Day 10 - Nine Times Out of Tennessee

Waking up early in the morning, we were conscious that two days on the road on the American diet would not do our bodies any good at all. In order to combat in-car ballooning, we decided to go for a run. This way, just like the juicy seasoned steaks available on every road corner, we get to soak in some local Charlottesville flavour as well. All we knew about the city upon arrival was that it was in Virginia. But a quick research yielded a surprising find; Charlottesville was home to America's third president and favourite polymath Thomas Jefferson, author of the Declaration of Independence. His home, Monticello, is located in the city, as is the university he founded, the University of Virginia.

Monticello

Thomas Jefferson

It was a shame that we had no time (or, ahem, budget) for a visit to Monticello, but it was encouraging to know that a city we had chosen at complete random on Google Maps could produce such a jewel of American heritage. The run was energising and gave us appetite for our breakfast fuel, which we polished off quickly before setting off again. Leaving Charlottesville after 16 hours, it was our fastest turnaround so far. But we had little time for emotional farewells; we had to keep those eyes firmly on the prize - Morristown, TN, was on the horizon, a short 330 miles away.

A rest stop

We had the option to enjoy natural Southern beauty once more (another national park trail was available), but opted to go with the clinical and efficient highway - the interstate 81 - which took us southwest into the state of Tennessee. Before arriving at the state border, we stopped for lunch at McDonald's (I'm proud to say, our first of the trip) and chose to fight novelty and convenience and burn ten calories walking to our meal rather than have it shipped over a food hatch into the side of our car.

Cruising to Robbie Williams

Stopping for gas, I was greeted with a chime of the doorbell and, after stumbling over my words like some kind of Hugh Grant wannabe, received my first 'I love your accent'. "Thanks, we love yours too" was all I could think of in that precise moment. Not that it wasn't true; now that we had taken a huge bite out of Virginia and were nearing the Tennessee border, we were firmly in twang territory, and the it was difficult not to grin upon hearing those lilting 'Y'alls'.

Morristown residence

We arrived in Morristown without much fatigue ('because of alternating drivers!' we tell ourselves, but part of me suspects the sugary contribution of a Georgetown cupcake so eagerly stuffed down at the petrol station rest stop). Staying once again at a Super 8 Motel, we checked in and attended to some obligatory rituals (Facebook, Whatsapp, and Blogblog). We went out to explore the town, deciding to check out the lake at Cherokee Park that had merited the city's selection in the first place. We pulled up and nervously took note of the sign outside - 'East Tennessee Fair'. Sure enough, as we gingerly drove in, we were greeted by a huge spread of food stalls, entertainment rides, and a live rock concert! Feeling out of place at a community fair, we kept our heads down and hastily drove on towards the lake, not wishing to catch anyone's eye or prompt an inquiry into the motivations driving two young foreign beardy males to a concentrated gathering of the city's population of young children.

The park marina

The park opened up onto the lake that boat-owners were taking full advantage of; its scale and scenery were perfect for an evening motor. The greenery provided a great background for us to throw the Nerf around, the only audible sound was the soft whistling of the torpedo as it cut through the air. That tired us out and we were growing hungry as it neared half past seven.

Trusting our search engine pal Google after its Japanese victory the previous night, we had found a Dutch restaurant with solid reviews close by. It was located near an old but still in-use train track and the box building pictured above. As we walked up to the restaurant, we were serenaded by a Frank Sinatra recording: Autumn in New York. I believe he was on the juke-box for most of the night.

We had another great meal - fish and a beer this time. Though the sole that turned up looked as if it had been through the KFC batter machine, it was pretty tasty. And the soup, salad, and bread made sure that we did not go home hungry. We left the restaurant after a nice chat with the proprietor, a Greek woman, who showed us pictures of the restaurant when it was part of an old 17th century mill. As dusk settled in the Morristown centre, the police station glowed imperiously across the intersection, and the sun set on another day of our trek through the USA.