Mt. Rushmore...NOT; Fall Creek Falls...Maybe

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

We’ve been contemplating a road trip to see Mt. Rushmore.  We figured we’d need about half a day at the monument, and then we’d spend the rest of our two weeks driving here, there, and yonder out west.  But a couple of weeks ago, I checked the weather at Mt. Rushmore, and it was already 28 degrees and snowing.  Neither of us cherished the idea of driving on snowy mountain roads in terrain we know nothing about.  We decided we’d better formulate Plan B.  As our vacation dates approached, I checked the 10-day forecast for Mt. Rushmore.  It looked safe (weather-wise), but by then we were sort of out of the mood to drive that far.

Plan B ended up being a camping trip to Fall Creek Falls, in east Tennessee. 

We pulled out of the driveway at 7:30 this morning.  Stopped at a convenience store for sausage biscuits to go, and then hit the road to Jackson, Tennessee, where we intended to catch highway 412 east, which would take us nearly all the way to Fall Creek Falls.  Long story short, we spent about an hour driving around Jackson, looking for 412.  We found it briefly, then lost it again, and ended up w-a-a-a-ay the hell out in the country.  This, with a GPS, Google Maps on the telephone, and Microsoft Streets & Trips on the laptop.  We couldn’t even find ourselves on a map.  Finally, we found two good old boys loading stuff into the bed of a pickup truck, and they gave us directions that (we hoped) would set us back on course.  Good thing we enjoy traveling the back roads, eh?

Around 1 p.m., we reached Murfreesboro.  Though we had already sampled nearly every “road snack” we’d brought with us, we started thinking about food – real lunch.  I’d brought chicken salad and chips for lunch on the road, but I told Joel, “It wouldn’t upset me to find a Mexican restaurant.”  Evidently, he didn’t take me seriously; he kept driving. 

1:30 p.m. – my legs have commenced cramping.  I said, “I sure would like to get out and stretch.”  He kept driving. 

 2 p.m. – I said, “I NEED TO GET OUT.”  He kept driving.

2:05 – I unbuckled my seat belt.  After a moment, the seat belt alarm went off.  Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding.  Joel acted like he didn’t hear it.  So did I.  After another moment, it dinged again.  He glanced over at me.  I pretended not to notice.   The third time the alarm went off, it was insistent.

Dingdingdingdingdingdingdingdingdingdingding…!

Joel looked over at me.  I could see a little irritation on his face.  “I’m not buckling it until I’ve been let out of this truck,” I told him. 

“I’ll let you out, allright,” he said.  “I’ll put you out, and not let you back in.” 

“You wouldn’t,” I said.

“I might let you get in the back of the truck.  You could stretch out back there,” he said.  I stuck my tongue out at him.  Thankfully, despite my attitude, he pulled over at the nearest convenience store. 

We got out, ate our sandwiches standing up, and were back on the road in 20 minutes.

4 p.m. – We finally arrived.  There were six campers lined up on the road ahead of us, waiting to check in.  We’d already paid in advance with a credit card, so we zoomed past them, found our campsite, and unhitched the camper.  While he lowered the legs and leveled the thing, I went back to the camp office to formally check in.  It took two tries around the loop before I found my way out of the camping area.

This is a nice park.  The camp sites are roomy, so we’re not jammed up in anybody’s front door.  However, the schools around here must be on fall break; the place is swarming with children.  Loud children.   And one of them has the croup and periodically belts out loud, seal-like, barking noises.  No telling when all these little monsters will finally go to bed.

I told Joel that campgrounds need to have “senior” sections – no kids allowed – for us old farts who travel without children.  Naturally, we would not feel this way if they were our own grand-rug-rats kicking up a racket.