Sequences

A couple of miles from Gerry's farm the road crosses an inlet of the Melton Hill Dam, created by the Tennessee Valley Project, or TVA, started back in the Great Depression, although I think Melton Hill was dammed quite recently, maybe in the early sixties. Some years ago Gerry, presumably fishing from the bridge as he is an avid fisherman, noticed that the water flow under the bridge frequently oscillates back and forwards with a period of maybe five to ten minutes, we've never measured it as I've only been there en-route to better things, this time we were both out on our bikes heading for the marina and a cold drink.

Gerry suggests that the effect may be caused by the flow of water past the mouth of the inlet, when all the turbines are running the flow is quite fast, in a similar fashion to a flute (we are neither of us actually all that confident of the detailed physics of a flute, but that is neither here nor there, it is the rough picture that counts, ask any cosmologist), he presumes that the flow past the mouth of the inlet extracts water from the inlet, as the inlet empties the inertia of the flow overwhelms the Venturi effect and the inlet refills, the whole system has a natural period of several minutes. How about that for a bit of flaky science?

So, yesterday morning, we decided we'd take a boat down to the dam and investigate the phenomenon, no problem. After a lazy morning start, sitting around having eggs on toast and coffee and solving the world's problems, we stumble out into the hot humid outside to get the boat sorted out. Right, we find it, a bit buried in the undergrowth and drag it out into the open. One of the tires is flat. Gerry finds a compressor and an air cylinder, rolls it over to the nearest power point, the compressor sits on an old baker's tray mounted on a prehistoric pram base with four of the most off round wheels you've ever imagined going round but it rolls quite easily, he plugs it into the power, and fills the air tank, unfortunately the gauge is broken so we have to guess at the pressure, the tank doesn't explode so, so far, all is well. We carry the air cylinder over to the boat trailer and fill the tire, it inflates, progress.

Gerry finds the gas tank for the engine, I plug it in, pump on the squeeze bulb to pump gas into the motor, there are a couple of small splits in the hose near the squeeze bulb but I can block then both with my finger, the gas smells a bit old to me, that varnish smell, but Gerry says it is pretty recent, so not to worry. Just for effect, I pull the engine through a couple of times and it acts really dead to me, certainly doesn't start. It is not good for the water cooling pump to run dry so we don't really try too hard, instead we start emptying the autumn leaves and mulch and general trash out of the boat.

Well, we quickly discover that there was an ant's nest at the bottom of the boat, little dark coloured ants, they instantly get really excited and Gerry is the nearest victim, I make a rapid retreat when I saw them as I hate fire ants and these acted exactly like them, the only difference I could see is that they a little darker, Gerry says they are just very angry little pissants, he is the biologist (very softly, fire ants I tell you, bloody tiger mosquitoes, fire ants, place has gone to hell) . They crawl all over him in a moment, biting viciously. I pour a pint of gas over the boat to discourage the little demons, running around like mad, poor things, trying to find a safe place for their eggs, no sympathy. Gerry comes back a few minutes later, he is covered in bites.

Well, ever onward, all the ropes holding the boat on the trailer are rotted out so we have to find newer ropes and tie it down so we can drag it the fifty yards or so to the water standpipe, then Gerry finds an old water barrel, we stick it under the engine, prop the front of the trailer up, try and start the outboard. Not a sign of life. Ok, we take the cover off the motor, there is a rotted out wire, a bit irrelevant as it is the kill button and we would just love to have a running engine to stop, never mind, here is something we can do so we dig around and find wire and tools and replace the wire, not too surprisingly the engine still doesn't start.

Gerry vanishes back into one of his many sheds and reappears with a much smaller engine,” This one was running when I put it away", he says. I don't ask but wonder, does this imply the other one, the one we've been pulling on for the last half an hour, wasn't running when he put it away? We screw the new engine on the boat, it is tiny, about two and a half horse, Gerry says. We stick it in the water barrel, a couple of pulls and it fires right up. Looking good, we get serious and clean the bottom of the boat out, get rid of all the ants, tie the boat onto the trailer more securely, throw a couple of lifejackets into the boat, two paddles, pretty much ready, then go inside to cool off, all this is happening in ninety five degrees temperature (around thirty five to you metric folks across the Atlantic) and dripping humidity.

I'm covered in insect repellent against the really dreadful tiger mosquitoes which as far as I can tell just love that stuff, I'm wearing my bike boots and jeans so at least I'm safe up to my waist, the insects particularly like toes and ankles and the back of my knees. They are still busy biting my knuckles. Bastards! We have a drink of water, Gerry loves coke, sit around getting our energy back then head out again.

Damn. We can't find the tow ball that fits the trailer, we look every where and in Gerry's farm with maybe half a dozen sheds and workshops scattered about that is a fair amount of looking. So back inside, cool off again, I put on all my leathers, now I'm really boiling and we get outside again, fire up the bikes and drive the ten miles or so to the nearest hardware store to get a new ball, then back to the house, stick it on the back of the Jeep, change back into Jeans and boots, now we are really ready. The trailer tire is flat again so we refill the air tank, then pump up the trailer tire again. Gerry drives the Jeep around and the rear tire is flat so we pump that up as well, finally, we pile into the Jeep and this time actually get going.

All this has taken a fair bit of the morning and most of the afternoon; it is now around five thirty. The Jeep hasn't been used for a couple of weeks and so smells really mouldy, welcome to the high humidity semi tropical semi rainforests of East Tennessee. We drive the five or so miles to where the road crosses the little bridge over the inlet and I suggest we should stop to see if the "flute" is working, Gerry drives past, I walk back. The water looks about six inches low, Gerry says that means the turbines are running, I watch for a minute or so, the rig is parked pretty much in the centre of the road, can't hang around too long, in the time I watch all I see is a steady outward drift, looks like the system is shut down for now.

When I get back to the trailer, Gerry is looking at the tire that we've been pumping up and shows me, there is a slab of rubber a couple of inches square missing and the canvas threads are showing, half of them are broken. It is pretty clear we are close to a catastrophic failure so we turn around and drive carefully back to the farm, halfway there the trailer gets a bit of a list, we don't stop, and when we get home it is to discover that the tire is essentially gone, just a necklace of canvas strips around the wheel. Another day in the life! Fortunately Sandra has taken the opportunity of our absence to get some shopping done and has brought me a can of beer, consolation prize. Down it goes. Meanwhile this mysterious oscillator will have to wait another day.

Sequences, well, this time they didn't work out. I plan to head out early next morning, get up, discover a little bump on the back of my knee which turns out to be a tiny tick, ugh. I search all over and find another one on my waist, I put them both in a glass and take them down to show Gerry, he says they are deer ticks and not to worry too much, they carry Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever and Lyme Disease, if I come down with a fever then I should tell my doctor, an antibiotic course will fix it, but it is not too likely that I'll catch it, very reassuring. I feel like some innocent New Yorker suddenly transplanted into the Amazonian Jungle, Tiger mosquitoes, Nile fever, fire ants, ticks, Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, Lyme Disease. Hell, it's as bad as Ghana. Well, at least no malaria. Yet!

Time to pack the bike, get ready to go. But first breakfast, we pile into Sandra's Subaru and drive the five or so miles to the nearest breakfast place, a Huddles and have a very pleasant breakfast, a real improvement over the last time I ate at Huddles in Louisiana or similar. Back to the farm, I'm terribly reluctant to leave, Sandra and I sit around talking and going over all the books and stuff her grandfather left her from the first world war, A set photographic studies of the war labelled "How we won the war", I bet that upset a lot of English, some absolutely beautiful quilts, then Gerry comes in and we sit around some more, drinking coffee as an excuse, then Randy, Ferrell's boyfriend calls and says he is coming around, I stay on, I'd like to meet him, finally it is past midday before I get under way. Goodbye my most wonderful of friends, see you soon. I've drunk so much coffee I'm fairly buzzing.

I drive south to Alcoa along a road that says "North", I get confused and make a few one-eighties but work it out in the end, on into the Smoky Mountains National Park, then a fabulous drive along the river a d then up into the mountains, over the gap, down the other side, I decide to take the winding Blue Ridge Parkway, still reluctant to end this fabulous adventure, drive for hours along the top of the ridges, down and across the gaps, back up into the clouds, finally, late I reach the campground, hotel and restaurant at Pisgah mountain, check out the hotel, for once too expensive, find myself a campsite, one more time, the clouds are clearing, I assume it won't rain, plan to sleep out, drive over to the restaurant for dinner, then back just in time ot catch the end of the Ranger's talk about the park, in the question time someone asks her why there aren't any showers, she says that they had planned to have showers this year but the contractor took the money, demolished the old toilet block, then absconded with the money, the matter is in litigation and so it will be some time before we have showers. Life is never simple; imagine ripping off the National Park Service.

I have neighbours and they sit around a fire and play poker until late, then argue, when they finally settle down I realize I'm still pumped up with all the coffee and lie awake for most of the night, the sky is clear, I see three shooting stars, early in the morning the moon rises, finally I fall asleep, wake around dawn. Striking camp is pretty simple, load up Leslie, the windscreen is fogged over, every time I wipe it off it fogs again, impossible to see and impossible to drive looking around it. Then I realize the plastic is colder than the air and the moisture is condensing on it so I warm it up with my hands, that fixes it. Around seven thirty I'm ready, off we go.

About ten miles down the road I come across a couple of people sitting on the side of the road and as I drive by I realise that there is also a car buried deep in the woods, they must have lost control and driven off the road. I turn around and drive back, ask if they are OK, they say that one of them has a cut but they've called the ambulance so I drive off, within a few minutes I'm passed by two fire trucks and an ambulance, good response. Near Asheville I join the I-40 heading East to Raleigh, stop off around nine for a breakfast, this is biker country on a Saturday, the café is filled with bikers, quite a lot of the riders are women, this is relatively new and has been discussed several times. The café has a computer and the charming blond waitress has let me use it if I promise to include her name, so, Jean-Marie, thank you very much. I've finished breakfast, run out of excuses, time to go, maybe four hours if I take the back roads to Raleigh, nearly, very nearly finished the adventure, drive carefully, no mistakes now.

Regards to all, Phil


Phil Edmonds
Enroute across the USA