It was a really hot and sticky night with Mrs T experimenting with various levels of cooling and ventilation. I must have slept but it was a horrible sound when the alarm went off as I felt I'd only just gone to bed. The showers at Fort Boonesborough were warm and wet but the cubicles were a tad soiled. Indeed, it looked like someone had been kicking a muddy football around in there, either that or making exciting buttock prints on the flat surfaces.
Packing up was a bit disorganised with the Tadpoles desperate to help but in reality only getting in the way, which is a shame really. We forgot to do a few things before leaving the site, not least to remove the chocks from between the trailer wheels before moving off, but luck was on our side as one set popped out and the other locked the wheels but only to allow them to skid on the previous night's collected mud. Mrs T spotted the problem and disaster was averted, but only just.
Back on the south bound I75, we made our way through the remainder of Kentucky and on into Tennessee. It was getting hillier and our welcome to Dolly Parton's home state was a 4 mile climb up to the highest point on the route, on the outer edges of the Appalachians. The views were breathtaking, miles and miles of ancient mountain range and countless millions of trees. The Toadmobile might not have been a 400 horsepower monster truck but it dealt admirably with its biggest climb with Towed Haul so far. Sure we lost speed, down below 50mph, but she pulled well and didn't offer any sign of complaint at all. Yes, I know it wasn't Colorado but it was still a stiff climb and the Toyota passed with a distinction. Who says you can't tow that with that?
Onwards past Knoxville (home to some relatives of mine, although more of them later), then Oak Ridge and onto Chatanooga, with (of course with much talk of choo-choos). All the way down, Mrs T had been nursing a copy of Along the I75 by Dave Hunter (16th Edition!) and was relaying useful bits of information to me from road features to historical notes to geological formations. It was really very absorbing and made the drive go by really quickly, which is essential on such trips. As I write this, I'm imbibing some intoxicants (not allowed in this State Park) and raising a glass to Mr Hunter, especially as he turns out to be an ex-pat Brit.
Whilst Tennessee was fabulous to pass through, it was a bit strange, too. There are advertising billboards of immense proportions on a lot of the mountains, complete with huge swathes of trees removed so us sad travellers can see said advertisements. Then there are the “Adult Superstores” (half a dozen adults and a packet of old folks, please) dotted by the road side, some of then accompanied by giant (and I mean giant) Christian crosses, put there by outraged citizens objecting to the Adult stores. If there's a better way of advertising the stores, I've yet to see it.
Past Chattanooga and we were into Georgia and hotfooting it to Atlanta, the biggest city on our trip so far. Those reading this blog regularly will know that I'm a novice at towing a 7,300lb trailer so I like to take it easy. However, I didn't realise that the I75 would take us right through the centre of downtown Atlanta and subject this learner tow person to a real baptism of urban freeway fire. I had to forget about the trailer and concentrate on the twists, turns, exits and entries of the city motorway, following the signs for I75 south and ignoring the HOV lanes that were also marked up with I75 labels. Because HOV means High Occupancy Vehicle, we did qualify to use them but for one thing I don't know what others would think of a trailer in the fast lane and for another it wasn't busy enough to need the things, thank goodness. Atlanta conquered, we headed on down towards Macon and our campsite for the night at High Falls, a few miles short of the city itself.
High Falls State Park really is a little gem. Spread around a small dam, a lake and some gentle falls, it's rural Georgia at its best. The Park is well kept and the staff in the registration office were great as we checked in. As is usual, the campground was at the bottom of a steep and winding track but when we arrived there it was well worth the death defying drive down. All the sites were well bounded gravel pads with plenty of room to move on them and all came with water and power. We picked number four but in reality, any of them on the lower level were excellent. The place was well tended and quiet and just what was needed after our drive; we all felt it was a great place to be. Of course this wasn't to be just an overnighter, either, as we'd booked for two nights. Bliss.
In the evening we made our way into the little town of Forsyth for some supper. The town itself was small and neat, clustered around the big, imposing Court House. Apart from the usual gaggle of fast food places out by the highway, we only had a choice of two restaurants, an old fashioned, Formica topped diner selling “country” food, fried, and the other was a quietly chaotic pizza place that made all of its own offerings. We chose the latter because it had a good ambiance and the fact that pizza was a better prospect than fried chicken. The service was haphazard in a very endearing way and the lad serving us was not really with us “Sorry for the wait, we're a bit backed up, we got busy real quick tonight”. Still, even though there was no peach upside-down cake left, the pizzas were good and not too expensive, either. The Georgia accent is wonderful and we were all enjoying listening in to conversations, but even Georgians struggle with my English speech and we had a struggle over the word coffee. It's koffy for me but caawfee in Georgia – ho hum.
One thing I always forget is that eating places on this side of the Atlantic close early in the evening, often at 8 pm or thereabouts, rarely later than that. Even Jonah's Pizza Place was hurrying us out at 8:15, this despite their slow service adding 45 minutes to our meal. I'm certain that I don't hanker for the big city but sometimes the country way of life, early to bed early to rise, gets in the way of my eating habits. Tut.
Pizza enjoyed, we headed out to the shiny new Walmart to get a few more supplies. Whilst there, we were nagged into obtaining a new camera for the small Tadpole (on the understanding that she paid for it) and we went through the check out and Walmart's bag carousel, being careful to pick up all the bags that the cashier had filled. I had noted that the camera and accoutrements were in one bag but when we arrived back at the car, the bag with the camera had mysteriously disappeared. I asked the Small Tadpole if she had the camera and she said that she didn't so Mrs T ran back into the store to see if we'd left it there. After much scurrying about and viewing of security tapes it appeared that I had indeed picked up the bag containing the camera, so the question was asked again of the Small Tadpole. No, she didn't have the bag containing the camera but, she said, the Big Tadpole did! Panic over but not without some stern words about speaking up when required to so. Grrrr.
Back at the campground, we listened to a little Peach FM from Macon (Seventies and Eighties music to which Mrs T and I knew all the words, much to the shame of the Tadpoles) and hit the hay at a more sensible hour. We'd planned on visiting the Ocmulgee National Monument in Macon on the following day but at least it wasn't an nearly start. Did you know that Otis Redding comes from Macon? I didn't but I do now!
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