On the Road: Smokies to Indy

Diary

Up and out of the hotel, continuing north on US 441, climbing the gentle grades into the Smokies. On the south side of Franklin, North Carolina, the first climatic road sign: BRIDGE FREEZES BEFORE ROAD. Not too many of those in Florida. For a mile or two of narrow valley, US 441 is forced to join US 19--the same US 19 that, 600 miles back, Joni and I used to drive through St. Petersburg with the car top off, her jet black hair flying behind against the blue sky. It seems like yesterday; whereas the same US 19 I drove just last Sunday from Homosassa Springs to Crystal River to Inglis to Jena seems years ago.

I've read that 10% of Americans believe we live in a Matrix, an artificial world piped into our nervous systems so perfectly that you believe it is reality. Those poor folks have never visited the Smokies, whose immensity envelopes all the senses. Water below you, rocks beside you, trees and sky overhead all defy words or photography, defy any recording at all save human memory. It can only be experienced and marvelled at in person.

Clingman's Dome was still closed for snow. At Newfound Gap, the gusty, snowpacked divide between North Carolina and Tennessee, children and their fathers threw snowballs at each other. This is sure not the steamy 441 that Tom Petty sang of.

Bypassed Gatlinburg, a useless tourist trap. And since there is no bypass around Action-packed Pigeon Forge's, I spent a sun-baked, exhaust-polluted hour in their perpetual traffic jam, mostly high-rise pickup trucks with no mufflers and beer-swilling rednecks aiming bottle caps down into convertibles. A Hell of 100000 goobers dragging their screaming, defective brats through a day at Dollywood that will cost them a month's salary and marital fights to last the season. The crowded commercial crap extends the entire five miles to Sevierville, terminating only in special double left-turn lanes into a (drum roll, please) Wal-Mart.

On clearing the ridge bordering the Tennessee River, Knoxville appeared suddenly, and very close--its downtown in my face, the golden globe to the left over the 1982 World's Fair site, and farther to the left the University where I worked for three happy years and where Georges still does amazing science. And as backdrop, looming over all the city are Sharp's Ridge and the enormous antennas atop. The mortal terror of all pilots, the most prominent feature on the radar screens at Knoxville's air-traffic control. Driving by on the Interstates, looking up as you drive by on the Interstate, you notice that the antennas oddly don't seem to move. This is because they are much farther away than they appear, and yes, they reach that high.

I stopped by the old house and sneaked a look over the fence across the broad, steep back yard where I used to run with Magic the Wonder Lab. I didn't realize then that, impoverished as that life was, it would hold some of my life's happiest days. I thought I was just living.

Of course since I decided to leave Florida for a third time, I've worried about whether I could be happy where trees lose their leaves, where I have to put on long-sleeved shirts in the summer and coats in the winter. But driving through Tennessee I remember how supremely happy I was here, how little I cared that it snowed, and how kind the people are...and right now, looking about my happy old stomping grounds, I feel silly for depending so singularly, so short-sightedly upon Florida for prospects of happiness.

Finally reached the north terminus of US 441--a huge disappointment. No marker at all, you're just dumped in the middle of a strech of US 25W jammed with fast food joints. For this noble highway stretching from Miami, this is an unworthy, ignominious end.

I noticed the headquarters of Wild Flavors, a competitor of my new company. The Wild bunch appear to work directly under the departure path of Cincinnati airport. Perhaps the stench of the jumbo jets' kerosene exhaust explains the quality of Wild's flavors.

The sun set in my eyes as I approached Indianapolis. The sky was Midwest-crystal-clear, and in the pink sky I counted seven jet contrails crossing each other. You never see that in humid Florida air.

Looping around Indy, I read a billboard: Loosest sluts in Indiana. Of course, on rereading it was a casino advertising the Loosest slots in Indiana. Sleep deprivation will do that. I shook my head and hoped I could stay awake those last few miles.

Dinner with my friends Michael and Meggo (excellent chicken cacciatore, Michael!), and then a few hours of sorely-needed sleep.