Knoxville Tennessee, July 30

Headed south out of New Mexico, spent the night in a State Park just north of Las Vegas, the campsite was just the open grassland on the bank of a small lake, it was quite idyllic. As the sun set one of the other campers, there were about four of us, launched a catamaran and gently sailed around the lake as the last light failed. The location was appropriate as the lake sits at the extreme eastern end of the Rockies, looking south, to my left was the endless plain running east to the Mississippi, to my right the foothills of the Rockies, blue in the haze and smoke from the fires in Utah and Oregon. It was my first night camping after the Grand Canyon fiasco, the tent was red with the dried mud, fortunately the few clouds cleared as the sun set and the night was cool and comfortable.

No escaping it, time to head back, I planned to drive south to the interstate and just hammer east, however in the coffee house in Las Vegas a local convinced me to take a meandering back road and so I stole another lovely day up in the high desert. But by evening I was finally on the I-40 heading east, I have to laugh at how quickly circumstances change, just a couple of months ago it was all so terrifying and now I'm very comfortable blasting the slabs, but it doesn't compare with the back roads, winding through the countryside, stopping in the small towns, exploring.

Now rocketing east, a steady seventy five. Pretty hot, my thermometer runs around ninety five. Across Oklahoma, through Oklahoma City mid afternoon, then into Arkansas, hope to get past Little Rock but end up too tired about a hundred miles short, pull off into a small town, Forest City, there was an ad for a Honda motorcycle shop, when I find it they tell me they are booked up a week ahead but send me to a small shop a couple of miles down the road, when I find it the driveway is a shambles of mud and pebbles but more confident now I drive up it and park, after hanging around for half an hour or so I get to talk to the owner, he'd like to help but they are closing in a few minutes an he is heading off to Sturgis for the motorcycle convention, It is in one of the Dacotas. Damn an blast, I'm pretty tired and after spending an hour or so mid afternoon trying to get Leslie serviced I'm hot and sweaty.

Not to worry, on we go, maybe thirty miles,, pull off into what looks like a pleasant small town, from the map, called Conway. Actually Conway is a desperate place, it consists of a loop of highway off the interstate, both sided lined with endless strip malls and auto sales, a single traffic light has a sad cluster of brick buildings, the remnants of the old town, most of them boarded up. This turns out to be the style of all the towns I visit off the I-40, the businesses are driven to the interstate intersections and the town centre s are sadly abandoned. I find a reasonable looking motel, check in, when I get into the room it is pretty awful, pleasant furniture but a stained carpet and even two dead cockroaches in the bathroom, Ugh!. But I'm tired and really have driven far enough, four hundred and fifty miles, my longest day, so I shower, take an hours rest, then drive down the strip looking for a restaurant, there isn't one, end up in a Captain D's fish parlour, not too bad. Across the road I stop in a gas station to get provisions for breakfast and a can of beer, the outside of the store is covered in crickets, or a similar insect, they tell me that they are having and absolute plague of them, hundreds and thousands.

When I get back to the motel I check and the dead insects aren't roaches, just more of these wretched crickets. But, when I get back from dinner the parking lot is filled with police, three cars, miracle I didn't fall off when I swung into this mess from the road. Apparently the Hispanic boy in the next room had a major accident in his dressed up SUV, and didn't report it, his SUV is all banged up, I stay a long way away from it all, after an hour or so the police leave, everything calms down, I'm in bed and asleep by ten.

Now rereading this I realise I have missed out an entire day on Interstate 40, and this pretty much sums up long days on the interstate simply run into each other, not too much fun but certainly gets you four or five hundred miles a day, my longest was 450 but I can imagine on a cooler day easily driving five hundred. How Mark did a thousand is beyond comprehension, good on you, mate.

Next morning I decide to sleep a little late so as not to have the rising sun in my eyes, in fact by the time I'm on the road, around eight, the sky is overcast and I have a rather pleasant morning run, as midday approaches the skies clear and I really start to cook. Coffee time I realise that route 70 runs parallel and a few miles south of I-40 and I take this quieter road, it is amazing, the side road is deserted, most of the time not a vehicle in sight, ahead or behind, meanwhile, just a mile north, is the interstate, an endless stream of trucks and cars. I shift back to the interstate in West Memphis, cross the Mississippi, take the information centre exit, park.

A Taiwanese comes over and asks would I mind if he takes a photo of his family with me and my bike, don't understand this but happy to oblige, so his wife and daughter pose and takes half a dozen photos, this must be the third or fourth time this has happened. I flee into the air conditioned exhibit centre, cool but no chairs, damn, I had been looking forward to a half an hour's rest as it is really blistering outside, humid, hot, very uncomfortable. So outside again, there is a sky train that connects with Mud Island, I assume this is an island in mid river, I miss the turn to the parking area and so end up on the interstate, undefeated I turn off it and spend a half an hour wandering around downtown looking for the sky train station, when I finally find it I discover the parking lot is for employees only. So, this time defeated, I head on east, still don't know what Mud Island is.

Late afternoon I stop in a rest stop for a breather, this skinny guy comes over to talk to me, his name is Larry. At first I think he is one of the truckers but turns out that actually he is the guy who looks after the rest area, a lot of work, he not only maintains the facility, toilets, etc., but also cuts the grass, four and a half acres, trims the edges, does everything. He tells me he just bought a motorcycle, a week or so ago, however he can’t remember what type it is, other than that it is a Harley. He is a smoker, has emphysema, circulatory problems, has to quit. He is taking a prescription drug that apparently helps him to stop smoking, he has almost stopped he said. One of the side effects of this drug, Larry tells me, is that he loses his memory, so he can't remember things, such as the type of motorcycle he bought or the name of the drug he is taking , in fact, right now he can't even remember his wife's name. Wow. He is very friendly and gives me a Tennessee map, water from his refrigerator, people are so nice.

I head on through Nashville, a bit of a mess but I'm really very comfortable with the big cities now, drive very defensively, generally keep in the right or one over lane, let people go past, keep out of their way, generally I'm happiest in the rightmost lane as then I always have the breakdown lane for escape, it does mean I have to be very very careful of cars cutting in front of me to make the exit lane, and keep an eye on cars merging, the idiots driving fast in the leftmost lane to get past one more car, truck, whatever, before making a multiple lane change to take the exit are the most dangerous.

One guy did all of that, cut in front of me to make the exit, then, well committed down the exit lane decided it was not for him and pulled back into my lane, fortunately I had slowed for him so when he cut back he was still well in front of me. Another added burden is that the in city roads are normally in the worst of condition, potholes, debris, makes it all a bit hairy.

Exited at Lebanon, looking for another motel, drove the several miles of the strip road that connects the interstate west of the town to the interstate east of the town, nothing at all attractive so pulled into a rather pleasant motel, turns out the only difference is the carpet was cleaner and the TV more modern. Watched the second half of a BBC comedy, "As time goes by".

Morning I decide to spend a leisurely day driving through central Tennessee so take route 70 again, it turns south and wanders through half a dozen pleasant towns, I stop off at Ozone and take a walk to the falls, there are a bunch of people setting up for a rappel, really loaded with descending gear, must be cavers on holiday. I head on, a very late breakfast in Harriman, it is Sunday and the churches are coming out, the cafe is filled with overdressed people, one group are really extravagantly dressed, the man is wearing a suit that looks like it is made from silver thread, the women in extravagant colours and costumes.

Only a few miles to go, head a little north, swing through Oliver Springs, the lovely complex brick house is still there, it was built by a doctor and as long as he was still building he didn't have to pay tax so he kept on adding little bits here, and there, all this in the late eighteen hundreds. Through Oak Ridge, my normal ambivalence, some of the best things in my life happened here, some of the worst also happened here. Then over the river, turn right at Hardin valley, overshoot the Gallahar Ferry road so have to make a turnaround, then left up Gerry's drive way, I had been worrying about the gravel entrance but it was no problem, and I've arrived.

Shut Leslie down, sit and listen to the silence, the wind in the trees, distant thunder, then again the lovely silence. Bloody mosquitoes attack me. About ten years ago a virulent breed of mosquitoes was accidentally imported from the far east in a load of old tires. They are large, they are black and they are vicious. They give you Nile fever which is apparently very unpleasant. They are too big for the tiny creatures that live in pools and ponds that normally eat mosquitoes to eat and so they breed uncontrollably. The local song bird population has taken a terrible hit because of these wretched pests. Essentially they have taken over the outside at dawn and dusk. Bastards.

I fled into the house to meet Gerry and Sandra, for me this is a wonderful home. When I get a moment I'll pull out my map and get the days right and tell tales about the places I've been and the people I've met that I haven't had time to talk about. But for now, safe and sound in Knoxville, sad to say I missed Alan and Bernice by a day, well, see you back in Abingdon. and love to all, Phil

Phil Edmonds
Enroute across the USA