I wake up this morning in my tent to an orchestra of birds. Not a bad alarm clock.

The view as I emerge from my campsite is stunning. There is no breeze and the lake in the center of Tombigbee State Park is like glass.

I get two more miles on Natchez Trace before I peel off and head for Alabama. I say my final goodbye right after mile marker 261.

I sneak into Alabama on a little back road with no welcoming signage at the border. The circuitous path I take through the northwest corner of state leads through endless little towns. The farmland is nice scenery on the slow moving journey. There is a Dollar General store in every podunk village. Nothing else really stands out other than the amount of camouflage being warn by the folks I encouter at the gas station.

I take a turn north on Interstate 65 and quickly hit Tennessee. I’m starving and a billboard advertising Sarge’s Shack catches my attention and draws me of the highway. The dimly lit interior is full of old folks who all give me a stare as I’m brought to my naugahyde clad booth. I ask the waiter if he has any recommendations for lunch and he replies that the marinated chicken is his favorite.

When he delivers it, I’m first struck by the slice of pineapple it’s topped with. The sweet “marinade” on the perfectly grilled chicken is somewhere between catalina salad dressing and barbecue sauce. Its served on a bed of brown rice mixed with scallions. I’m immediately transported to a Hawaiian island while sitting in Sarge’s Shack in the middle of nowhere Tennessee.  Unexpected to say the least, but quite delicious.

Upon exiting the shack, I see a sign for the Jack Daniels distillery in Lynchburg, 16 miles away. It seems like it’s worth seeing, so I change course and head down route 64. The grounds and buildings are very nice, but it’s packed with tourists. I decide to skip the tour and keep the tasting to a minimum so I can continue riding.

[Jack]

Leaving the distillery I ride on small back roads until I hit Interstate 24. I dip into Georgia for a very brief stay before hitting gridlocked traffic outside of Chattanooga, TN. It had just rained and the humidity skyrockets. My phone suggests an alternate route over the mountain to skip the traffic, so I head off the highway and onto local streets. I manage to get very lost in the winding hillside streets and in the process discover a neighborhood of incredible old mansions nestled in lush properties.

After a great inadvertent tour of the Chattanooga hills, I’m back on the Interstate headed east. After touching four states, riding just over 400 miles of mostly local roads and being on the bike for 10 hours, its time to quit for the day.

I find a place to stay at the beginning of one of the most heralded roads in the country for motorcyclists called “Tail of the Dragon.” The mountain pass over the Great Smoky Mountains attracts riders from far and wide who want to experience the famous 318 curves packed into 11 miles. The map of the road looks like someone scribbled on the mountain.

Dennis, the owner of the motel/resturant called the Dragon Pit Inn, asks if I want a sandwich before he shuts down the kitchen. He lets me know that room #8 will be mine for the evening and that I should drop off my stuff. He fixes me a huge pulled pork sandwich with a side of coleslaw and his wife offers me a beer. Once they confirm that I’m content, they wander off to their abode for the evening.

Time for a good night’s before riding the road I’ve heard endless stories about this since I was a kid.