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DAY
FOUR COMMENTARY
My morning
departure proceeded acceptably well,
though yet again The Chief (tm) had
far
more trouble with the camp stove than in his debut. Once done with the
tea and
a Clif Bar -- and it says here that the “Chocolate Almond Fudge” and
“Crunchy
Peanut Butter” flavors are the best, a recent “$0.55-off” promotion
having permitted
rigorous flavor comparison -- my efforts towards embracing “Leave No
Trace”
principles had helped to merely generate a single tiny bag of trash
over the course of three camp meals. I should also mention that the
"Pak-Towl", a
small, paper-thin (chamois-based?) drying apparatus has
been coming up big for me here early, mainly because its drying-off
capacity is far beyond what its size would suggest, and because it
won't rot or become gamy if laid out flat inside of the
trailer during the day's drive. Try
that with your run-of-the-mill cotton job.
I had
wanted a haircut even before I left SC, and thought
that one fun way to meet locals would be to get haircuts in the towns I
was
visiting instead of using the clippers that I owned (not to mention
having to carry them with me,
and worrying about recharging). Before leaving Tellico Plains I stopped
in on
the local barber shop and had a five-minute cut and a twenty-minute
conversation with the very kind proprietress, Revonda, whose deft
efforts set
me back a mere six dollars (clearly, we are not in the Northeast
anymore).
I also
checked in with the bookstore owners who had helped me find my way
during the
previous visit, and they gave me some tips on how not to be looked upon
suspiciously by Oregonians when entering that state from California.
Rather
than head north (on a road I had been on already) simply
to catch an interstate heading southwest, I figured I’d take some back
roads first
heading south, then west, and then pop back on the superslab closer to
Chattanooga. These routes, while certainly not in the Dragon or
Cherohala
class, were nevertheless enjoyable -- a few farms here and there, a
small creek,
a railroad trestle -- and almost entirely traffic-free. They also
provided the
kind of amusement that only back-country traffic managers can produce,
in which
a warning sign reading “SLOW -- CONGESTED AREA” suddenly loomed at the
crest of
a small hill. Hmmm, wonder what’s just ahead?
On the
downslope, there were three homes -- only two of
which appeared inhabited -- over a stretch of about one hundred yards.
Fortunately,
I was unaffected by the congestion and continued
with my journey. Though toting the extra weight of the trailer, the
ST1100 was
still able to power around members of the Anti-Destination League on
the roads sweeping
through the valleys of the Ocoee
River, a scenic outdoor activity area
in which
one could find white water rafting and also some facilities constructed
for the
1996 Summer Olympic Games. Eventually nearing the interstate in
Cleveland, TN,
I refuled at a gas station obviously intended as a tribute to an ‘80’s
alternative
band (if allowing for some minor spelling differences), took
down some trail mix, and prepared for the drone ahead.
I had
remembered that the ride in the Knoxville to
Chattanooga direction was more annoying than it should have been,
thanks to a
confluence of issues such as road quality, signage, wind, and truck
presence.
This time through it wasn’t as bad as the last. The road cuts through
the
northeast corner of Georgia and then plunges into the Central Time Zone
as it
crosses into Alabama. I was surprised to see that the GPS did not
automatically
adjust its settings, whilst my cell phone had
-- I think I would have had money on the opposite. At any
rate, I steamed
into the “Alabama Welcome Center”, and noting the local time once
inside, I
bellowed, “I am from the future -- all must fear me.” Sue, the
pleasant
young
lady behind the counter, wasn’t buying it. Completely unruffled, she
gave me
some “Sweet Home Alabama” stickers to plaster onto the trailer and sent
me on
my way, which took me past Fort Payne with its dual history
of being
the “Official
Sock Capital of the World” and the
hometown
of the band Alabama.
Sue had
also given me the advice to use the Birmingham
Bypass, in case the rotten GPS might not have made that choice. Along
the way
to it there was a massive traffic jam on another road heading east, but
none of
it affected my travel. Nearing the area of my next stop, Oak
Mountain
State
Park in Pelham, AL, I was nervous because it is sometimes
difficult to
tell if
the address one has is actually for the park, or merely just a mailing
address,
and I knew that the GPS listed hotels and motels, but not always
campgrounds.
My fear
was unfounded, for not only were signs plentiful on the interstate and
then the
local roads, but even within the fairly large park you could not go a
half-mile
without seeing some sort of directions somewhere.
Utilizing
such directions, and in search of ice, I pulled
into the golf course parking lot and headed towards the
“clubhouse/snack bar”.
Being in a state park, it wasn’t necessarily that high-end, but knowing
the
conceit with which golfers like to conduct themselves in the presence
of
non-golfers, I enjoyed lumbering in there in jeans and big black riding
boots
and not giving a damn about whether I belonged there or not. A quick
scan of
the menu wasn’t looking too good, but when I axed the girl if she had
ice and
she said “yes”, she merely grabbed a big plastic shopping bag and began
ladling
cubes into it. More than enough for my needs, all for only a buck.
I checked
in to the camp site and upgraded
to a site with electric hookup,
noting that it had been so convenient before to be able to recharge the
laptop
and the electric toothbrush within the tent! It was $7 extra for the
hookup, as
compared to normally only about a buck or two at the KOA’s. I was
semi-annoyed
that I was faced with the longest walk thus far between the parking
area and the
site
itself, but it was downhill so not the end of the world, and tent setup was
without incident. I definitely
had some
real pros around me, having erected veritable tent complexes and also
taking
full advantage of the hookups to power electric fans, bug zappers,
stereos and
even TV’s. Ah, the great outdoors!
Down to
the nearby lake
I headed and, while the water was
a bit warm, the dip I took was still rewarding. Also, there were these
small schools
of fish, of which the biggest
members might have been four or five
inches long,
and there could be no doubt that they had become conditioned to expect
food
when they saw humans. I walked slowly into the water to see if I could
get
closer without disturbing them, and instead they approached me. Although difficult to tell, in the
pictures they are merely inches away from my legs, and I ask you to
believe
when I say they brushed into me (or attempted to take a nip) several
times.
One of
these days, I’ll get the camp stove started with a
minimum of fuss and without getting fuel all over my hands. Or maybe I
won’t,
in which case this trip’ll call for more than two canisters of
Handiwipes, the
first having already been expended on soot removal duty. At any rate,
although
the tall trees and the “early” sunset (being rather far east within the
new
time zone) conspired to bring nightfall more quickly than I had
expected, my dinner
preparation was flawless and the chicken and rice entrée was very, very good. The tree cover was heavy but
there was music coming from all around, and I wondered if the folks
would be
cool about things and throttle it down as it got later. Pros that they
were, they
did, and it was silent by about 10 PM.
Somewhere
along the line, I finally had to
replace the batteries in the digital camera, this
after countless on/off cycles (extending and retracting the lens),
always using
the external viewfinder, and resolving and recording both audio and
video for
the Dragon ride. There is no doubt that this set of batteries lasted me
the
longest, and naturally they were my last handful of them. Now, folks, I
am not telling you what to do with your
hard-earned bread, but I gotta tell you I got incredible life out of
these, and
who would have guessed it: generic Ace brand alkalines! (Your mileage
may vary.)
Knowing now that I’ve spent three of the last four days at campgrounds,
you may
legitimately be asking, “Say, The Chief (tm), has it been difficult to
stay
fresh and clean throughout?” And while a good question, the answer is "not really",
because these places all have showers of some sort and because the
typical
routine has been to arrive, set up camp, dine, and then take a quick
end-of-day
shower once all the heavy lifting is over. In the morning, much the
same: break
down camp, pack the bike, set aside just my clothes for the day and
take
another quick one. I’m probably taking more showers than when I was
living in
Surfside. I’m probably taking more showers than Kendall, and even
if
I’m not, I know I smell better than him regardless.
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