Fall Creek Falls

Fall Creek Falls Trip October 6-8, 2006

After twenty seven years of trying to get him to admit Tennessee might possibly have the tallest waterfall east of the Rockies, I finally got my husband to go to Fall Creek Falls State Park. I called it the second night of our honeymoon; I believe he called it surrender.

The trip plan was to go south to the Natchez Trace and drive US 64 across the mid-south portion of the state and then up to FCFSP. My dad changed that plan. He needed to talk face to face with my husband. So, our route changed to the north and for a short while, Interstate 40.

Leaving home, we traveled via TN 100, our usual route to Nashville, just a quick 17 miles from township to city. Then, a hop over to I-40 to Hendersonville, a two hour lunch and visit, and then to Gallatin to pick up TN 109 to Lebanon where we planned to pick up US 70. The plans were thwarted by a chance glance at the map and catching 141 out of the corner of my eye. Though very poorly marked on the roadside, those turns are practically marked in the arch, the road was nice, quiet, just curvy enough to be interesting, and filled with beauty spots. The sky was an impossible blue. Even when I took my rose colored sunglasses off and it became a normal blue, it was still amazing. We paralleled I-40, either north of it or south of it for fifty plus miles.

Around one corner of 141, we came upon Caney Fork River. A few miles later we are looking up at Center Hill Dam. We pulled over for a stretch and a look. You almost couldn’t help stopping; the road made a ninety degree turn at a cliff. The cliff sheltered a nice parking lot with restrooms and an overlook. The dam itself had a narrow sidewalk across it so you could look down at the river side and across the lake side. There were fish on the river side which were big enough to look impressive from the top of the dam. The lake side was sapphire blue with green, gold, red and russet trim from all the changing trees.

Scott encountered another Harley rider at the dam and got a good chuckle, not quite at the other guy’s expense since he was almost as loud as his bike. We were standing at least a half mile away when we start to hear the thunder and clackety snap crackle and pop as the sound reverberated through the river valley as he comes across the dam. He made sure we could all hear him as he is trying to figure out where to land. He whips it in, not really in the parking lot, but just in front of the bathrooms. Girlfriend must have had to go pretty bad. By the time they are coming out, we had walked back from the dam to the bike and the bathrooms. He made the remark to Scott that “There can’t be too many more days like this one.” Scott said, “You can number these. And they are going fast.” Pretty tame so far. The next thing out of the other guy’s mouth was, “Yeah, I’ve been riding her hard.” Scott raised one eyebrow and says, “Oh, yeah?”

You realize I’m hearing most of this conversation through the concrete walls of the government built restroom and the metal walls of the stall and OVER the noise of the girlfriend drying her hands at the auto dryer.

“Yeah, this is an ’02 Springer model with 34,000 miles. I’ve been riding the hell out of it.”

Scott says, “Oh, really. Well, you hang in there and you will catch up one of these days, maybe.” The guy looked at Scott funny. This is about when I walk out. The look on the other guy’s face is “Whut?” Scott points to our Harley and says, “We’ve been riding that one for twenty seven years.” Then the guy starts yelling again, “That’s a shovelhead. That’s a SHOVELHEAD!” Like I said, he was almost as loud as his bike. Not that loud Harleys are bad, but there is a point…

Back on the road, TN 141 that is, and suddenly, it stopped. The map showed it continued, but you couldn’t prove it by the locals, the road signs, or the highway marking crew we asked. As luck would have it, Interstate 40 was within sight. Fifteen miles later we were at Cookeville, home of Tennessee Tech, and our next navigational goal, TN 111.

TN 111 for the first fifty miles or so may lack much to say for itself except that it is extremely straight, which greatly helped our situation. By this time, the sun was beginning to dip and we were starting to get cold. I had on my usual four layers on top, two layers plus chaps on the bottom, and the famous red cowboy boots. Needless to say, despite all that, I was chilled to the bone. Scott, the human furnace, had on a T-shirt, blue jeans, and a denim coat. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, he admitted to being cold by the time we reached our destination.

Finally, we see “Spencer, Tennessee, Home of Fall Creek Falls State Park, Welcomes YOU!” Ah, relief is in sight, I won’t make Scott stop so I can put on my coat. It can’t be but a few more minutes. HA! Was I wrong. A few more minutes? At forty something degrees? In a half helmet and a corduroy shirt? We finally see the signs, FCFSP, turn here and reach the park via the scenic route in eighteen beautiful miles. OR go straight and reach the park via this really straight road in sixteen miles. That’s right, we picked the short route, wouldn’t you? GO BACK! TAKE THE EIGHTEEN MILER!

We get to the park entrance, we think. Nope, just a turn off. Can’t be much further. Eight more miles. Hmphf. Finally! There it is! The entrance! Heat at last! Oh, the inn is six more miles? Shoot me now. Teeth chattering, I check us in just at dusk. Lovely room, balcony overlooking the lake, covered parking garage, seafood buffet, and a line transported directly from Disney World. What happens at Disney World when you are in line? You see someone you know from home. And that is exactly what we did!

We wait, we eat, we crash.

The line for breakfast isn’t nearly as bad. There is a fog over the lake making travel not only fruitless to try to see any sights, but dangerous. We eat a leisurely breakfast and decide to get all our gear packed up and go ahead and check out of the hotel while the fog breaks up.

By the time we are on the road, just a few wisps remain and the trees double their fall glory reflecting in the lake. We take a short ride to the falls, walk to the overlook and proceed to argue about whether or not the falls in Upstate New York are higher. No, not Niagara. Whatever falls they are that Scott remembers from living there. FORTY YEARS AGO! Finally he admits his third grade self might have exaggerated memories, and that the good people of FCFSP would not lie about these falls being the tallest, at 256 feet, east of the Rockies. “But it ain’t Niagara.” Well, duh!

Pulling out of the lot, we turn toward Piney Gorge Falls. The gorge is pretty stupendous. Scott admits to being impressed. We meet a couple who’ve just moved to the area from Maryland. It helped that they were impressed. We chatted quite a while about different things. She and I both have relatives from the area. Their son is a flat tracker. He’d just been recovering from a really bad wreck where a guy ran over his neck. That part they seemed to take in stride. The fact that he had bought a new bike and was hiding it from his wife and kids sort of had them in shock. Dad had said that he was better physically, but had never been the same. There had been tire marks across the back of his neck and tubes in every orifice of his body, plus a couple the doctors created. We sort of stayed with them till we all make it to the Piney Gorge Falls. Two hikes there. One “very short hike to an overlook of the very beautiful waterfall cascading through the virgin woods.” Them’s the park’s words. Then, another hike, not so short, to a fun swinging suspension footbridge, one person wide, which crosses a chasm to let you walk down to the watershed from the falls. We hike; I cross; Scott waits on a sunny cliff edge. On the hike, we notice a huge flat rock, looking exactly like a foot complete with toes. It was large enough and with enough of an overhang that an average sized person could have sheltered under it during a storm. Makes you wonder!

By this time, it is nearly noon. Time to hit the road. Back out to TN 111, we turn south without consulting the map, intending to connect with US 64. Imagine our surprise when we get to the city limit sign for Soddy-Daisy, a lovely little town right outside of Chattanooga! We stop inside the Chattanooga city limits in the township of Red Bank, for a late lunch at a great mom and pop place on Dayton Road. Just can’t remember the name. Southern …. Nice folks. Good pie!

After lunch, we head out for reasons known only to God, for Decherd. For some reason, I thought it was the place to stay. Luckily, the route took us by some of the most spectacular scenery we’d seen thus far. At one point, we stopped to watch seven hang gliders soar over an unbelievable valley. The approach was on a downhill grade of 8% for several miles. The next two grades were less steep, only 6% for three miles and then 5% for four miles. Either we were really high, or we got really close to hell going down that far.

Maybe it wasn’t hell, but we did dip into Georgia for about five miles. They are in cahoots with Satan, obviously, since they had gas for $1.98. We got out of there as fast as I-24 would take us and decided to head north in search of a place to land for the night.

When we stopped for gas a brand new Bentley pulled in just behind us. You just don’t see that every day in Middle Tennessee. Beautiful car, but except for the grill it looked just like my niece’s Chrysler 300. Big, black and shiny. Scott said it had a few amenities Erica’s lacked. Then he pointed out the landing lights on the outside rearview mirrors which turn on when you open the doors. Cool.

We next stopped at a rest stop to double check the map and to call a couple of people when we encountered the next Harley rider who wanted to talk. He wasn’t as obnoxious as the last guy, but you could tell, he knew it all and looked down on us poor peons riding that dinosaur. He was alone, so he needed to talk. He had ridden from Columbia, SC that day and was headed to Clarksville on his ’05 Electraglide. Career soldier, eighteen years. Iraq four times. Just out to ride his bike since he’s spent most of his time in Iraq since he’s owned it. So, you let the boy talk, you know? We listened a lot and nodded a lot. It was all good. As we were departing, he stepped down and said, “By the way, my name is Scott.” And, of course, my Scott, takes his hand and says, “By the way, my name is Scott.” On a laugh we parted ways. We rode up I-24 together till our exit came up. He was in his Harley leathers, rolling another four hours or so. We were looking to stop.

We skipped the probable better exits for Sewanee and Monteagle for Decherd, home of Nissan of America. That was why it was stuck in my mind, not for its beauty and history. It did get us back on US 64, though, and surely a room for the night would be in sight in just a few minutes since the sun was not agreeing to the time we had planned on for its departure.

Look! There is a sign for Tims Ford State Park. Last night was a hit, how about seeing if this one has a great lodge and restaurant, too? Following signs through the countryside, I kept expecting to either come across Beckie in Italy, Dr. Livingstone, or the lost colony of Roanoke. We finally found the park. Cabins. No lodge. Okay, I can stay in a cabin, they don’t look that bad. That little marina shop has pizza, so the lack of a restaurant won’t be that bad. Only, not only is there no inn to have no rooms in, there is also no room in the cabins. Or in the bed and breakfast outside the park. Or in the next two towns east. Or west in Lynchburg at the Country Inn which looked deceptively empty until we found out the three tour busses full of bicyclers we just passed were already checked in and off to Jack Daniels for a little after hours tour de vats.

The next town is Fayetteville, home of Sir’s Fabrics for those in the know. Fayetteville is on the other side of no where. We finally see the city limit sign and *big sigh of relief here* two signs for motels. One is two miles, left at the light; the other is three miles. We learned our lesson yesterday, right? So we go for the three mile option. You may notice I didn’t mention if it were to the left, the right, or straight. Neither did the sign. We assumed it was straight. You know what they say about assuming. I can tell you it will also make you colder. By the time we were a mile out of town, we decided we’d missed either or both motels. Turning around, we took the bypass, found the two mile option after about seven miles of detour and gratefully pulled in to an almost empty parking lot.

“We’d like a room please.” “Would you like the king or the queen?” “We’d like a ground floor room, non-smoking. We don’t really care if it is king or queen.” “I wish I could accommodate, but we only have these two rooms left. So do you want the upstairs non-smoking king, or the upstairs smoking queen?” What is it with us and getting a room? “Do you have a group of bicyclists here for the MD ride?” “No, we have a group of Memphis motorcyclists. They’ve all gone to Cooter’s for supper. Did you try our other hotel? They are already full.”

So we eat gas station pizza, watch the Tennessee-Georgia game; Scott watches with his eyes closed, I watch with morbid fascination as Georgia fails to return to the field after half-time. I sleep in half my clothes, Scott sleeps in Nightmareville. He talked and yelled and flopped around all night long. I missed most of it due to being semi-comatose due to hypothermia. Scott got up in the night and looked out at a parking lot full of Gold Wings, BMWs, Kawasaki Nomads, Yamaha Royal Stars. One Harley. The one with the cover on it. Ours. I never saw them. Wished I’d gotten up and taken a picture, but I was in a fog. Scott said it looked like cord wood. There had to be seventy five to one hundred of THEM.

Morning finally arrives and we go for a sausage McGriddle and some biscuits. Warm tummy, warm sun, warm bike. Ah. Perfect day.

US 64 takes us through Pulaski, Tennessee, known as the birthplace of the KKK. For some reason, I didn’t see a sign advertising that factoid. We stopped at a little market called The Powder Keg which had been in business for quite some time apparently.The owner said there had been a black powder mill there during the Civil War. He had bought a little piece of history. Nice place. The next place down the road was closed. Too bad. They sold Moonshine Jelly. I wanted to see that.

Last leg of the ride coming up. We turned onto the Natchez Trace just shy of Waynesboro. Our only stop was at Fall Hollow. Scott stayed at the top with the bike; he’d gone to the bottom on another trip with Lyn and Teresa. I’d never been, so I hiked to the bottom. It was a small version of the major fall at FCFSP. The waterfall cascades over a bluff while leaving a scooped out cave area dry behind the screen of water. I would have made it up the side and behind the falls, but I had on cowboy boots and I wasn’t willing to risk having to be pulled out by the rescue squad. The rescue would have been professional. The ribbing and snickers for the next ten years would have been relentless. We met some Florida Yankees at that stop. The little girl whined because she couldn’t see the water, but none of them were going to walk the 50 whole yards to the overlook. Go figure.

Thirty five miles later, we were home. Scott remarked the last scenery we were seeing on the Trace was just as spectacular as any we had seen on the whole trip. I just know the scenery I’m going to be seeing in just a few minutes will be the best I’ve seen today. That temperpedic is calling my name.

The last part of the trip was the picture down loads from the new camera, please insert fresh batteries, and the adding up of the miles using the map and Mapquest. We had to do it the hard way since the odometer broke on the bike at about eighteen months. Since then, we’ve estimated. We under estimated by about 200 miles this time. It was a good trip! We traveled a leisurely three days, two states, in the direction our noses pointed, for our best estimation, 536 miles. Enjoyed the company and the people we met along the way. And the air in Scott’s head is a lot cleaner than it was.

PS Ready to go again.