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May is hot in Tennessee. I should know that, because I was there. Heat was there when my husband, dog and I packed ourselves back into our van after hiking in the Great Smoky Mountain Park. It was there seeping through the cracks of the windows, as we let the natural wind cool us down before switching on the air conditioner in our overworked van. Sun heated the afternoon like a baking oven. Of course, it was possible to someone who lived here his whole life, this was just another day that felt like spring. But we hadn't lived here our whole lives, and this felt like July where we came from. On a day like this, I'd hit the beach and not come out of the water. The dip in the freezing creek I had taken earlier in the day on the hike was a long memory from the distant past. Like the beach I'd left on Long Island. Heat was going to be an ever present guest with us as we made our way through the South to the Southwest. Temperatures were close to fifteen degrees higher from where we resided up North. Of course, I should have been more prepared for this, as I had several days to get used to all of this. It wasn't like I'd flown from New York in January to Puerto Rico and was slammed with a rush of hot air that was unexpected, no matter how logical and sensible it was to expect it. Acclimatizing to a new temperature was usually part of any long distance road travel, but it was strange to encounter it anyway, regardless of what was supposed to be routine or wasn't. The whole effect was surreal, like I was experiencing some kind of time travel. I liked it. Things at home were different from here, and that to me was like, totally cool. But the whole thing did need some time to get used to; apparently three days wasn't quite enough for me. I sat back in the passenger seat and let myself indulge in the drugged sensation of allowing heat to seep into me, while on some distant level of cognizance I took in the scenery that drifted past me in the movie screen of my window. After leaving the park area, we once more approached the circus of Gatlinburg. We refueled our food supply by stocking up on fast food by one of the many universal establishments littered along the way; I think it was a Hardee's, but I can't really be sure. The exacts of that particular sojourn escaped my memory other than I was one of many who was looking for something to eat. Whether they were tourists, people breezing through on their way to somewhere else, workers, or residents braving all of the above, I don't know. There were just a lot of people, and it was hot. Of that I was completely sure. The temporary pause of air conditioning in the store only numbed my confused body and did nothing to rejuvenate my energy. Sleep sounded like a great idea to me right about now. I wasn't the only one who was affected by the heat. My husband was looking forward to getting on the interstate so that even if we decided to forgo the air conditioning to save on gas mileage, we could have the wind rushing through us at sixty-five miles per hour. MacGyver wasn't doing so great either, at this point. The joy of his bath in the cold waters of the Smoky Mountains was just as long gone as mine had been, and he wilted in the back seat, oblivious to the smells that pervaded outside of his window. It was as if he said, hey, I've been here and done that on the way here so no need for me to stay awake. I was inclined to agree with him in my groggy state. The carnival atmosphere danced past us as we toured our way past it. Cars, trucks, and campers turned in and out of restaurants, stores and other gizmo places. Here, so far as I knew, you could get a knickknack with a tree on it saying, I Was In The Great Smoky National Park without ever having to venture out to the actual park. I had no idea what was there. Nor did I care. I was here for nature and not for tourist traps. I was here to discover what America was all about. Of course, that included capitalism, but I didn't allow that commercial thought to enter my smug bubble. That is, until I saw the plane ride. From what it looked like, you could get a ride on a helicopter or some other flying vehicle for only fifteen dollars. For all I knew, that entitled one to the grand total of five minutes in the vehicle, and maybe the flying apparatus was missing a few peripheral parts, like say, brakes. But you could go flying. I thought of going up in whatever specimen that was being offered. I really did. The prospect of adventure suddenly woke up in me, reminding me that I was traveling. My spouse, too. We could go up in the air and see the tops of the trees that we had visited not too long ago. A wacky plane ride didn't sound too risky to us. After all, we had already survived a biplane ride over the Gulf of Mexico in Florida. We later found out the guy crashed the plane, but it wasn't with us in it. Which made it all good. We were game. Except for one small problem: MacGyver. There was absolutely no shade around anywhere to be seen; not that it would have made any difference. With the van being green, it was absorbing every ray of sunshine like the solar panels that Jimmy Carter put on the White House and Ronald Reagan took off. And as friendly as all the advertisements made the surrounding establishments seem, it seemed impossible that any one of them would give our dog temporary shelter while we soared through the skies above in a cheap thrill ride. No, the plane ride would have to wait, and we would have to continue on our way. The heat wouldn't allow for such a vanity flair. Oh, well. That was the breaks of travel. The heat that put me to sleep had also prevented me from breaking budget, keeping me somewhat in check as far as what I regarded my goal for this trip was to be about. Okay, so I wasn't above a tourist trap here and there; I guess the Zen monastic thing wasn't for me at this time. This trip was supposed to be about seeing as much of America as I could in a month's time without running up too much of a bill. Allowing my heat-addled brain to be seduced by the siren of a plane ride would open up the door to other such indulgences before I really was even out of the starting gate, running up a bill before I even got to California. Maybe my dog was right. Here, he kept me honest by denying me whimsical diversions and instead leading me to the road ahead. He let himself be conked out by the heat and didn't even care about plane rides missed or side trips forgotten. Good advice, it would seem. I ate a hamburger from my fast food bag and looked at the road ahead. We made a turn onto the highway west, the carnival of Gatlinburg behind us and the memory of the Great Smoky Mountains strong within us. |
