New River Gorge (WV)

From Red River Gorge, I’d driven later into the evening than I’d planned, looking for Hawks Nest State Park near New River Gorge. I presumed it had a campground. It turned out to only have a lodge. I was not in a spendy mood and kept driving, stumbling into Ansted and a $40 motel instead, older and funkier, but nicely redone.

In the morning, I shared a coffee in the office with another patron and the manager and heard his story about racing cars over the famous New River Bridge in his youth while the bridge was still under construction. There were no guardrails, he said. It’s 876 feet high (it was the world’s highest when it opened in 1977) and 3,030 feet long, and spooky enough with guardrails. He had that look, like he was lucky to be alive.

I headed to the visitor center near the bridge, waited a few minutes for them to open and was the first customer at the desk. A thunderstorm was due to arrive at any moment so I grabbed my trail map and hustled down the walkway and stairs for a picture of the bridge, then raced back to the truck for the short drive to the trailhead. I planned to hike along the Endless Wall, which is where most of the rock climbers go. The ladders leading down the cliffs sounded appealing and it would be a nice way to check out some of the routes in case I ever put my climbing harness on again. I’d love to squirm my way up a 5.9 crack, though I might have to get back in shape first.

The walk out to the brink of the cliff was enjoyable, but just as the view opened up and the earth fell away, the sky exploded with thunder. The rain followed instantly and within a minute or so it was pouring like crazy. I looked down at the steel-runged ladder, up at the sky and saw another flash of lightning. I was so tempted to climb down (and out of harm’s way), but I was alone and no other sane person would be out there to assist me if anything went wrong. So I deployed my umbrella and trotted the half-mile back to the truck, splashing all the way. A tiny critter of some kind was crossing the trail in front of me and I stopped to investigate in the downpour. Who’d a thunk, it was a crawdad.

I reached the truck with bolts of lightning fast on my tail, and happily climbed in and slammed the door. A park ranger was trying to empty the trash from the restroom and getting soaked as well. He caught up with me later at another roadside pullout where someone had pushed a port-a-potty over the top of a boulder. It took both of us to right the thing. I’d done my good deed for the day and had enjoyed plenty of adventure already, so I pointed the truck homeward and cranked up the CDs I’d picked up in Nashville two days before. I especially enjoyed the wild rendition of Ghost Riders in the Sky by Kelley’s Heroes who we’d seen perform at the Full Moon Saloon. After the long drive home, I was feeling like a ghost rider myself. It was good to be home with the wife and the cat again.

Red River Gorge (KY)

After dropping Kris at the airport in Louisville early on July 26, I drove to Red River Gorge east of Lexington for a dayhike. I really needed the exercise. I’ve forgotten who recommended it to me, but I’ll have to thank them later. It turned out to be a perfect place to ramble for a few hours on rocky ridges among the 80 or so natural arches tucked away in the woods. I picked up a short guide to trails and opted for the scenic loop to Courthouse Rock, plus a few short walks to Whistling Arch, Angel Windows and Sky Bridge. Wow.

Courthouse Rock in the distance.

Angel Window.

Sky Bridge.

Sky Bridge.

Tunnel at Red River Gorge.

Roadside waterfall on the way to New River.

A tornado ripped through here a couple years ago.

Nashville (TN)

What’s there to say about Nashville, other than yeehaw! We arrived in the evening on July 22^nd. And what a fun downtown, as long as you like country music, which I don’t especially (though I like bluegrass), and don’t mind a town that’s still a little rough around the edges. But yeehaw. We had a wonderful time and I came away primed to run out and buy a dozen country music CDs (I did buy a couple). I needed no further convincing after spending a few hours’ touring the outstanding museum at the Country Music Hall of Fame and realizing just how much American music history was made in Nashville, Tennessee.

The street scene was also a kick, with lots of street performers pining their talents. We seemed to gravitate to the less crowded bars, and for three glorious days became regulars at the Full Moon Saloon. The sweet woman at the bar not only served beer one-handed, she sang at the same time with a wireless mic in her other hand, while her partner strummed his guitar on stage. Let the record show we did not get plastered, since my lone kidney doesn’t like me to go there, but we did, I think, get a little drunk on music. We did not see anybody famous (to us anyway), but saw and heard many, many young and not-as-young musicians who obviously love what they do and perhaps hope to reach the big time some day. It seemed that most just play for fun and for tips, which in a slow bar might mean enough for a sub at Quiznos. The bars and bands were wall-to-wall and some were jam-packed so those folks must have been doing alright. Slow bar, fast bar—there’s probably a song about the disparity somewhere.

Kris spent the days wandering the shops and sights, checking out the river and discovering hidden gems, while I attended my conference at the gigantic, curving conference center. Our last night was a tossup between moseying over to East Nashville, which has a developing music scene of its own, or checking out a show at the Ryman Theater, which once hosted the Grand Ol’ Opry. We saved our nickels and went for East Nashville, and though we struck out music-wise, we did score an excellent dinner at the Marche Bistro. Fabulous service and quality food in the same establishment, what a concept. The walk back seemed a little iffy in an unfamiliar town, so we played it safe and caught a bus back downtown.

The Ryman.

Kelley's Heroes.

Pedal tavern on Broadway.

 

Too soon, the conference was over (July 25) and it was time leave Nashville. I was broken-hearted to learn that we were going to miss Jeff Bridges and the Abiders at the Ryman later in August. We slowly scooted out of town, stopping at the Parthenon (a spectacular full-size replica of the one in Athens) built in 1897 for the Centennial Exposition. Then we found a cute district near Vanderbuilt University that Kris had read about for a little more exploring. We then navigated into the countryside and to the Loveless Café that a friend at work had recommended. Try the fried chicken, he insisted, so we did. It was excellent, of course—another fine stop on a great tour of Tennessee. From there, it was north to Louisville, Kentucky, where Kris was to catch a plane to DC the next morning so she could return to work on Sunday. I would drive the truck home solo.

We added one more diversion, however, to break up the long drive to Loo-uh-ville. I saw a sign for Bowling Green’s historic downtown and had a notion to check it out. Lucky for us, we found a free outdoor concert (bluesey bluegrass or maybe just blues) underway in a lush downtown park and plaza. It gave the Wilcoxes a nice and easy ending to a splendid week of travel and adventure.

Parthenon.

Bowling Green, Kentucky.