West to Arkansas

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We got back on the road after our service visit at Camping World. It was our intention to head into Arkansas next, to visit Hot Springs. The fastest and most direct route would be to head down through Nashville and Memphis, then out I40 towards Little Rock. We had a terrible time driving through Nashville last year though, so we decided to plot out an alternative course. We headed straight west from Bowling Green for a bit, then angled down into Tennessee on some nice rural two lane roads. Our route took us through Clarksville, and at one point we reached an intersection with a big arrow calling for a left turn towards that town. At that moment both Cathy and I started singing "Take the Left Turn to Clarksville" simultaneously. It was a strange coincidence then that later that day we read about the passing of Peter Tork of the Monkeys, better to take the left turn than the last train I guess.

Shortly thereafter we passed through another of life's touchstones, at least for me. We drove through the sleepy little Northeast Tennessee town of McKenzie, onetime home of the Cherokee Boat Company. My Dad had been, for a time when I was little, a Cherokee dealer. And of course that is the origin of all those famous/infamous PBF cottage boats. Unfortunately, I could find nothing out about where the factory was, or what has happened to the buildings. Not surprising I guess, as they went out of business over 50 years ago. Too bad, but once Pop gave up his franchise, their operation was doomed.

After winding through a bunch more little burgs, we got onto I155 to take the big bridge over the Mississippi. About this time the rain, which had been light and intermittent, started hammering down in earnest, and the driving became less fun. We headed south on I55 to pick up I40 west, very busy with lots of trucks. The 40 was even busier, and as it got darker the visibility got pretty bad. Cathy was getting nervous, and she suggested (wisely, of course) that we stop ASAP. We pulled into the first rest stop we found, and it was already jam-packed with transport trucks. We had a bit of trouble, but we finally snagged a spot near the rest stop exit. We were OK there, but all the trucks leaving would be zooming right by us all night long. Cathy had a terrible night, I, on the other hand, hit the bunk and slept like a baby all night long. Whistling turbo chargers and diesel roar are like white noise for me.

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