I had to ride around a bit before finding a sign for the highway. The rest of the city was disappointingly dirty. There was dirt in the gutters and broken bottles at almost every corner. The funniest thing was that there were so much heavy equipment around: in every little clearing at the side of the road, it seemed like there was an asphalt spreader or a bulldozer or some farm machine rotting away in the weeds. It didn't seem right, since the crummy part of the city where I was didn't seem all that industrial.
I rode I-40 out of town and then got off to get US-64. There were little exits of the the road, and I had a great time riding into the sunrise. I thought I was trying to throw the sun over my shoulder as it got higher and higher. In Whiteville, I hopped onto TN-100 and then edged east to a town named Parsons. There, US-412 took me east until I got to Columbia, and I headded north on US-31.
All of these tiny roads were useless and quiet, and I was having a great time concentrating on the bike and my riding. I thought about trying to find Lynchburg, but it was far away from the run I wanted to make and I thought it would add too much time to my trip.
I continued towards Nashville, and rode through the city. It was fun to watch the sparse farms turn into residential subdivisions, and then burst into a huge city. I got onto I-65 for a bit, and then got onto the loop around Nashville to catch I-40 west. The fast highway was refreshing, since it was starting to get hot and I was a bit tired. I coasted to a stop at the side of the road and sat on a picnic bench in a tiny rest area. While drinking some water, I looked at my map and couldn't really believe how far I'd gone.
I snoozed in the sun for about ten minutes, and then got back onto the highway. Near Cookeville, I got onto TN-62 and meandered through the hills to Oak Ridge, and then just a bit further to get back onto I-40. I decided to give up in Knocksville, though I did want to go a bit further. Traffic was getting dense as the rush hour started, and I didn't feel like dealing with so many people trying to use my road.
I checked into a rank little hotel, and justified saving the money by going out and drinking all night. It was something else; there were a few clubs within walking distance from the hotel, but I started at the hotel bar. This fellow who decided to talk to me turned out to be from Connectiuct, which was rather ironic. As the conversation grew a bit tedious, I left the hotel and walked down the street to another joint and got really loaded. The second bar was test marketing this fruity, fizzy drink called Zima, and I had about a thousand of them before toddling off to my office. I couldn't find my room, and had to go to the lobby all jammed-up to the desk clerk. What a scene. I figured I'd sleep in the next day.
Last updated on April 16, 1997.