FINAL PUSH

Into Arizona and more cones.  I would love to have the contract to supply these things to the states.  We’ve passed thousands of them across the country.  At least these are set back from the traffic lane.  In other places, they’re so close on the right that you’re threading the needle between them and the barrier, for miles and miles and miles.

If we thought New Mexico was high, Arizona . . . well, topped it.  We did a gradual climb and by the time we got close to Flagstaff we were cruising for a long time above 7,000 feet.  The scenery was Western gorgeous.

And now a qualified apology to KOA.  We virtually never stay at KOA’s as they are almost always grossly overpriced, regardless of amenities.  However, we decided to try the one in Flagstaff and it turned out to be rather quaint.  We opted for a no-sewer “back-in” site to save a couple of bucks, and found ourselves back in tent-land. 

This was a nice break from the “big-rig-friendly” parks that were the norm for much of our trip.  This place was full of families in their tents, with kids everywhere having a great time.  It brought back lots of memories of our decades of tent-camping.  But we weren’t swept away by nostalgia.  Even as we watched all of the activity, we appreciate our refrigerator instead of ice chests, our stove, oven & microwave instead of a Coleman grill, and a nice queen bed instead of a bedroll on the ground.  It was a nice, old-timey park.

We got our best gas mileage of the trip yesterday, as we descended from that high plateau country down here to the Colorado River.  We spent last night here at the Avi Casino Resort RV Park,

which also happens to be a KOA franchise.  But this is the cheapest one we’ve ever seen.  $20 for full hookups, and you get access to the resort’s pool and other amenities.  Since it was 105 degrees yesterday, we took advantage of that and spent a couple of hours submerged.  This was a lively place with the 20-something set, with a bar poolside where you could order those yard-long drinks.  We didn’t, but others did.  They also have an 8-screen theatre, so we beat the late-afternoon heat with our first movie in two months.  It was, ah, “entertaining.”  Just suspend all disbelief and notions of logic.  A true popcorn movie for the summer, “Knight and Day” starring Cruise and Diaz.  Utterly ridiculous, but 2 hours of chases, villains, invincibility, and decent chemistry between the two.  Put mind in neutral and take in the eye candy.

Today is the final leg home.  About 300 miles or so, including the dreaded jaunt across all of the greater Los Angeles area to the Pacific coast.  We’re up early, will do the final dump, and be on our way.

10-4, GOOD BUDDY

All we’re doing now is driving, but it is neat to see the scenery change so dramatically along I-40.  We’ve moved from the almost suffocating green tree tunnels of N.C. and Tennessee, to the transition forests and fields of Arkansas, to the wind and open spaces of Oklahoma, through the mesas and high plains of the Texas Panhandle and eastern New Mexico with horizon-to-horizon views of either dead flat land or jutting mesas.  Surprisingly, the ground cover is still green, although we’re now getting to the browner areas at the exit to Albuquerque.  From Little Rock, we first overnighted in Oklahoma City after fighting the winds again flying across the plains.  Did I say it was windy?

Let’s just say it was an interesting drive through Oklahoma.  When we pulled into OKC for the night, after one of Loni’s scrumptious meals, we both felt the need for a little endorphin fix.

  

That is a Zinfandel Port from a small winery in the Paso Robles area, and it was incredible.  Adding the chocolate was over the top.  Let the day melt away.

Our next leg was to Amarillo.  I had gone online to check out RV parks, as I wanted to be sure to be able to watch England-Germany in the first knockout round of the World Cup, which was to be played Sunday morning.  I picked a newer park, which advertised full hookups and cable tv at every site.  Since it was going to be on ESPN, we needed a cable feed.  The Oasis RV Resort appeared to fill the bill.  NOT!  The park itself was indeed new, well laid out, with generous concrete pads, little night lights on the pedestals, new hookups, multiple bath/restroom buildings with excellent showers, on-site RV repair facility, RV washing.  Hey, this had to be the best park we stayed at.  No leveling needed, it was all as flat as the scenery.

 

All this for $20.  What could possibly go wrong?  Well, for starters, the promised wifi, with transmitters atop all those bathroom buildings throughout the park, had such a weak signal we couldn’t connect in three different sites we tried.  They finally gave us a site next to the main building, where we could get connected at last.  I went online and googled the place and found that someone else had reviewed it and complained about the weak wifi.  Well, that’s not too bad.  We’ve had worse in that category.  I hooked up the cable tv and started setting the channels into the tv.  Hmmmm.  Where’s . . . let’s look at the channel guide that is printed on the park brochure.  Uh, shopping network, uh lifetime network, uh . . . WHERE THE %#$*&(@!! IS ESPN?  I have managed to book us into the only cable system in the USA that doesn’t carry ESPN.  AUUUUGGGGHHHHH.

[Postscript:  I found out later the next day that Germany demolished England 4-1, so it wasn’t such a great matchup after all.  But I’m still pi**ed.]

The next day, New Mexico gave us a less than cheery welcoming.

I was not enchanted by nearly twenty miles of this.  Actually, it was better than in Oklahoma.  OK wins the pothole and accordion award for the worst stretches of interstate we’ve ever been on.  Californians like to trash I-5 and 99 highway, but they’re ribbons of glass compared to I-40 through OK.  It’s almost criminal.  It’s a testament to LD build quality that the whole coach didn’t come flying off the frame.  Chaco Canyon has nothing on OK’s washboard highway.  Once past the miles o’ cones, we had nice sailing into New Mexico.

What we had missed in the South were these vast vistas and the incredible skies, whether rainy

or just billowing.

LITTLE ROCK REDUX

Homeward bound, we’re retracing some of our steps, and Little Rock was enough driving for the day.  We opted to stay in a bizarre rv “park” that was smack dab downtown so that we wouldn’t have to offload the scoot in order to get around.  It’s bizarre because it’s just an asphalt parking lot with hookup posts.  It IS right on the river, and Loni had a few thoughts about flash flooding, but this is the Arkansas River, not a canyon trap like happened earlier this month.  As soon as we pulled in, though, it started to rain (amping up the distaff anxiety) and came down in buckets.  An hour later, however, and it was blue skies (and humidity).

We set out to cross the river to the main part of town.  We’re actually in “North Little Rock,” a somewhat dodgy part of town that they’re trying to revitalize by making it part of a biking and jogging route.  They have a ways to go on this side.  There are 5 or 6 bridges that cross the river, at least two of which are defunct and, like this one, turned into pedestrian/bike crossings.  At the raised portion, you either climb five flights of stairs or take the elevator.  The one on our side worked; the one coming back did not.

Once on the bridge you have an excellent view of downtown, including some of the revitalizing parkway along the river in the foreground.  There’s a trolley for the tourists that you can see on the other bridge, and one of the local attractions is the submarine, Skipjack, anchored just below.  Having toured subs in Honolulu, San Francisco, and in New England somewhere, we passed on this opportunity.

The parkway area above is a kid’s delight, with all sorts of climbing areas (well padded below), tunnels, and a nifty fountain area that had programmed spurts which kept the kids screaming and running around.  Given the heat, we should have joined them.  The toddler in the pink shoes was about 1 1/2 years old and she was a panic to watch.  Absolutely fearless, even when she got a snootfull. 

Alas, no ice cream this time.  Back to the rig before the next cloudburst hits.  From the far corner of our parking lot there was this view of the Clinton Presidential Museum jutting out over the river.  See our earlier post on visiting here in May.

BEAM ME UP, SCOTTY

Where the heck ARE we?  Patience, Grasshopper.

We exited North Carolina and entered Tennessee.  The views from the road here are a little more open and made for very pleasant driving, here along US 64:

Also happy to report that the road signage is vastly superior to N.C.  Even though they still have multiple numbers for the same road, they are clearly and repeatedly displayed before, at, and after intersections so you have some confidence you’re on the right route.  Our destination was Chattanooga, which has all the usual Southeast attributes:  gorgeous blue-green mountains all around, a river running through it, and several attractions we wanted to see.

The first was Rock City.  Somewhere in Loni’s family album there’s a photo of her as a 4-year-old visiting Rock City.  She had a vivid memory of it, so this was for nostalgia as much as inherent value.

This was a bizarre mixture of kiddie kitsch, great garden layout, and spectacular views.  There are paths that wind through a wild rock landscape:

with overlooks that were amazing (sorry, dear, I ain’t gonna leap):

and a long, winding pitch-black grotto path that had side exhibits for the kids, using black lighting.  They had displays covering virtually every fairy tale or nursery rhyme you can imagine:

If I was five again, I think I’d eat this stuff up!

Next stop was the Lookout Mountain (from whence Grant surveyed the town during the Civil War) Incline Railway.  Near the top, the grade is 72.7% (!!!), which makes it the steepest passenger railway in the world.  It was quite a trip:

It also was brutally hot.  There were only two windows cracked open, and the sun coming in through the side and overhead window glass was giving us the full sauna treatment.  After that, we needed something cool, so it was off to Ruby Falls.  These falls actually reside over a thousand feet underground, and over two thousand feet back in a cave first discovered in back in the 1920’s.  This isn’t much of a spectacular cave.  The discoverer spent 17 hours crawling on his belly or knees before getting to a place where he could stand up and move into the falls room.  What we have today is largely a long passage dug out by man, not nature, but it does have some interesting formations (and, in Tennessee fashion, clearly labeled):

 

But it’s the Falls that are the big deal.  145 feet high, they spurt out of a hole in the ceiling like a giant shower.  Periods of stronger flow caused it to swirl around, etching the rings you see in the rock.  They’ve kinda hoked up the experience with a mini light show (hence the colors in the pictures) and with “ethereal” music, but it’s undeniably a beautiful sight.

Adequately refreshed by the 60 degrees of the cave, we went back out into the 97 degrees and hideous humidity, helmeted up, and took off for the Hunter Museum of American Art in downtown Chat.  They boasted of a collection of big names that even I was aware of.  The museum is housed in a modernistic structure and an old mansion, connected from the inside, and sits on a bluff overlooking the river.

While we enjoyed it very much, the American “masters” were limited to one example each, and that one was usually something 2nd rate. Oh well.  They also had a very good exhibit of blown glass, and great videos on how the stuff is made.  Outside, the museum is adjacent to a revitalized housing/shops area, connected by a glass bridge that freaked Loni out.  She wouldn’t walk on the clear part, but stuck to the middle:

Part of the adjacent revitalization is an old bridge that has been converted to a pedestrian and bicycle bridge over the river.

Very cool (literally; the river helped cut the awful heat).  We thought Chattanooga was a pretty nice place.  It also was the end of our touristing.  From here we’re essentially going to get on I-40 and just drive.  Homeward bound.  It’s been a great trip!

SMOKIN’!

We traveled through miles of stimulus funds at work.  It seems every road in North Carolina is getting repaired at one point or another.  We’re in the town of Cherokee, surrounded by the Cherokee reservation.  Cherokee is the eastern entrance to the GSMNP.  Essentially, the park is a great blog of wilderness, accessible only by a bisecting road (we’re at one terminus) and various small nibbles around the edges.  The interior is virtually roadless, and makes for, we presume from the surroundings, great wilderness hiking.  The Appalachian trail goes through it.  We decided to ride the scoot round trip from the Cherokee side through the park to the western entrance, at Gatlinburg, about 32 miles each way.  First stop was the pioneer village at the east entrance, where they were having a special event, called “Women’s Work.”  Well, all right.  It turned out to be demonstrations of various crafts and regular chores done by 17th & 18th century women on the frontier, including making soap by boiling animal fat and lye.  Best of all, the homemade preserves.  We had a sample of these blackberries:  outstanding!

Just as we were getting ready for the scoot to Gatlinburg, the thunder rumbled, the skies opened up, and we sat under the porch roof of the visitor center until things cleared up.  Then off on the winding, climbing (and descending) road through the park, with great views

useful mileage markers

and challenging roadways.

But the most bizarre part of the trip was Gatlinburg itself.  Combine the worst of the Vegas Strip, Coney Island, and Fisherman’s Wharf and you get the schlock capital of the U.S., the ultimate tourist trap.  The town appears to be essentially a continuation of the road from the park, and as you emerge from the pristine, soothing, green world of the Smokies, you get gobsmacked with barely moving traffic, crowds of pedestrians, and outposts of every ripoff tourist attraction you can imagine: a Ripley’s Believe It or Not, a Ripley’s Aquarium (wha???), a Guinness Records, a Toussaud’s Wax Museum, Hollywood Star Cars, something with a King Kong paw hanging out a second floor window, etc. etc.  All this was crammed into a stretch of about 7 blocks.  It was truly the most godawful place I think I’ve ever seen.

We couldn’t wait to get back to the park entrance and make the return to Cherokee.  We pulled out at an overlook and were treated to RVing in the classic style:

We also visited the excellent Cherokee Museum, which tells the (again) tragic tale of white deceit, broken treaties, land-grabbing greed, slaughter, and exile of most of the Cherokee nation from these homelands via  the Trail of Tears to Oklahoma.  A small band remained behind to sign a separate treaty and fight a legal battle which allowed them to remain on a small reservation, which is where present-day Cherokee is.  It’s truly depressing to be reminded of how we made a national policy of treachery in the name of manifest destiny.

Well, the only remedy for such feelings is to eat, right?  Fortunately, the next day was Father’s Day, and Loni whipped up a great breakfast of blueberry pancakes, bacon, fruit bowl and coffee, with the World Cup on the tube.  My tongue is just about to go slurp.  Oh, yes.

There’s an area of the park to the southeast, near Bryson City, called Deep Creek that boasts 3 waterfalls within easy hiking distance of each other.  That sounded like a good Sunday jaunt.  We scooted that way along a great road that bordered a fairly large river and had some great scenery.  We encountered the typical North Carolina incompetence with signage, but eventually found our way to a tiny back road that led to Deep Creek.  Can’t figure out why we had so much trouble finding it.  None of the other thousands of people there seemed to have.  Combine Father’s Day with 95 degree heat, 90 percent humidty, a cool tubing river amongst shady trees, and you’ve got a mob.

Trust me, the above is a very tiny example of the humanity that was everywhere.  Competing tube rental companies line the entry road, with “wavers” out front to entice you to patronize their businesses.  We had no place to secure our gear, and Loni was without a swim suit, so we had to pass on the tubing.  Instead we sweated gallons, traipsing around on ill-marked trails  (the N.C. signage disease again) to see thoroughly mediocre waterfalls.  We envied the tubers.

Having memorized the tortured roadways into the place, we backtracked without event to our site at Fort Wilderness RV Park and a gallon of water each.

The next morning we packed up and lit out for Tennessee, along US 19/74/64 towards Chattanooga, and it turned out to be one of the prettiest roads we’ve ever been on.  It paralleled a great whitewater river, and we pulled out to watch the kayaks and rafters go by, and talked with a couple that were waiting for their daughter and grandchildren to appear on the river.

 

This couple was local, but were transplants from Philadelphia.  This brings up something we noticed throughout N.C. and other states.  There are literally hundreds upon hundreds of gated upscale housing tracts scattered all throughout the area, filled presumably with retiree transplants from the northeast.  It’s like a dispersed Miami Beach, but in gorgeous mountain surroundings.  The houses would make any Californian drool with envy.  But, most are located way out in the sticks.  You gotta really love the country, or hate where you came from, to settle in.  There’s very little infrastructure anywhere.

Anyway, in search of better signage, we entered Tennessee to a dubious welcome.

STAYING AT THE BILTMORE

Well, that’s what I thought we SHOULD have been doing for what it cost to take a tour.  The Biltmores still know how to turn a nickel.  When I said we needed tickets for two, the lady said it would be $44 with our AAA discount.  That wasn’t too bad.  But then she said that was for each ticket.  Gulp.  This was a “must see” insistence from Mom, so we swallowed and paid the price.  The guy behind me in line agreed that it was a breathtaking price.  The estate is located just south of Asheville, N.C., on 8,000 (!) acres of rolling hills and forest.  Completed in 1895, it has 250 rooms.  The tour is pretty extensive of both the main rooms, some bedrooms, and all of the “downstairs” (for you BBC fans) areas where the multitude of servants toiled and lived.  That was the most interesting part for me.  The 19th century kitchens and workrooms were neat.  The place sports an indoor heated pool, with call buttons to order refreshments, and a two lane bowling alley, the first in a private residence.  No interior pictures were allowed (gotta sell those pricey books), but we got a bunch of the gardens, which were designed by Frederick Law Olmstead, who also laid out N.Y.C.’s Central Park and Stanford.  He considered this the capstone of his career.  Of course, it started to rain just as we exited the house tour for the grounds, but we soldiered on anyway.

Of course, all that walking required refueling, and what better nourishment than . . . you guessed it,

with seating in one of the many stone courtyards.  This truly is the cholesterol tour.

The next day we scooted further out to Chimney Rock State Park, with it’s observation point and the 404 foot Hickory Nut Falls, which was featured in 1992 movie, “The Last of the Mohicans,” one of our favorites for the drop-dead scenery.  Well, sort of featured.  Turns out the falls that Hawkeye hid behind were computer generated.  Oh well, the place still was beautiful, if not as lush-appearing as in the movie.  There’s an elevator or a “trail” to take you to the Chimney Rock overlook.  The elevator had a half-hour wait, so your intrepid adventurers (read, “saps”) trusted the sign for the trail that said it was shorter in time.  The “trail” turned out to be 450 stairsteps, with nary a foot of path.  That’s twice as high as the lighthouse climb.  Plus, did I say we continue in a heat wave, with temps in the mid-90’s?  Woof.  We stopped many times on the way up, and I’m sure the entire elevator line made it before we did.  Was it worth the effort?

Yeah, I guess so.  We don’t look too unhappy.

Next it was on to the falls.  This time the trail was just a trail, without much elevation, and the falls were quite nice, but not the advertised 404 feet from what we could see.

After all that, failing to find an ice cream shop enroute, we returned back to the camp and its excellent 50-foot pool.  This camping life is rough business.

This was an excellent park, Rutlidge Lake RV park, which we highly recommend.