Day 18 -- Dandridge, Tennessee to Morganton, South Carolina -- 100 Miles

Today didn't turn out to be terribly productive, but we did see some awesome scenery as we cruised Interstate 40 through a part of the Great Smokey Mountains. Once again the sensational foliage colors that cloaked the millions of trees that flanked our route just took our breaths away. I was unhappy that photography was impossible because of the high traffic volumne and narrow shoulders on our route. I even resorted to shooting through the front window (photo left).

At one point, we enjoyed an unexpected visit and rest stop at the North Carolina Visitor's Center when we stopped for information on the state. We met a young chap named Justin who went way out of his way to make sure we found every possible pamphlet that would aid us on our journey. At first Justin told us he was all out of Kitty Hawk information, but later he tracked us down after he had spent time rumaging through the back room for one that had been missed.

Our main goal today was to try and locate another tire dealer who might have an identical set of tires in stock that would match those we purchased yesterday in Dandridge, Tennessee. The tires we purchased were for the passenger-side dualies and were the only two the dealer had. The driver's side set would have to come from some other dealer. Hence, we spent considerable time exiting and re-entering the Interstate for a meander through a small town as we scanned for a suitable tire dealer.

At one point we took a wrong turn out of the business section and soon found ouselves navigating up and down hills on a tiny mountain road that reminded me of the Hollywood Hills in Los Angeles. There were sharp turns, narrow lanes, and absolutely NO place to even think about turning around. We finally managed to bumble our way back out and rejoin the Interstate, but it was all for naught as we had not seen a single tire dealer anywhere.

We did manage to find a grocery store today and finally were able to stock up supplies. We're not sure where the locals buy their groceries, but it took us most of the day to track down a place where we could buy ours. Once we finished with that chore, we discovered that it was getting pretty late in the day, so we called ahead and secured a spot in the town of Morganton, which was a tad closer to us than the town of Hickory where we had intended to stay.

Wouldn't you know, once we took the offramp for Morganton and were just moments away from reaching our camp we passed a tire dealer. We had already told the camp host what time we would be arriving so I hated to stop. Nevertheless I hung a u-turn at the first opportunity and went back. Unfortunately, the manager looked at the tires we had just bought and shook his head. "Best I can do," he said, "is order them and have them here in two days." Well, two days was not going to work out for us, so we had to pass. Hopefully, there will be more tire stores on the horizon.

When we reached the camp, we were a little less than impressed with the layout and the grounds after staying in the "creme de la creme" of camps last night. There (photo below) all the sites had concrete slabs surrounded by neatly spread decorative gravel and all the amenities were top notch. Some of the site pads even came with their own personal fireplace. And I'm not saying an old steel wheel on a patch of dirt where they allow you to burn some wood. No, the pads had real, full-sized fireplaces.

Keep in mind that these pads that included fireplaces were not meant for "overnighters." I suspect that you had to have reserved a spot for an extended holiday period and your rig had to be washed, waxed, and have been a fairly recent purchase before you got a fireplace. I walked around the camp this morning, and just about every rig I passed was a high-dollar affair, many forty some odd feet long and sporting three axles, not to mention a brand new Jeep as a tow car.

But I was unimpressed, imagining that these fancy machines travel once a year from the owner's home a few hours away to this marvelous lakeside "Beverly Hills" and then, vacation over, they travel back again for a wash and wax job before being put away in a heated garage. If I were to look, I bet the tires still have the little knobby spikes on the tread.

Still, our camp last night, though it contained no fireplace, was by far the nicest we've ever seen (or been allowed to enter) save for an even fancier one in Breckenridge, Colorado. Our camp in Breckenridge came complete with concrete pads, garden sheds, extensive altitude-correct landscaping, mood-evoking boulders, AND, just for us, a real live red fox who came to hang out with us for at least half an hour before returning to his den.

So we pull into this camp today about a quarter after four and find that it's attached to a golf course. There appears to be no office for the camp, so we go next door and stop in front of the golf course office. Once inside, I find a room about twenty-feet by fifty feet, covered wall to wall and floor to ceiling with golf-related equipment. Across the room from the door was a sales counter, and around the sales counter stood or sat several people, none of whom seemed to notice I'd arrived. There was a girl sitting on a tall stool completely mesmirized by her iPhone. There was a guy of about fifty years sitting on another stool smiling at me, but not saying anything. And there was a young kid in his twenties who was showing an older gentleman a newly-received golf club that must have been ordered for him.

Since no one was talking to me I went over to the fiftyish guy and said hello. "You play cribbage?" he asked

Never one to be at a loss for words, I tell the guy that my wife and I own a cribbage set but we've never used it. I go on to tell him that I knew how to play when I was in the Navy, just like I knew how to play pinoccle, but I don't remember a thing about either now.

At the mention of Navy, helped along I suppose because I was wearing my Navy ballcap, the guy launched into a discussion of submarines and submariners, and I tried to keep up with him, but he soon lost me. Not wanting to let the conversation die, I told the guy that actually I was in the Naval Air Corp.

"Hey, really?" the guy said. "What plane did you fly in?"

I told him that I flew in the Neptune P2V-5s and he seemed to know exactly what I was talking about. From that moment on, he and I were the best of friends. I learned that each of us had been privelged to fly in a WWII B-17, though his flight was about three times as long as my 45 minute flight. I talked about my getting to fly in a 1928 Ford Trimotor while seated in the co-pilot's seat, and he talked about wanting to fly in a corsair or a P51 Mustang. He said he missed flying in a B24 but he still liked to. And so on.

I think we would still be talking airplanes in that golf shack if the twenty-something youngster hadn't finally piped up about then and asked if I was the guy who called on the phone about a spot for the night. I said I was, and I went over to the checkin desk and got on with business of paying.

Afterwards I asked the fiftyish guy his name, and he said it was Jeff. I told him mine, and I told him it had been great talking with him. He said the same, and we shook hands. I hated to leave as Jeff seemed like he really needed someone his age to talk to, but it was time to get on with setting up and wished him well and took my leave. But I just love those encounters and wouldn't trade the experiences for gold.

Oh, in case you're wondering, the teenage girl who had been sitting on a stool and playing a video game when I came in, was still sitting on that stool playing that video game when I left. As far as I could tell, she had not stirred, spoken or looked up the whole time I had been there. Now THAT'S rapt attention.