunday the 3^rd because the venue was not available today, on the 4^th. But nobody had shared that with the crowd. We were told that the fireworks should start at 9:30PM, so we hung out with the audience for about 20 minutes. By 9:45 we realized that she was right; there was no event, so we walked away. I am not sure at what point the crowd dispersed, or whether by some miracle fireworks happened, because we were beating our way back to our refuge for the night (as we glanced over our shoulder on the way out of town . . .  nada.) Yet another example of things being closed, or the two of us being hopelessly out of sync with the rhythm of life in these parts. Tomorrow, on to the beach.