Fifty years ago I traveled around the country with what was referred to in our house as my practice wife. (Trish had a practice husband, too.) It was a simpler time and we were simpler people, but some things were the same. A car was our mode of transportation, in that case her dad’s Nash Rambler. We mostly camped, with rare motel stays.
One thing we discovered was that if you stopped by an un-fancy motel at around 10 in the morning, they would let you shower for way less than the room rate. Guests had checked out, the cleaning crew was already on site and you didn’t make much of a mess. It generated a small bit of extra revenue. I haven’t had the need to try that on this trip, but I’ll bet it’s still true.
Camping was less complicated – some left-over boy scout cooking gear, none of this back-of-the-Outback tent business, just a simple 2-man tent that was easy to set up and break down, a couple of sleeping bags and a pair of air mattresses.
The air mattresses turned out to be a mixed blessing. I decided to go all the way with them and splurged on thicker, extra-sized ones. Indeed, they were more comfortable, but remember, this was 50 years ago. No plug-into-the-cigarette-lighter air compressors. I brought a bicycle tire pump, but it was a long and sweaty process to inflate those mothers. The most effective method, I discovered, was to simply blow directly into the valves.
That had a liability, too. Each one took 50 deep breaths, 15 of which produced hyperventilation. First you got dizzy, then you passed out … three times for each air mattress! You weren’t out for long, but if you didn’t keep a thumb on the valve during those episodes you’d lose air. It’s surprising what you can train yourself to do even if you’re unconscious; over time I got really good at it. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I don’t think I did any lasting physiologic damage, but it was an ongoing chore.
One thing I learned, though: The big, high-profile national parks are unquestionably outstanding, but there are plenty of smaller state and national parks that are amazing and marvelous. We pulled into a campground when it was already getting dark – I think it was on the Snake River, in Utah or Colorado. When we woke up in the morning we found that we were at the base of an awesome thousand-foot sheer cliff.
Same was true on this trip when I discovered Big South Fork National River and Recreation Area. I never knew that we had National Rivers; you probably didn’t either. In fact, most of the people I mentioned it to in Tennessee hadn’t heard of Big South Fork. I needed someplace to camp when my Knoxville Airbnb couldn’t add a second night and I found it through the magic of the Internet. It sounded impressive – extensive woodlands, deep gorges, few roads or development – and lived up to that description.
The mountains in the Smokies are at much higher elevations, so the ridgetops are edged with bare trees. They give the impression of a giant head just emerging from the ground, wearing a Mohawk haircut. Very Tolkeinesque. The mountains I’ve been passing through here in Tennessee are not as rugged or as high, so they are fully tree-covered and mostly leafed out. Some trees are still in the process and their colors are intense, an almost fluorescent emerald green. The overall effect of the hillsides is like a fluffy shag rug or a super plush Restoration Hardware bath towel. It makes you want to somehow just rub your cheeks on them.
I stayed at the Bandy Creek Campground, where maybe five of the 50 or so campsites were occupied. Talked a bit with a semi-retired guy from somewhere in Tennessee who had worked for 30 years as a counselor, taking inner-city kids with drug and legal problems into the woods for camping, rock-climbing, rappelling, canoeing and other wilderness experiences. He poured me some Kentucky bourbon, I played some music and we sat by our campfires in the woods taking in the grandeur of it all.
.......................Swamp cooler for the tent:
Had to stop and photograph this place. When I first moved to Boston my commute car was a 1948 Chrysler Windsor. Tried to figure out if I could get all my stuff into this baby and trade in the Outback. Nah, but it was tempting.
I like a barn that looks older than me. And I got to spend time with Barky Beaver on the way to Nashville.
