Boogity, boogity, boogity...

The final day. Bugger. Having been slave to the alarm clock for the past couple of weeks we decided to wake up in our own time today as there were just two places that we had to visit today - Atlanta Motor Speedway to pick up last years Nascar review DVD and the Martin Luther King Jr National Historic Site. I was taken to the latter by a friend last year, not expecting to find it interesting, but came away with a real interest in the subject. This led me to visit a number of related sites earlier this year and, having now visited Birmingham, Montgomery, Little Rock and Memphis, where MLK was shot, I felt a desire to return to the place he was born once more.

Before I returned though, we would head south to Atlanta Motor Speedway. I didn’t really know what to expect but I had read that you could take track tours for around five bucks. That sounded like a bargain to me and I felt sure that Andy would approve.

When I was finally allowed to leave the motel I was ordered to stop at the nearby gas station so that sir could buy milk. I’m still not entirely sure why he couldn’t get milk when he had his breakfast but life is full of mysteries. Another mystery is why I agreed - but then you’d not expect it to take a full twenty minutes to navigate your way to the opposite side of the road and back again. To say I was un-amused was possibly an understatement but hell; at least he got his milk! The drive south was, thankfully, rather less eventful and we soon found ourselves turning into the parking lot and making our way to the gift shop where the tours run from.

We were greeted by a friendly guy who invited us to have a look around his store and explained, when we asked about the tours, that we’d just missed the last one. I looked at Andy and gave him a one of those stares of which any woman would have been proud then looked back to the bemused shop assistant and said, “well, at least he got his bloody milk.” The poor guy didn’t have any idea what my problem was but he sure knew there was a problem and offered to take us round himself if we were able to return after dinner. I could have kissed him but resisted the temptation and limited my gratitude to a big smile and a sincere thank-you.

As they had sold out of the precious Nascar DVD we decided that perhaps we should head back along the road to the Walmart that we had seen on our way in and have a look there. By this stage Andy was getting brave - or scared, I’m not sure which - and was able to stray more than a yard from me without hyperventilating. We agreed to meet back at the car in an hour which would have left us 20 minutes to drive back to the speedway in time to meet the guy who was going to take us for our tour.

Almost two hours later, me sat in the car banging my head on the steering wheel, Andy returns. He doesn’t even have time to close his door before we are off in the direction of the exit. We made very good time back to the speedway and arrive around half an hour late. Thankfully the guy was still happy to take us out on our tour and he even managed to collar another three passengers who happened to be visiting the gift shop at the time. We all climbed onboard the van and sped off for our tour around the speedway property.

After showing us a number of interesting features around the outside perimeter of the track - how many people realise that the property features a small family cemetery, for example - we headed through the infield tunnel into the paddock and into pitlane. Our driver stopped the van, invited us to buckle up, then span the wheels and roared down pitlane doing a fine impression of Juan Pablo Montoya as we raced onto the track. We did three or four hot laps, running right up on the high line as our speed picked up, before returning to pitlane. He locked up the brakes as we stormed into a pitbox leaving us passengers looking for our pitcrew to leap over the wall to change our wheels and top up the gas. Sadly that was the end of the fun and we were driven slowly back to the gift shop before being turfed out and sent on our way. I hadn’t realised it at the time but Andy assures me that the speedo in the van was reading over 100mph for most of that time. Money well spent and I’d recommend it to anyone - even if you’re not a petrol head.

Finally, last stop before the airport: Martin Luther King Jr National Historic Site. Last time I had visited we had got terribly lost and ended up in a pretty scary area. This time, thanks to the satnav, we found our way straight to the door. In the end it was a bit of a disappointment; not a patch on the museum at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis. But it was interesting to see Andy’s attitude change from one of disinterest to one of disbelief as we made our way around the museum. I suspect that I was being similarly observed last time around.

 
A quick drive through downtown Atlanta - again interesting to watch Andy’s reaction! - and back to the airport. It was a sad moment to have to hand back the keys to the car and get onto the bus back to the terminal. I had enjoyed the trip enormously but was looking forward to getting home and having my own space again. To celebrate I joined Andy in a massive feast as we waited for our delayed flight. This time it was him observing me; after ten days of me bugging him for constantly eating he was confused!

I don’t know what it is. When I wake up I can shower, clean my teeth, eat breakfast, check out and be in the car within 30 minutes. At no point on this trip have we managed anything less than 90. That would generally include packing and unpacking the bags half a dozen times, flicking through all the TV stations 18 times and, when you finally seem ready to hit the road, taking the bags in and out of the car 24 times. Then there’s that final problem that we all encounter of having to return to the room to check that you’ve not left your shoes behind, only to realise that they’re on your feet. You wanna know something? The earlier we get up, the slower the process. The slower the process, the earlier we have to get up. It’s painful, it really is!

Thankfully there’s relatively little driving to be done now so things are all very loose for the final two days of the journey. Today we headed down to the Museum of Aviation on Robins Air Force Base in Warner Robins. It was an easy 100 mile drive south and I’d been looking forward to visiting but, if truth be told, had little idea what to expect as we don’t really have that sort of thing in the UK.

On the way south we got to talking about the best and worst parts of the trip so far and we both agreed on the shopping as having been the biggest problem for us. Andy had run out of clothes and was regretting not buying more and I, having spent an hour last night trying to ram everything that I had bought into my bags, was worrying about how to get everything home again! I spotted a sign for yet another designer outlet center - are these things everywhere or what? - and decided to swing off so that Andy could get a few more bits. He came away happy and I, seemingly unable to resist, came away annoyed at myself. Seriously, if I get stopped at customs in Manchester there’s gonna be issues!

We pulled into a visitor center along the interstate for some driving directions to the museum and, yet again. I was seriously impressed with the people there. I absolutely love visitor centers in the US. We have them back home, of course, but it’s amazing to see how they continue to employ those who are seemingly the worst possible person to do the job. In the US they have it bang on.

Warner Robins itself proved to be just another row of Wendys, McDonalds, Arbys, Taco Bells and the like but, emerging from the other end of fast food row we were greeted with the sight of a fighter plane ahead of us. We were amazed to discover the size of the museum and even more surprised to discover that it was free admission. I was enjoying it already!

Four hours later we emerged with smiles on our faces. Whilst it is a shame to see quite so many planes seemingly abandoned outside in various states of disrepair, the three hangers rammed full of planes (with a fourth under construction) were absolutely fantastic. It would not be unfair to say I enjoyed myself there and, if I’m ever in this area again, I will definitely return to see what they do with the new hanger which, I was told by the very friendly guy on the front desk, was to be devoted to the Second World War, a subject that interests me greatly.

   
Feeling surprisingly tired by now we decided to head back to Atlanta for the baseball, stopping at Atlanta Motor Speedway along the way. This plan was thwarted by a sudden rain storm which caused at least four large wrecks and a lengthy tailback. What is it with rain and people’s inability to drive in it? Instead of stopping at the track we took a detour across country and headed right to the hotel to freshen up before heading to the game.

Just before we were to leave Andy announced that he wasn’t interested in baseball as it ‘took too long.’ Whether it rained or not I was definitely going and so I took off on my own. It was fantastic - not the game, that was terrible - but getting out there on my own again, having the freedom to do what I want to do when I wanted to do it. I think I said it previously but, if that makes me selfish, then shoot me. I had a great time and all but decided on the spot that travelling alone is the future for me. Who’d have thought that six months ago when the idea scared the life out of me? If you’re reading this and have yet to travel alone, do it, you’ll not regret it.

We decided, even though the falls were dry last night, to press on to the planned stop for today – Abrams Falls. We had no idea whether or not it was dry but we be figured, if it was, then at least we’d have had a bit of a hike. Neither of us are in particularly great shape but this 5 mile hike was described as moderate so we were more than relaxed about it. When we reached the trailhead we were somewhat surprised – not to mention a little alarmed - to find a sign indicating that it was rated as moderately difficult to strenuous. But we pressed on regardless.

It transpired that the only moderately difficult part was passing a particularly unimpressed dear who we met coming down the trail towards us and who didn’t welcome our arrival. It was great to get away from the real world where people don’t make eye contact and step back in to the happy land of smiling and chatting with fellow hikers. The views along the trail proved to be pretty poor and we were never quite sure that a bear wouldn’t step out and rip our arms off but we finally reached the falls and were delighted to discover that they were in full flow. The cool water was a welcome reward for our hard slog.

After a couple of photos we headed off back down the trail. I was, once again, delighted at the ease of the hike in my new streamlined shape. Halfway down we stopped for five minutes to admire the one scenic view available on the trail and to take on board some water. Whilst we stood there I greeted a family coming up the trail who, it transpired, were also from London; just 30 miles away from me. They’re on an extended roadtrip so I recommend that they visit RTA the next time… always the sales rep!

Back to the car and off to Cades Cove visitor center, the ridiculous slow pace of traffic on the loop road infuriating me as we drove. Eventually I lose my cool and sound the horn. Immediately the car in front gets out of my way and I make headway for 20 yards until I get behind the next slow moving car. I repeat the inadvertently discovered process and, sure enough, I am able to pass another car. Champcar may have Push To Pass but, in the Smokies, the rule of the road seems to be Parp To Pass.

Somehow we manage to miss not only the visitor center but the road that I was planning to take out towards our next stop in Virginia. Not a great bit of navigating but, as is often the way, it all works out for the best as the new route takes us out of the park along some great driving roads.

Andy has developed a need to constantly stop for food and feels the need to continually tell me about it. I’m actually becoming a little worried about him so I relent and pull into a roadside country store. I really wanted to press on to Pigeon Forge as it promised a wide selection of food fare but I was really starting to think that he was going to die if he didn’t eat. Either that or I would go deaf. It was a truly awful shop, full of tacky gifts, but he buys a huge dirty great ice cream whilst I choose to go for something a little healthier; home made wraps out the cooler. Unbelievably he manages to polish off a couple of those too.

We soon pass through Pigeon Forge and I’m amazed at the size of the place. I had expected commercial but this was halfway to being Las Vegas. As we drove through Andy was reading off the names of the eateries that we passed like he was in some sort of day dream. The only other thing he would alert me to was gun shops, which was concerning me as much as his desire to continually eat frankly. We stopped briefly at the Nascar Experience which Andy seemed very uninterested in – which was odd seeing this was a Nascar trip! – before pressing on towards Virginia.

I had planned on stopping as we neared the Bristol area to enquire over vacancies for Saturday night at a motel. Quite apart from the heat of the tent, I had really fancied waking up on Sunday morning and watching the GP on Speed Channel. The 36 Motel – milemarker 36 on I-81, of course! – had one room left, at 70 bucks a night, but would only rent it on a two night basis. I was tempted after meeting a real friendly bunch of race fans in the motel office but didn’t think Andy would go for it. As I came out of the office I spotted him talking to yet more racefans so I turned right around and told them we’d take it. It was a rickety old motel, but then that’s half the fun.

We’d been warned not to tinker with the aircon when we went into the room but it was so damn hot in there, and the unit was only on ¾ speed so we had no choice but to crank it up. Eventually, and I mean eventually, it would cool the room to a point where you’d not burn your fingers when you touched the door handle. The heat was unbearable, the neighbours noisy, and there was no Speed Channel, but it would do just fine.

After a welcome shower we headed out – you’ve guessed it – for food! Not sure where to go we consulted my guidebook only to realise that there really wasn’t anywhere to go! Enthused by promises of a ‘stunning, beautiful and historic downtown area’ we headed 20 miles or so to Rogersville. First impressions weren’t great – the typical rows of fast food joints and strip malls – but we turned into the old town and things did improve there. It was, as promised, old. It really surprised me how there could be such a contrast within 100 yards or so.

I wasn’t hungry but we ended up in a Pizza Hut back on the main road and we ordered a ‘medium’ pizza each. When they were delivered they barely fitted on the table and we could only manage to eat half. We asked for a box and took the other half back to the motel for breakfast.

Whilst we’d been sitting in the restaurant we had seen a dozen or so drag racing cars heading past on trailers so we decided we really should go and investigate. Anything would be better than sitting in the motel room for the evening and chancing upon a drag racing meeting would have been most agreeable. We never did find where they were heading but we did chance upon some great mountain roads and decided to put the car through its paces. As per our previous experiences… it was thoroughly dreadful. But, despite it all, it was actually rather fun and we finally started to gain some affection for it. We really must, as we covered about 60 miles before realising how far we’d driven – and how little gas we had left.

The red light came on as we finally made our way back to Rogersville – another disaster narrowly averted. Something that seems to be a common theme on these trips!

Originally I had planned for us to visit the North Georgia Premium Outlet center last night but, after the fiasco getting away promptly from the airport, we arrived just as it was closing for the night. There was no choice but to wait around until it opened this morning as we had purposely travelled light, intending to stock up on cheap clothes once we arrived. In the UK, shops will usually open at 830am or maybe 9am, so it was a surprise to learn that the outlet center wouldn’t open until 10am. When you factor in the time difference that is equivalent to 3pm English time so there was no way that we’d be able to sleep until then. We woke around 8am and passed the time by taking breakfast by the pool, inspecting the engine in the car to see how it was possible for something so gutless to make such a lot of noise - we never did work that out - and having a second round of breakfast before finally heading out to Walmart for provisions.

I’m not sure if Andy has ever seen the inside of a Walmart previously but he certainly made up for it now. We had to walk every aisle and pick up everything that you can’t buy in a UK supermarket. He was particularly fascinated by the idea of being able to buy guns and knives at the same time as your Corn Flakes. Eventually I managed to - almost literally - drag him out of the store and we headed over the road to the outlet center.

After so forcefully steering him away from the guns I felt a little guilty as I took my time to peruse the wares of a number of clothes outlets. I managed to spend a small fortune but picked up some real bargains in the process. I’m not sure that it’s entirely down to the amazing savings - probably as much to do with the laid-back and helpful manner of the shop staff in the US - but I really do enjoy shopping here. It all seems such a hassle back home.

We finally left the Dawsonville area and headed out in the direction of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. It should have been a relatively laid back day - compared to the rest of the trip which was going to be somewhat hectic - but we were now running late and I had to shelve our plan to spend time in the Tallulah Gorge State Park which was possibly just as well as Andy was positively underwhelmed when I pulled into the Tallulah Falls Trading Post/Overlook. I’d been here last year and thought it was mega, I still did on my return, but it seemed Andy was more interested in guns and knives than scenery.

Eventually, after a couple of dozen photos stops, we rolled into the national park. When I’d visited last year this had been my first national park visit so I didn’t really know what to expect. Since then I’d visited loads of them and had made it my quest to visit them all. This time I knew the lay of the land and had a plan. After stopping at the visitor center we headed out to Clingmans Dome to watch the sunset. It was good to get the walking boots on once again and, although the destination was a bit of a disappointment due to low cloud, it was good to discover that losing three stone since my last visit had made the hike considerably easier.

The hike had been a my warm-up for a proper hike tomorrow but, on the way back down the seven mile Clingmans Dome Road, I thought that the car deserved a warm-up of its own. By the time that we arrived at Newfound Gap it was more than warm. In fact I was convinced that the brakes were going to catch fire. This car was in the same condition that I was on my first visit - overweight and in need of some weight loss!

Deciding that the car needed time to cool off, we spent half an hour or so at Newfound Gap, just chilling and checking out the view. Finally Andy was impressed with something. Surprisingly, given we were in the mountains, it wasn’t the scenery but the wildlife. He’d spotted a dirty great-big strange-coloured bug of some sort and wouldn’t shut up about it. He then started to bore me senseless with his concerns about being eaten by bears before spotting a strange looking bird. I took the opportunity to sneak off and ended up chatting with a large family who were visiting from Chicago. One of them suggested boldly that they thought they might hike the Appalachian Trail next year. When I enquired which part of it they looked at me blankly, “all of it!” they replied. Some chance!

Andy caught up with me at this point and declared that he’d had enough and that he wanted to go and see the waterfalls that I had promised him. There were supposed to be two alongside the road as we approached Cades Cove - our destination for the night - but they must have dried up as we didn’t see any sign of them at all. The only thing that we did see along that road was a curious commotion in the woods along with a dozen or so cars and motor bikes parked haphazardly along the edge of the road. Wondering if there had been a bear sighting we pulled over to have ourselves a look, only to be shouted at for stopping by several of the group. As they seemed such an unfriendly bunch we sped off once more, this time with the rear wheels spinning as if to signal it’s displeasure. The car was growing on me!

Finally, after what turned out to be a long day, we have arrived on the campground at Cades Cove. The noise from the trees is deafening, I’m still not sure what it is that is making the din, and it is seriously hot. Add to that the concern that bears are likely to come and eat us to death in the night (at least they could if you listen to Andy!) and I do wonder if I will sleep at all.

But I can reassure myself with the knowledge that I’m very well off compared to the brother of the two panic-stricken guys we met on arriving at the campground office. They’d headed out on a long hike, with no equipment to speak of and only a limited supply of water, only to realise the true extent of what they’d taken on. One of the three wasn’t as fit as the others so, when they chanced upon a tarmac road, they had decided to leave him and set off to fetch the car. They found the car just fine but were then unable to find the road. That poor guy is still out there. I hope he’s okay.

Today has been a long day but we’re here at last! ‘Here’ is Dawsonville, Georgia. And it’s HOT! Fantastic - I’m happy!

We started the day with the usual rigmarole of delivering the car to the car parking company, waiting for a shuttle bus, suddenly realising you have no idea which terminal you need to be dropped at then, when we had finally been delivered to the right one, waiting in line to check-in. Once we’d finally been checked in we then faced the prospect of fighting our way to the front of the queue for the security check point for the familiar routine of emptying pockets, binning water bottles, getting the laptop out of its bag and removing shoes and belts.

I can understand most of these but I couldn’t help wonder what damage you could cause with a small bottle of water. Whilst I was wondering I suddenly realised that there wasn’t the usual queue today and, totally unprepared for this rather splendid surprise, I found myself looking like a newbie traveller. Those around me took great amusement from my predicament as I dropped coins all over the floor, tripped over my shoe laces and generally flapped and panicked my way through to the departure lounge. Taking a moment to sit down and regain my composure I opened my bag and realised I still had the dreaded bottle of water in my bag. Just as well I wasn’t a terrorist!

The flight itself was a breeze; I even slept for an hour. The food wasn’t great but I’d already enjoyed a huge cooked breakfast back at the airport so that wasn’t an issue. We arrived twenty minutes ahead of time and all was looking good until we hit the tarmac and taxied to our gate. Well, we would have done, but it seems they’d forgotten to organise us one. This was somewhat forgetful of them I thought. “There will be a short delay as there are a number of broken planes occupying the gates today and a tug will need to move them”, announced the captain, “please remain in your seat as we’re parked on an active taxi-way and we will be on our way shortly.” After twenty minutes the engines shut down. We realised then that this short delay would be anything but short. Thankfully, after an hour, the engines re-fired and we started to move once again.

Immigration was easy - the guy was a race fan and was excited to hear we we’d flown all this way to go to Bristol - but the baggage reclaim was an utter farce. The carousel would start, then stop, then a bell would sound and it would start again. Eventually, after a total of two bags had arrived, it stopped once more. Painful, painful, painful.

Finally we had our bags and excitedly headed towards the exit, keen to experience once more that ‘wham’ of hot air as you emerge from the air conditioned building. We had to run to catch the bus to the car rental depot and I was totally mortified to be dropped at the ugliest car that I have ever seen. The bus driver commiserated with us but still demanded a tip for driving the three miles from the terminal. What is it with tipping in the US? I have no objection tipping in bars and restaurants where it all but guarantees fantastic service - which you very rarely see in the UK - but tipping bus drivers? What next? Airline pilots? Madness.

Off we set in this dreadful car - it was a Mercury Grand Marquis Andy informed me as we roared out of the airport - almost rolling the car as we rounded the corner onto the Interstate. I’d planned a short journey for this evening and I was pleased to arrive at the Super 8 motel in Dawsonville and get out of that dreadful car! I had a bad experience with a Super 8 near Memphis so I tend to avoid them but this one was relatively new and I’d booked it on the basis of nothing more than the hope that it wasn’t possible to ruin it in the space of a couple of years. I was half right - the motel itself was fine, the receptionist was very pleasant but, well, let’s just say I think the maids can only be employed part-time. Luckily I’m tired and I have a funny feeling that I could have slept well on the airport floor tonight!