The panhandlers were at it again this morning. Stopped for a quick check of the map en route to breakfast and I was immediately 'befriended' by a highly plausible guy who took me completely out of my way, meaning I missed getting any breakfast, and then he gave me the pitch. He got short shrift.
Atlanta is a soulless city of high rises which attempt to outdo one another in vertical ornamentation. Sheraton outdoes Hilton, AT&T's tower competes with Ernst and Young. Its a massive game of whose got the biggest dick. That Le Courbusier's got a lot to answer for. And the consequence of all this vertical development is that the ground space is at a premium for, you guessed it, cars. Parking lots parking lots, nothing but parking lots. All with their dire warnings of booting (clamping) and tow away charges for any infringement.
Apart from the Biergarten meal last night Atlanta has almost nothing to recommend it. Though the Martin Luther King Jr heritage site, whilst not an 'attraction' in its own right, did contain the 'Campesino Cafe' which was part of a nice market. The kind you'd go to 'cause the people were nice and the fruit and vegetables were properly laid out. So having been diverted earlier I finally got breakfast of a cup of tea and a burrito at about 11.30.
I made my way up to Franklin, North Carolina, in the Smoky Mountains.
Little Tennessee River, Franklin
Welcome to small town America. I went out for something to eat at 8.10 in the evening, and everything was closed. After tramping nearly 2 miles I endured a moderately disgusting meal at 'Phats' just off the interstate. Everything here revolves around cars too.
I wouldn't have minded but I'd already had a walk, alongside the 'Little Tennessee River' that runs through Franklin. Then I'd had a beer and assumed I'd find some food nearby. Not so.
In fact several things are oddly disturbing about Franklin. I arrived in town only to be stopped by a female police officer who I thought was simply directing traffic. No, she had a phoned in report of a possible drunk driver, me. I laughed, actually, and assured her not a drop had passed my lips. Were you weaving between lanes? she asked. No, not especially I replied, just going with the flow of traffic; as I usually do. Finding your rules on speed confusing but otherwise doing as others do. She smiled and let me go having made no attempt whatsoever to ascertain whether I had, in fact, been drinking. She seemed to simply take my word for it.
Having checked in I then wandered along the river pictured. A very manicured country walk the path ends abruptly but obviously used to continue as beyond the single wire fence there is a flat iron bridge over a stream. Then undergrowth. Returning to the blue monster by way of some insubstantial bird watching I am reading the noticeboard of the country walk, just scanning the list of local sex offenders published there, when I hear a helicopter and turn the binoculars on it. Its a police helicopter I deduce. They deduce some stranger dude looking at them with binoculars and procede to circle me for the next 5 minutes as I get onto the bike and ride back to my motel. A bit disturbing, have they really nothing better to do? The damn thing was out again in the evening.
Recalling debates back home about the Northumbria Police's helicopters and their cost of around £1m each; which has led to the force downgrading to one machine. I wonder what on earth they need one for here. This is the middle of nowhere, as it were, I cannot believe the crime rate justifies anything so draconian as ariel surveillance. Then I remember that much of the modern day psyche of Americans' day to day experience is fear. If you keep telling people they are under threat, that they live in a dangerous world, that the monster around the corner is going to eat you; then people react by being afraid, suspicious and looking for the unusual, the out of the ordinary, to cast their paranoia upon. But what it must cost them, money that could be channelled into far more constructive socially useful activities; education for deviant males might, just, be a little more productive than sticking their mugshots up on noticeboards.
Anyway I had some proper motorcycling on the way to Franklin, off the interstates (motorways basically) and onto some proper twisty roads. Past small hamlets, farms, the ubiquitous wooden shack homes that I have seen now in every part of my trip. Motorcycle Roads USA, a website, promises some great driving today, as I begin to come to the end of this section of the trip. Back to DC at the weekend before heading toward the wedding.
I am up early today. Got caught out on the time zones in Atlanta, thinking it was high time for bed at 12.15 a.m when it was in fact 1.15 a.m. So after all that walking yesterday I was early to bed. The mist has been burned off by the sun, my digestive system has just about sloughed off last nights meal. Time for a spot of breakfast and then the long and winding road.
No comments:
Post a Comment