No Sleep till Knoxville

Despite Corinne’s most vehement doubts, Kris and I did manage to get ourselves out of bed and (mostly) dressed by the time Corinne pulled up the long drive to the farm (“look for wheat fields in the middle of suburbia; make a right at the three pine trees”). It took a little while to make good decisions about what should go in the trunk: plastic trident? Yes! French press? Maybe. Pink boa? Sadly…no.



Then it was the long haul through part of West Virginia (wild, wonderful) and, as Corinne put it, the “hypotenuse” of Virginia. Ah, Virginia, sainted land of chicken fried chicken and Foamhenge. Both of these things seem too good for this world. Or at least too good for unsuspecting Yanks bamboozled by the charms of “y’all” and a gratis potato bar.

Incidentally, I was told I look like Justine Bateman. Call her what you will, I don’t think she would be hanging out at the “Country Cookin’” off route 81. That’s too B-list even for the B-listers.

Road Trip Haiku #3: Wytheville, Tennessee

Davy Crockett Tavern
So sad: no ‘coon-skins or beer
Just a covered wagon



Famous last words: "We thought it was going to be a bar!"