Maumelle/Pinnacle Mountain (AR)

Campsite on the Arkansas River at Maumelle Army Corp of Engineers campground

With the Ghosts of Mississippi in our rear-view mirror, we headed north towards Memphis and took a hard left onto I-40.  Glory was in a chucking rhythm with the less-than-smooth Arkansas roadways; producing the metronomic sound that is made when the stylus has reached the end of the record and is caught in an endless loop of the vinyl groove terminus.  Trying to take full advantage of the local history and culture, we immersed ourselves in various Arkansas visitor guide videos to prepare ourselves for what to expect.  We found THIS ONE to be the most entertaining.  

Eastern Arkansas a unique treasure unto itself; laden with flooded croplands, man-made levies, and home of The World’s Largest Fireworks Outlet (although we saw this proclamation in SC, TN, AL, & MS).  With the Hank’s nose pointed towards the state capitol, we veered slightly northwest from the setting sun and found another temporary home at Maumelle Army Corp of Engineer campground.  Anxious to relax from a day of roadway rocking, we set up in record time—24 seconds to be exact.  If it weren’t for the triple espresso at the North Little Rock Starbucks, it would have easily taken an hour.




Maumelle ACoE campground sits adjacent to the  McClellan-Kerr Arkansas River Navigation System, a series of navigation pools used to help ships navigate upstream toward Oklahoma.  The Arkansas River is one of the Mississippi's largest tributaries, flowing 1,450 miles from the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, through to Kansas, Oklahoma and Arkansas.  

The riverside setting was quite serene, with the occasional monster-sized barge being escorted upstream by skillfully piloted tugboats casting blinding beams of light.  Wintering eagles can be seen in large numbers along the Arkansas River—migrating from Canada and the U.S. Great Lakes region—and we were fortunate to have one grace us with its majestic presence as it claimed the lofty boughs of the hardwood next to our sight.

“I’ve found the safest place to store my valuables is in a trash sack. Unless I invite a bunch of hobos over one night, who’s going to rummage through rubbish?” ― Jarod Kintz, This Book Has No Title

One of my most odd traits is that I like to look at garbage.  Not necessarily "dig through"...but sometimes just "look."  Growing up in a rural county, we had a county dump.  We would haul a truckload of junk “to” the dump, but we never failed to bring something back.  I was “green” when being green wasn’t cool.  After traveling the world and seeing the spectrum of rich to impoverished, I now find myself fascinated in what the local population considers “substance of no further value.”  You can really tell a lot about society by what they discard, and this has become a sentinel for how we—as a society—live our lives.  So when The Navigator tells me it’s time to take out the garbage, I eagerly take advantage of this event to 1) see if I can find anything worthy of The Antiques Roadshow, or 2) gauge what other campers are discarding and why.  It was during one of these refuse runs that I found something that was unexpected—some camper had thrown away a perfectly good LIVE RACCOON!  I’m graveyard dead serious…here’s the video.



At first I wanted it.  I remember Donna Douglas (aka Ellie Mae Clampett) having one of these critters as a pet, and I thought this might be a way to spice up the daily routine around the campsite. I quickly realized that I didn't know where to buy Purina Raccoon Chow (or if they made such a thing), and started to think maybe this was a bad idea.  I instead embarked on a mission to get the raccoon out of the dumpster—saving it from the horrors of the trash compactor scene in the original Star Wars (which was voted most terrifying motion picture scene by every Arkansas native I've ever polled).  

With any animal rescue there is the BIG question: Will the animal appreciate your non-malicious attempts to save it from a perilous fate; or will it view you as a voracious two-legged carnivore and choose to not go down without a fight?  Sometimes it goes well, and sometimes it goes…well…LIKE THIS or (ironically in a dumpster) LIKE THIS.

My first plan was to place one of my leveling planks into the dumpster.  The raccoon could easily walk up the plank and be free.  Voilà!  But the raccoon didn’t do anything except crawl under the plank and use it for better cover.  Now the plank was not only non-effective, but now I was risking having a very useful piece of wood end up in a landfill—or worse, someone else may steal my trash from the dumpster.  This solution had serious flaws.

I then considered arranging the trash inside the dumpster to form a series of steps so that the raccoon could simply walk out.  This could have worked, but unfortunately there was not enough trash…and I didn’t want generate more of what (we're told) threatens nature in an attempt to save nature.  I finally went into the adjacent woods and drug out several long branches to place inside the dumpster.  The lengthy limbs extended beyond the top of the dumpster, providing an escape route for this nocturnal varmint once the sun was low and the coast was clear.  Voilà! (Finally!)

Lunch-time view atop Pinnacle Mountain

A few miles from Maumelle lies Pinnacle Mountain State Park.  This 2,000-acre recreation area sits adjacent to the Arkansas River with views of the eastern ridge of the Ouachita Mountain range.  Pinnacle Mountain is rather shortish as far as mountains go; with a summit elevation of 1,011’  There are miles of trails up and around this fire-ant mound shaped crag.  With the last good hike occurring in Tennessee, we jumped at the chance to log some trail time.  As a warm-up, we decided to ascend via the West Summit Trail.  This trail is only 3/4 mile, so we thought this would be a way to ease back into trekking.   What we failed to realize was that the short trail  had a 700’ elevation gain.  This equated to a 1’ elevation gain for every 5’ hiked.  To give a comparison, the Barr Trail leading to Pikes Peak  has a 1’ elevation gain every 7.8’ hiked.  Although not long, this trail was VERY steep.  The western exposure provided ample warmth on this sunny day, and The Boys were starting to show signs of fatigue near the top.  We pulled off-trail and had lunch while enjoying the million dollar view; then made the gravity-assisted return down the hillside.  Later we circumnavigated Pinnacle Mountain via the Base Trail—a 2.5 mile path that meanders through the natural flora of central Arkansas.  

As the sunset reflected on the bluffs across the Arkansas River, twelve tired legs assembled around an oak campfire.  We were sore, but the good kind of sore.  Another epic day logged.  Another epic day awaits tomorrow.




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O Walker, Where Art Thou?

"You folks goin' through Tishamingo?"  ~ Tommy Johnson

With Hank pulling Glory down Route 43 towards Muscle Shoals, Kristy and I enjoyed our morning coffee as we watched the rolling landscape pass by.  As we neared the town of Florence (AL), we passed a "Road Work Ahead” sign—one of hundreds that we’ve seen on our Odyssey.  Further ahead sat a mobile message board…the kind everyone easily discounts and drives by without giving a second thought to the message.  Lucky for me, my Limbic System—ramped-up on caffeine and sugar—comprehended the bulleted text that was alternating every 5-seconds.

***LOW CLEARANCE AHEAD*** 

***NO VEHICLES OVER 11’ 5”***

I traveled about 100-yards before that info went from my optical nerves to my Thalmus.  The Thalmus was quite busy on this particular morning, as the info coming into the occipital cortex had to deal with a backlog of Steely Day lyrics clogging the parental cortex.  Once the info got past this bottleneck, the frontal lobe and temporal cortex held a quick committee meeting.  The Hippocampus was brought in to remember 1) the height displayed on the sign; and 2) the RV height measurement that was taken in Durham, Connecticut in September 2014.  Once these measurements were verified, the Parietal Lobe did some quick calculations and determined that a continued trajectory on this vector would result in a violent decrease in the existing 12’4” RV height; further resulting in a violent decrease in existing monetary coffers.

Like a well-oiled machine, alerts were sounded; chemicals were dumped into the bloodstream raising blood-pressure, heart rate, and respirations; and all those Steely Dan pontifications scurried around in apocalyptic mass hysteria.  I brought the caravan to a screeching halt on the side of the road; evoking the all-to-familiar “what in the world are you doing?” look from my lovely livelong navigator.  After poorly explaining the circumstances, Kristy quickly rerouted us across a narrow dam and rough backroads—which ended up cutting about 20-minutes off our original route—just north of Tishamingo, Mississippi.

Mississippi Shoe Tree; "Ripe" for the Pickin'

Laces & Limbs

"…But first, first you must travel a long and difficult road – a road fraught with peril, uh-huh, and pregnant with adventure. You shall see things wonderful to tell. You shall see a cow on the roof of a cottonhouse, uh-huh, and oh, so many startlements…I cannot say how long this road shall be. But fear not the obstacles in your path, for Fate has vouchsafed your reward. And though the road may wind, and yea, your hearts grow weary, still shall ye foller the way, even unto your salvation."  ~ Blind Seer

Back on the road—with Kristy enjoying the passing landscape and Steely Dan lyrics echoing inside my brain-bucket—we passed an unusual sight.  So unusual that I was immediately overcome with the necessity to perform a U-turn in front of an oncoming 18-wheeler to go back and get another look.  We didn’t see a cow on the roof of a cotton house (although we have seen cotton mills in Pendleton and Rock Island); but we did see a tree bearing soleful fruit..or maybe it was a make-shift sandalwood.  My optimistic side looks at this as what a collective group of people can accomplish if they all share a common vision.  The pessimistic side of me sees this as how foolish any movement can be if the individuals fail to think about the overall purpose of their actions and simply go along with the group.  What’s most impressive is that someone managed to get a pair of cowboy boots (which are born without laces) dangling in the branches.  Still, I have no accounting for this type of collective work, so I’ll just have to take comfort in knowing; “It’s a fool that looks for logic in the chambers of the human heart.”  (~ Ulysses Everett McGill)

Panorama of South Abutment Recreation Area, with a very low lake and lengthy dam in the distance

"That’s not the issue Delmar.  Even if that did put you square with the Lord, the State of Mississippi’s a little more hard-nosed."  ~ Ulysses Everett McGill

As the sun finished up it’s daily work, we arrived at the the South Abutment Recreation Area and Campground on the shores of Arkabutla Lake, Mississippi.  With not a sole in sight upon check-in, we drove to our reserved space and set chocks.  We took The Boys for a long shoreline walk the following day, and did not see a single person—only the half dozen trailers scattered amongst the 81 pads—some of which seemed to be “long-term residents.”  Quiet solitude had found us again, and we—nor The Boys (who were snoozing-up an appetite for dinner)—were objecting to the tranquil surroundings.  Then a ranger showed up.  He asked us if we needed to “catch-up” on our rent, to which we relied that we already paid on-line for the brief duration of our stay.  He then looked confused—and maybe embarrassed—and said, “You gotta keep your dogs on leash.”  Then he drove away.  We never did put The Boys on leash in the vacant park, and we never saw the ranger (or anyone else for that matter) again.

"Say, any of you boys smithies? Or, if not smithies per se, were you otherwise trained in the metallurgic arts before straitened circumstances forced you into a life of aimless wanderin’?"  ~ Ulysses Everett McGill

During our newly-found life of aimless wanderin', we find that on occasion things break…and on most occasions I’m the cause of the breakage.  Prior to beginning our trip, we purchased a folding aluminum step to assist our hounds in entering and egressing the high-profile of Hank.  This lightweight platform was easy to stow away, and perfectly suited to handle weights up to 350 pounds.  Although I’m confident that it could surpass this advertised weight limit, it quickly collapsed under Hanks 7,000 pounds as I drove over it—before we even left Virginia.  The replacement step was as solid as the first, and served us well…until we left Joe Wheeler State Park.  Again, I failed to notice the platform in it’s “grounded” position, and only became aware of my error upon hearing Hank completely flatten another quality product.  Fortunately for us, Harbor Freight has stores all across the country…and they keep this particular item well stocked for error-prone individuals such as myself.  I’ve never had one of these last for more than 2-months, but I'm hopeful this one will last until Spring.

"I detect, like me, you're endowed with the gift of gab."  ~ Ulysses Everett McGill

As mentioned in earlier posts, we try to engage with the locals in an attempt to understand the cultural foci better.  On occasion some phrases (i.e. “graveyard dead”) are invoked that give pause.  While completing a purchase at a local auto parts store, I asked the older man behind the counter if he took American Express.  He looked me (graveyard) dead in the eye and said, "I’m like a graveyard…I’ll take anything you lay one me.”

I informed him that he had just made the blog.

"Thank you for that fricassee.  I'm a man of large appetites.  Even with lunch under my belt, I was a mite peckish." ~ Big Dan Teague

Sampling the various cuisines across the country is one of the big perks to this trip.  Although most of our meals originate from within Glory, we try to partake of at least one local (non-chain) gastronomic venue at each of our stops.  On the southern end of Arkabutla Lake lies the small town of Sanatoria, Mississippi.  There was not much open at the late hour that I went hunting for vittles, but an illuminated barbecue sign gave me great hope.  I pulled into Coleman’s Bar B Q and gazed at the large menu behind the counter.  They had BBQ plates, sandwiches, po-boys, and a long list of various ways to cure acute borborygmus.  The one thing that was noticeably missing was what type of ungulate was staring in this production.  I asked the waitress what type of BBQ they sold there.  She answered (graveyard) dead serious, “We serve both kinds; pulled and sliced.”  Not exactly what I was looking for, but the “pulled” gave a clue that they were talking about pork BBQ.  I ordered a couple of pulled-pork po-boys and waited for my order at a nearby booth.

Sanatoria is less than an hour from Memphis, Tennessee.  Memphis was the site of one of the worst disease outbreaks in the history of the United States—the 1878 Yellow Fever epidemic.  The disease rampaged the city, causing tens of thousands to flee.  In fear of the disease spreading, railroads and boats suspended travel to Memphis, leaving the remaining population to fend for themselves.  Over 17,000 cases presented, with over 5,000 deaths resulting.  The surge of Yellow Fever left a lasting reputation on the city for decades to come.  Imagine my surprise when I glance over at the napkin holder of this BBQ joint and see that these folks not only serve the food I love…but also dig the same epidemiological history that I am passionate about.  It wasn’t “mamma slappin’ que,” but I earned 3 CEU’s and enjoyed some mighty fine swine.

Daily Special: 1-entree, 2-sides, and 3 CEUs

"I work for no man.”  ~ Blind Seer

wWw, Retired

Bank Trompin', Swamp Stompin' & Mama Slappin' Que

With cold weather projected northwest into Kentucky; cold weather and a very long drive into northeast Arkansas; a southern route seemed the most logical.  We headed west towards Nashville and took a hard left onto I-65.  This carried us southward—past The Boobie Bungalow at Exit 6—and across the Alabama State Line.  From there we followed the northern border of the Tennessee River to Joe Wheeler State Park.

Panorama of Wheeler Lake

Like most of our winter camping experiences, we found the campground to be virtually empty.  Once again, we had the whole place to ourselves.  The campground is situated on Wheeler Lake— a dammed portion of the Tennessee River—and the park boasts a golf course, marina, several recreational areas, and an upscale lodge.  We settled into a nice campsite adjacent to a wooded area with trails.



With the campground situated lakeside, we spent most of our days strolling the shoreline.  The abundance of driftwood was astonishing, and we spent countless hours sifting through the weathered pieces of naturally recycled timber, wrestled from the womb of Ask and Embla.  The live-sized pick-up sticks gave us countless hours of sifting through the spoils of the rivers current; marveling at the exquisite sanding & natural finishing of a variety of wood types.  Evenings were especially nice, as the numerous peninsulas provided an opportunity to view the sunsets from differing perspectives.

“Now Muscle Shoals has got The Swampers,
And they’ve been known to pick a song or two.”
~ Lynyrd Skynyrd, Sweet Home Alabama

On the far side of the dammed-up Tennessee River lies the town of Muscle Shoals.  Although not normally included in conversations evoking the names “Motown”, “Music City”, “The Fillmore”, or “The Apollo”; Muscle Shoals is every bit as important in the history of American music.

Just who are these “Swampers,” and what songs have they been known to pick?

The Swampers are probably the most unsung (no pun intended) musicians in American music history.  The Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section (aka. "The Swampers”) was a group of studio musicians who served as session musicians at the Fame Recording Studio in Muscle Shoals, Alabama.  They have been featured on more than 75 gold & platinum hits.  Back in the day—most likely on a Wednesday—musical artists would come to the recording studio with a bunch of new songs, but not a lot of prior practice time to have the songs down pat.

Enter the studio musicians.

These well versed artists would sit in session—either in lieu of a band, or with the existing band—to ensure the recording was completed as efficiently as possible (studio time was expensive and in great demand).  These musicians needed to be able to lay down tracks spanning an incredible spectrum of musical genres—from gospel, to jazz, to blues, to southern rock, to soul, to country.  They not only had to play this spectrum of music, but also had to do it in a level of excellence befitting the artists who they recorded with.

Singing River statue in front of the Muscle Shoals public library

You won’t find a vinyl section in the record store reserved for The Swampers, and you probably won’t be able to get the local DJ to play them by request; but getting a sample of their soulful sound is still relatively easy.  Just cue-up one of these amazing songs and listen to the band in the background.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T & I’ve Never Loved A Man The Way I Love You (Aretha Franklin); When A Man Love’s A Woman (Percy Sledge); Old Time Rock-N-Roll, Night Moves & Main Street (Bob Seger); Mustang  Sally (Wilson Picket);  Tell Mama (Etta James); I’ll Take You There (The Staple Singers);  Shake,  Rattle & Roll (Big Joe Turner); Brown Sugar (Rolling Stones); Loves Me Like A Rock (Paul Simon); Giving It Up For Your Love (Delbert McClinton); and many, many full album sessions from dozens of artists.  A MUST READ overview of this groups incredible versatility is found on the Alabama Music Hall of Fame website.  Next time you hear “R-E-S-P-E-C-T”, how ‘bout giving some up for the most anonymous band we all love.

Whitts Barbecue: Momma Slappin' Good!

While visiting the ranger station, I asked the campground manager where she would recommend getting some quality to-go food.  She said I should try Whitt’s BBQ.  Having spent the last month in a state known for BBQ ribs; and having spend over a decade learning the finer art of smoking Texas brisket; I asked her how she rated Whitt's BBQ.  She looked at me with a lethal serious face and said, “It’s so good, it’ll make you smack your mamma.”  I was aghast.  I have heard of food being so BAD that threatening physical aggression against the cook would not have been incomprehensible; but why on earth would anyone want to smack their own mother for someone else’s cooking being good?  Regardless; I was hungry, and my mother was safe and sound in Virginia.  I needed to go try this stuff.

Whitt’s BBQ is nothing to look at on the outside.  You walk up to a window (or do the drive-thru thing), place your order, and then take it home or eat outside on the picnic tables.  When I placed my order for ribs & brisket, I asked the girl working the counter if she knew what “so go it’ll make you slap your mamma” meant.  She said she never heard of it, and asked the girl working the smoker.  The other girl said, “Sounds like the food must be pretty good…but I’m too scared of my momma to try that.”  The "Que" was stellar; and no domestic violence or assault charges were filed that night.

Of course, we're still in Alabama...

Alabama outhouse, but no Alabama "Moon Floss"

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Cedars of Lebanon (TN)

It had been nearly a month since we’d moved The Rig.  I was a little rusty in my moving day routine, and Kristy was still finding that sweet spot between pain & productivity.  We were moving slow and it was time to leave the set of an interesting scene in our lives.  After brushing the bark of the trees that crowded our campsite upon arrival, Hank slowly rumbled down the narrow, winding park roads of Fall Creek Falls towards Sparta.  At Sparta we took a left on Route 70 and followed the western sky until we hit Trammel Road. Trammel Road became Chicken Road, and Chicken Road took us to the doorstep of our next destination—Cedars of Lebanon State Park.

Kristy & The Boys at Cedars of Lebanon State Park, Tennessee

Lying just 15-miles east of Nashville, Cedars of Lebanon is the greenest desert you’ll ever see.  Harvested a century ago for the manufacturing of pencils, the entire glade was hand-planted—tree by tree—as part of a restoration project during FDR’s “New Deal”.

The park lies atop the Central Basin of Tennessee—a karst geology supporting the botanical life on the surface.  At any point in the park there may be only a few feet between the surface and an underground cavern, aquifer, or fissure.  The porous nature of this topography has created a habitat that is beautifully green, but mostly devoid of surface water—as all the water quickly disseminates through the limestone sieve below.  Because of the inability for the soil to retail water, the landscape can only accommodate very specific types of flora—either plants that are drought tolerant or those that can sustain on the limited water in the top few inches of surface strata.

Panorama of red cedar stands with miles of trails cutting their way throughout the park.

One such botanical breed is the red cedar (Junipers virginiana), which early settlers incorrectly associated with the cedars of ancient Lebanon (Cedrus spp.) which were used to make Solomon’s Temple—the origin of the forest name.  These red cedars thrive in the thin limestone base, forming large stands of glades and thickets that dominate the terrain.  The remaining botany is mostly composed of mosses, ferns, and other robust plants that have carved their niche in this hidden desert.

Fungi take advantage of the moist decomposing matter in a water-deprived environment

Moss carpeting a seasonal creek bed as the water flows through the cracks and into the aquifers below.

Clumps of moss spreading their mats wherever they can find a trace of sustainable moisture

The subterranean characteristic not only defines the phytogeography, but it also shapes the countryside contour.  If one could make the argument that this area could be called “Junipers of Lebanon,” an equally persuasive argument could support the name “Sinkholes of Lebanon.”  Throughout the park you will find large depressions where the earthen abyss has failed, resulting in the surface—as well as objects attached to said surface—sliding into the underworld.

Panorama of enormous sinkhole that partially exposed the cavern beneath.

The abundant park trails can provide stellar examples of the rich variety of geological formations common to this area.  Block formations, sinkhole springs, narrow crevices, or subterranean caves; an easy walk down any pathway rewards the naturalist with an abstract work—thousands of years in the making.

Wes at the bottom of a sunken fissure as a tree on the far end clings to stay up top.

The expansive network of underground caverns has been explored by spelunking enthusiasts, with a popular attraction—Jackson Cave—reporting chasmy tentacles that extend beyond the 900-acre park boundary.  Upon entering Jackson Cave, a gravel gauntlet floor allied with a shallow ceiling forces modern bipeds to duck-walk for the first 50-meters.  Beyond is a midnight-dark, misty-damp, and silty-painted cavern; with springs flowing into the teflon-slick clay pockets below.  The air is deathly stagnant and cold—your heated exhalations creating a visual haze that surrounds and obstructs your flashlight guided view.  I was surprised to find spiders and frogs living in the total darkness of this clammy lair.  This blackened pathway continued another 500-meters where it opened up into an underground lake with expansive ceilings.  Lacking proper equipment, caving skillz, and a safety sidekick; I retreated from Jackson Cave, covered—head, hands, back, and feet—in  the obligatory argillaceous veneer.

Outside the exceedingly low opening to Jackson Cave

The aged rock formations are not the only natural sources of interesting artifacts.  Throughout the park you’ll find unusual tree specimens—each revealing its own uniqueness of twisting & knotted branches, texturizing barks, and wandering roots.  

Two dogs and a tree with a humongous growth.  Make your own caption.

Museum quality natural art

In addition to the natural quality of this park, there are several other recreational activities.  Horseback riding from the park-operated stable, olympic-sized (seasonal) outdoor swimming pool, through-the-woods Frisbee golf course, softball fields, rental cabins, playgrounds, mountain biking trails, and a nature center.  All of this within an hours drive of The Grand Ole Opry.   Cedars of Lebanon is a strong candidate for anyone's vacation plans.  If you can't enjoy yourself here...stay home.

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Rock Island & Great Falls Gorge (TN)

Sunset casts an orange filter on an established farm in the rural Rock Island area

An hour of spirited driving northwest of Fall Creek Falls, you’ll arrive in the beautifully rural Rock Island & Great Falls Gorge area.  This rugged—yet fertile piece of Cumberland Plateau is mostly defined by the confluence of several rivers around the Rock Island peninsula.

With perhaps the exception of the 18th Century battles involving Lieutenant Snoddy and the Chickaauga (which just “sounds" like a GREAT story), the area is steeped in a chronological timeline of the quest to harness the tremendous powers and resources of these converging rivers.

“Playful river, ever laughing;
Pleading river, always calling;
Rushing river, now unwieldy;
Wild, deep river, oft defiant.”
~ Dr. R. P.  Hudson (poet); Ode To The Caney Fork 

The late 1800’s saw industry-minded entrepreneurs coming to this area to harness the power of the rivers; only to have their property scattered downstream following the destructive and unpredictable floods that were common to this area.  Early 20th Century attempts to harness the river’s force by means of a series of dams met similar fates.  The river was too wild and unyielding to be harnessed.

“…and thou shalt smite the rock, and there shall come water out of it…” ~ Exodus 17:6 (KJV)

"Twin Falls" pouring out of the gorge rock face.

In 1917 the Great Falls Hydroelectric Plant was completed.  Although it sustained significant damage in the “Good Friday Flood of ’29;” the dam held, and is still standing intact today.  The creating of the dam caused the Collins River to rise behind the dam.  The unbridled river—refusing to let a man-made structure obstruct its path—carved a pathway through the earth.  With tremendous power and volume, the Collins River pushed into underground caverns and ruptured through the many stone fractures as it made its short-cut down to the Caney Fork.  Named “Twin Falls,” this most extraordinary waterfall provides a visualization that there is no river feeding it.

Wes & Buddy hiking towards the bottom of the gorge cliffs

On the far bank from the Great Falls Hydroelectric Plant is a 2-mile trail that starts at the top of the gorge, and loops down to follow the winding river.  The layered rock form sheer cliffs that oversee the narrow, damp gorge below.  In this middle-ground between the jagged cliffs and the rushing rapids lies a lush, pseudo-rain forest; with springs casting aquatic webs across the rich, damp, fern-covered peat.

One of many springs that "appear" out of the walls of the gorge.

The trail traverses several of large springs—ascending and descending where the river has eroded any possibility of a level trek—and ends on an outcropping peninsula that features an upstream view lined with dozens of mini-waterfalls.

Narrow trail with steep declines to the rushing river below.

At various points along the trail, there is a sheer drop-off to the river some 30’ below.  There are also many vertical vantage points that leave the observer unaware that they are standing upon ground that has had its foundation swept away by the river.  Fortunately, we never experienced any Wile E. Coyote moments.

Kristy & The Boys at the upstream overlook (on her first post-accident hike).

Further upstream lies the remains of aged industry that fell victim to the power of the river.  The Falls City Cotton Mill was spared destruction due to its high location on an elevated bluff; however, the essential wheel-house was washed away…leaving the cotton mill inoperable.  The cotton mill’s “Spring Castle” also survived, but was no longer needed to provide refrigeration to mill workers who suddenly became unemployed.

The "engine" that ran the cotton mill.

Falls City Cotton Mill spring "castle"; circa 1890's

Falls City Cotton Mill (aka Great Falls Cotton Mill); circa 1892

Although the violent convergence of this destructive force has been thoroughly documented, the river remains a source for recreational activities such as kayaking, tubing, and swimming.  A nearby sign signifies that although this river has been tamed, it will always be wild.

Even someone who has trouble with capitol "N's" can see the association between lifejacket use and drowning.

wWw

Polar Preparations & Temperature Tribulations

"Hank" handles the sub-freezing temps

With an ominous forecast of multiple days with sub-freezing highs, the campground began to lose the remaining winter camping fanatics.  The campers adjacent to our site had been at the campground since our arrival, and were H-A-R-D-C-O-R-E cold-weather campers.  When we woke, they were outside sitting by their campfire; and when we took The Boys for their nightly walk, they were still tending the coals.  So when we saw these arctic-weather warriors breaking camp, we knew something wicked this way comes.  These folks were also extremely gracious and kind; offering to help us in any way possible.  Since they had witnessed the New Year’s Night EMS disco party, they were well aware of our temporary immobility.  Before pulling chocks, they brought us with a hefty stack of firewood, and provided additional contact numbers should we get into a bind.  Similar to the people of Sparta, these folks were a class act.  Can’t give enough of a shout-out to the families of Kevin R. & Bob L.

With a collection of fallen limbs scattered throughout the campground, I was concerned that the wind may bring one of these large timbers down onto our roof.  Our roof was not the only concern, as the sub-freezing forecast also included near zero absolute temperatures.  This extreme temperature can reek havoc on an RV; freezing/bursting water lines, turning refrigerator coolant to pudding, and making the plastic parts extremely brittle & susceptible to breaking.

My first concern was keeping a supply of water during this cold stretch.  After wrapping our water hose with electric heat tape and further wrapping it with insulation wrap, I felt the hose itself would be protected from freezing.  The water spigot was a different story.  I didn’t have enough heat tape and insulation to wrap the outside tap, and didn’t have much confidence that it would prevent freezing if I did.  With a few basic supplies, I created a heat-sump enclosure for the entire water-point; hoping that the water lines beneath the ground would not freeze.

This heat-sump enclosure was made by placing our folding ladder over the entire spigot, hanging a shop light (with 75-watt bulb) from the upper rung, laying styrofoam panels against the side of the ladder for extra insulation, covering with a 55-gallon leaf bag to keep the wind out & heat in, and wrapping the bottom with more insulation wrap and a cardboard outer shell.  I placed our wireless temperature gauge inside the enclosure so that I could monitor how well the structure was performing.

MacGyver-approved heat-sump structure

My next concern was the refrigerator.  At this point I just put duct tape over the external vents (leaving only a 1” opening) and placed a 75-watt shop light inside.  It didn’t need to stay above freezing—just above 20F.

My remaining concern was the external waste lines.  The lines were disconnected from the sewer, but there’s always “some” liquid in these lines.  if it freezes and expands, we could have a nasty situation when the thaw returns.  All I could do was disconnect the sewer hose and hope for the best.

Everythong east of the Mississippi River has a measurable amount of water.  At 20F, everything east of the Mississippi River has a measurable amount of ice.  Picking up a fallen branch for additional firewood results in picking up the surrounding leaf-litter as well...all stuck together like your grandmothers dish of Christmas candy...in July.

Once again we found in solitude.  Temperatures continued to drop and the clouds moved in.  The dense clouds stealthily moved through the forrest, stealing the colors and texture of natures portrait; making the eye interpret the world as if looking through a frosted cornea.  The wind charging through the treetops, causing them to collide at their apex with a force and sound of two rams cracking horns.

Cold as a sorceress' mamilla in a copper-zinc alloy cleavage-cradle

Then it began to snow.  I sat on the couch watching these "Snowflake Surfers” ride in on their invisible waves, then catch another air-wave to go aloft again.  As the snowflakes perform their abstract dance towards the ground; surfing the wind currents, they don't do anything in unison like rain, but drift around until they come to rest on a (hopefully) frigid surface.  Occasionally they take flight again, dancing on the subtle wind currents while  making their own unique journey through their own unique existence.

Outside temp

Inside heat-sump temp

We stayed below freezing for 4-days, and actually hit zero; but never lost water, electric, or heat.  We endured our “trial by ice” and did better than we expected…after all, we headed south to avoid playing to our inexperience of cold-weather camping.  The heat sump worked much better than expected.  The enclosure kept the temperature about 25F-30F warmer than the actual outside temperature, which enabled us to have uninterrupted water for the entire cold spell.  The refrigerator compressor survived with only a shop light for warmth, and the only pieces of plastic that broke were a few of the ladder rungs.

“There’s no such thing as bad weather, only inappropriate attire.” ~ Unknown

It wasn’t the most pleasant stretch of camping we’d ever experienced, but we now had a newfound confidence regarding our cold-weather capabilities.  Our directional mindset was now re-calibrated, as we didn’t need to run from cold weather…just be prepared for what nature throws at us.

"Snow Dog is victorious." ~ RUSH; By-Tor And The Snow Dog

Americana Graffiti

With doctor's orders to take it easy for a few more weeks, we extended our stay at Fall Creek Falls to the maximum allowable span of 28-days.  The park staff ensured us that they would work with us considering the circumstances; but we wanted to try to push through this period if we could.

Sparta Drive-In: A taste of original Americana

While the convalescence phase proceeded—and life returned to normality at glacial speed—we found that the local camp store had much to be desired with regards to replenishing our supplies.  The town of Sparta lies 40-minutes northwest of Fall Creek Falls, and it was the easiest place to shop without navigating a goat trail; but you have to cross the ominously named Calfkiller River.

Sparta is a quaint little town—not to big, and not too small—and is named after an obscure village of ancient Greece.  When we first arrived in the area, we took Buddy in to see the local vet.  The trip to the vet would set the stage for how we viewed this town, as it was a mixture of small-urban & rural.  The facility itself was very rural, located a few miles out of town on a side road that you could easily miss—twice.  In the waiting area of the vet clinic were a couple of well-dressed women who were picking-up their standard poodles.  While we waited, a vet tech told her co-worker that she needed to make a run to a farm to pick-up a dog that was sick.  Later—while we were in the exam room—there was hot commotion about whether they wanted to examine the bovine in the barn out back, or perform the exam while it’s still in the trailer.  This place catered to the spectrum that defined Sparta.

Although there is a Walmart, there is also a thriving owner-operator grocery store that is reminiscent of days-gone-by.  The isles are a bit narrower, and the gourmet items are sparse; but the owner “Tom” knows all his customers by their names as he greets them amongst the isles.  He and his brother have been running this store since forever; and the clientele are fiercely loyal to his continued personalized service.

The Dodge dealership was full of friendly folks who worked Hank in for routine maintenance, and didn’t clean us out doing so.  They were also quick to point out some of their favorite places to eat in town; and offered to network me with a local historian who could give me a tour of the tri-county area…for free.

Deb at the UPS depot was a gem; helping me navigate the (new to me) system of shipping items back to our basecamp in Virginia using my newly-created UPS account.  She further networked me with the local propane company so I could keep our furnace and stove working.  And speaking of the propane company…the ladies who work the office are spirited, witty, and know how to sling a 40# cylinder into the back of a pick-up.

The local pharmacy was very clutch in their service & professionalism.  Kristy's pain medication was from another county, her insurance from another region, and our physical address...well...was a moving target.  Although this would normally launch red flags, the staff quickly made sense of our predicament and squared us away.

Across the street from the pharmacy is a gourmet coffee shop that puts that Seattle brand to shame; and around the corner is an "outdoors store" that caters to both outdoor activities—hunting & fishing.  You won't find any high-end, Everest-tested apparel in this store, but you will find a self-service bait machine out front.  If you find yourself in a fishing-bind at 3am, you can pull up and throw a couple of quarters in this Coke-machine-look-alike and get a package of nightcrawlers.  Bet you can't find THAT in a big city.

The town of Sparta does have that small town charm, and when I asked local folks if they would live anywhere else, they all said “NO.”  It is the hometown of bluegrass legend Lester Flatt, as well as the Lester Flatt Memorial Bluegrass Day held annually in Liberty Square.  Sparta also has an operational drive-in movie theater that is open seasonally.  These rare entertainment venues are disappearing from the American landscape, but the locals provide enough support to keep this piece of Americana thriving.

Panorama of the Sparta Drive-In

Although we only spend about a month in the area, the warm & welcoming residents provided me with a respectable rolodex of who's who in Sparta.  The best description I can give this town is "it's what every small town should strive to be."


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