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Why would anyone nickname a sports team "the Voles"? Voles are voracious little bastards. The bane of many a gardener's life. Oh wait. Vols is short for Volunteers. As in Tennessee Volunteers. As in the University of Tennessee's sports teams.
Knoxville real estate maven Christa Conley was not pleased when I texted her that lead. "Just remember," she warned. "You want to make friends in Knoxville."
I'm not over-concerned about making Marble City amigos. Knoxville is ground zero for Smoky Mountain motorcycling, there's a decent cigar bar and I've been promised one of Crash's pups. If I move here, what else do I need?
Don't answer that!
Despite (or because of) Tennessee's concealed carry laws, there's one thing I definitely don't need, should I choose to spend my golden years in the birthplace of Mountain Dew: enemies.
Marble City residents take their college sports seriously. The size, shape and color of the crowd lining Gay Street's main drag (so to speak) yesterday evening makes that an understatement to rival the observation that Ms. Conley isn't hard to look at.
Heeding her caution, I'm not saying the throngs celebrating the University of Tennessee's World Series win were a cult. The fact that Vol fans clad themselves in the same bright orange as Rajneeshees is entirely coincidental.
Just ask the University of Texas. The other UT's orange may be more burnt, but their fans' hearts burn with the same fire.
And just for the record, you couldn't find a kinder, gentler, friendlier, more open-hearted, family-loving group of people than the University of Tennessee's supporters. Go Voles!
We good? Good! I'm ready to go.
Lexington, Kentucky
I'd planned to blow this popsicle stand to take Fritz north on The Blue Ridge Parkway, all the way to its start in Waynesboro, Virginia. Then I noticed I'd have to double-back towards Asheville, after already doubling-back to Knoxville.
While I'm a fan of Stevie Ray Vaughan's backup band, I don't need double trouble. So I've set my sights on Lexington, Kentucky.
Based on why not? The Travel Boss' poster child seems totally stoked. Either that or she's doing a magic trick with a hundred dollar bill.
It'll give me a chance to ask a guide at the Mary Todd Lincoln House (thing to do 10) if someone really asked its owner "Other than that, how was the play?"
The Travel Boss – who sounds an awful lot like a guy – reveals that thing one, Lexington's Kentucky Horse Park, has a Mane Theater.
I don't want to stirrup trouble, but I have a colt following that loves puns. Whether I go to the Kentucky Horse Park depends on how my throat feels and opening times. (My audience is a night mare!)
Thunder Only Happens When It's Raining
An entirely bogus claim – that makes for excellent song lyrics. But thunder is a mission critical signal to a motorcyclist that it's time to seek shelter. An opinion that Monica AI shares...
Riding a motorcycle in severe weather conditions like a thunderstorm can increase the risk of accidents due to reduced visibility, slippery road surfaces, strong winds, and the potential for lightning strikes.
One of those possibilities has a certain post-mortem appeal. My emotionally bereft, financially-enhanced daughters could reveal that their father died on a motorcycle, summoning visions of a horrific crash. And then the kicker: "He was hit by lightning."
To avoid enabling that particular punchline, I'm spending another night in Knoxville. Truth be told, I need the rest. The rest of those killer brisket nachos at Chivo Taqueria!
According to the movie-star handsome bartender (and frustrated real estate client stealer), Chivo's "the home of the largest selection of tequila in western Tennessee."
That's the kind of small town boast that endears me to Knoxville.
I wish I could stay for the gay pride parade down Gay Street. It won't be anywhere near as large as the Vols celebration, but I'm sure it'll be at least as inclusive. If not a tiny bit more.
The more time I spend in Knoxville, the more I'm ready to say "include me in." But first, I've got a lot of miles ahead of me. By my own volition.
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