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Cross Tennessee IX
September 3rd, 2005

This year's run could have been called off for a variety of reasons, including but not limited to: the fact that gasoline was over $3 a gallon, the fact we may not even find gasoline along the route, the fact that our hotel(s) in Dyersburg could have been filled with Hurricane Katrina evacuees, the fact that president George W. asked us all to conserve gasoline this holiday weekend. These concerns led me to call a friend of mine who runs a petroleum tank farm in Nashville and ask his opinion. He said, "don't go". The likelihood of this event taking place was looking pretty grim just 48 hours prior to its start. So, at our September club meeting, I brought these facts to the group assembled. The participants looked at me as if I were crazy. "What do you mean, don't go?" So we went.
I was asked in the early years of the Cross Tennessee just how many times you could cross this state and not repeat yourself. I remember that I had actually studied this question thoroughly and thus I had an immediate reply. I said "eight times". I was right, in a matter of speaking. There are only so many ways to get through the Smokies, cross the Tennessee river (twice), climb Walden's ridge, descend into the Sequatchie valley, go over or under four interstates, circumvent Nashville & Memphis, etc. But nine years is a long time. Although this year's route unintentionally followed parts of the X-TN V, who was going to know? The scenery is just beautiful, the thrill is always there, and the whole day is an exercise in constant change. There is very little time for the mind to concentrate on anything other than the ever-changing scenery, comments on the radios, and the brake lights in front of you; much less some semi vague notion that life is repeating itself.

All participants of this year's drive were assembled atop Newfound Gap by 5:30 am. I could tell we had a hearty group. Included were: Mike McMillan and his cousin Gary Allen, driving Mike's Lotus Elise, Wayne & Joanne Manges, driving their TR-4, Rich Miller and Debra Todd, driving Rich's TR-6, Don & Ginger Zerrip, driving their Boxster, Bonne & Jonathon Foulds, driving their Z-3, Allan Rigby and his girlfriend Rachel, driving Allan's Spitfire, and Terri and I in our Mini Moke.
The sky was completely clear on the mountaintop. These conditions made it very easy to see the dawn break. So at 6:04 a.m., we were off. The temperature was very cool and everyone with an open car was bundled up. Townsend was shrouded in fog. The foothills parkway drive was as always, beautiful. We made a breakfast and fuel stop in Vonore. Arriving at our pre-determined Sweetwater fuel stop, my wife threw in the towel. A lack of sleep was the main cause. She was escorted home by John Childress; who came by to wish us bon voyage. I split driving/navigating responsibilities in Pikeville, where Mike McMillan took over the wheel of the Moke. Between he and Gary, I wouldn't have to drive & navigate solo another mile before we reached our riverbank destination. It was a huge favor that I didn't even have to ask for. We made good time through East Tennessee. The route was designed to have one stop per hour for fuel and bathroom breaks. In retrospect, that may have been too many. We were spending 12 - 15 minutes at each stop, a statistic that had to improve if we were to make the riverbank by dusk.

We skirted by McMinnville and actually had lunch at the predetermined location. This was a good indication that all was right with the drive thus far. From there we hit some impressive farm roads, leading us far from numbered routes and roads with names for that matter. I got lost once by following a vague route instruction, which told me to follow "the main road rule". Who put that in there anyway? Well, it was a scenic side road. Jonathon indicated at my "give up and turn around point" that according to his GPS, we were only a half-mile from route 64. But I wanted to follow the pre-determined course so we turned around to follow a course that revealed some rare, gorgeous, elevated Middle Tennessee scenery, followed by a half mile of gravel road.

By 4:30 pm, we were just past Centerville and entering some of the most rugged terrain this side of the Smokies. Another gravel road, this one rutted and steep, slowed the pace and quieted the radios. The roads again left civilization behind and narrowed to a point of being more of a means of discovery rather than a course to a destination. The next route instruction ahead said "2.3 miles, left at top of hill". Upon completing the left turn, we were greeted by a woman and her two kids, who were standing beside a sign that said "Road Closed". My mood changed as fast as my mind processed these two simple words. She stated, "You can't go through, we're having a road rally". I told her that we too were having a road rally. "Well, this is a State of Tennessee Road Rally"….. Again, I told her we were on a state of Tennessee road rally and we had to reach the Mississippi River before dark. With a smile and a smirk, she stated "You'll never reach the Mississippi River before dark, but if you turn around and follow Route 13, you'll make the Tennessee River by dark". I'm not sure I thanked her for her advice, but I know that I didn't cuss her out either. We made our way south to Linden and picked up US 412 west. In about a dozen miles, I pointed out to Gary where we would have come out of the wilderness, just shy of the Tennessee River bridge. For the record, that lady was correct; we did reach the Tennessee River before sunset.

Not really, knowing how far behind this detour had affected our timing, I changed our already battered course instructions, and we plowed through Darden and Lexington, the latter being by far the largest town along today's route. In Ward County, at the intersection of Sykes and Ward roads, we re-established contact with the Cross TN IX. With three GPS computers on this year's run, all I had to do was make a call on the radio to see what our overall speed was. Although some may not think that overall speed is a stat worth asking about, to me it is the most critical. An average speed of 33.5 miles per hour will put us at the riverbank on time, anything less is a failure. We were not up to this average, but our altered course exercise helped. We now needed an average of 42.1 mph from here to the river to reach our goal in time. Not impossible, but not undemanding either. We were nearly 67 miles from the river with just less than two hours of daylight left. Sounds easy, if you're driving on an interstate.

Mike dug his spurs into the Moke and the rest did their best to stay with the little green mule. I was initially proud of the fact that I had found some of the curviest and hilliest roads in the West Tennessee countryside to drive through. But now I would have gladly settled for the straight, flat, and boring roads that are a staple for this part of our state. Our speeds were ever increasing. We had the right group of like-minded, determined club members. It all seems like a blur now. After pushing through the Hamlet of Halls, we had one last 14-mile stint before we reached our destination. That now came all too quickly, as we drove fever-pitched past cotton fields while the sun hovered over the hood of our car. If our goal was to witness a sunset over the Mississippi River, then our timing was perfect. The sun settled behind a bank of clouds five minutes after our arrival. We drove to Dyersburg to get some food and some sleep.

The next day the group went home in different directions at different times. The early crew of Mike, Garry, Alan, Rachel, and I ended up in the kingdom of Skullbonia.
We took some lovely Sunday morning quiet back roads to Nashville. There we made our way to the Lane Motorcar Museum to see automobiles that weren't really any stranger than what we drove there in, but they did have fewer bugs on their windshields. That is where our little group split up and headed for home in different directions. I was told that Alan & Rachel encountered a rod knocking issue in Harriman. I am not sure how they got their car home, but it was the only mechanical issue of the entire trip.

 
Next year is the tenth anniversary of the Cross Tennessee. Several competing ideas to this run have been suggested over the past decade. Personally, I am open to any and all suggestions. However if the next event is to hold its own, it has to meet a certain criteria: It has to make its participants long for the drive months in advance, it has to challenge the participants to achieve (when they would otherwise pull over to take a nap!), and last but not least, it has to be as much fun. The Cross Tennessee is all that and more. To me it is one of the best days of the year.

Mark Caldwell

Addition to Drive: JoAnn, Wayne, Jonathan & I left at around 11:00 a.m., after breakfast at the slowest restaurant, the Huddle House in Dyersburg... The TR4 had a little trouble on the way back…after everything talking about no breakdowns on the way, it's interesting that they all happened on the way back…have we ever had a drive without a breakdown…I think only once…is that right, Mark? Anyway, the Triumph started losing oil from the rear main seal. We'd stop periodically and put more oil in and they made it home without further trouble. I was told we had better drive a British car next year…maybe the TD will be up to it.

note:  Wayne finally decided it was time for the TR4 to be restored.

Cross Tennessee X
September 2nd, 2006

The Final Crossing

When my wife Terri and I drove across the state on one of this year’s Cross TN planning trips we floated ideas past each other on what could replace this challenging drive.  I have been talking about a replacement drive for a few years now.  Although it would take dozens of years to hit every great back road from the mountains to the river, there are just so many ways to string them together in such a way that allows us to achieve the goal of getting there by dusk.  After eight years, the routes started to repeat themselves (in some places).  Terri came up with the replacement drive that had just enough twist to it to make it a worthy successor to the Cross TN.  Maybe because it was to be our last run, this year’s group was the largest ever.  We had 12 cars and 22 participants.  As to be expected with a group this large, we had our slowest average speed ever (33.06 mph).

     The mountain top was cloudy, with the clouds at times sitting right over the cars.  Nine cars made it up to the starting point.  Attending were:  Mike & Shelia McMillan in their Lotus Elise, Morgan Everett & Glenda Russell in Shelia’s new MINI, Wayne & Joanne Manges in their XJS, Beverly Gonzales & Pete Billjack in Pete’s beautiful 84’ XJS, Allan Rigby & Rachel in a Mini, Jim Overdorf in his Mini, Dion Jardine & Bob Overdorf in a Mini (both came up from the Tampa area just to make the drive), Donna Kimble in her Lotus Elise, and me with my Moke.  The definition of dawn on such a cloudy day is a complicated determination, but at 6:15 am we decided it was light enough to start.  At the bottom of the mountain we picked up Rich Miller & Debra Todd who had borrowed Dave Well’s Mini for the drive.       

     The weather was cool, but not as cold as it had been in previous years.  Since East Tennessee back roads are well known to most of us, I tried to throw in a few new roads between the start and rendezvous point of the late sleepers, Lenoir City.  It was a lot of fun racing the Moke for all it was worth down narrow rural lanes and watching Allan & Rachel cling to my rear bumper.  We’d stop at the end of the driving instruction and wait up for the others.  I lost my walkie talkie twice due to sharp turns and a lack of doors.  We climbed the Foothills Parkway and again into the clouds.  The bicyclists were out in mass, coming out of the murkiness without any warning.  Donna was in mid pack when she struck a dog that bounded onto the road from the trees.  In an attempt to avoid the bicyclists on the left & the dog in the middle she aimed for the grass on the right hand side of the road.  But the dog anticipated the danger and reversed course, thus putting itself back into danger.  Her skills as a driving instructor were put to use as she saved her car from a wet grass catastrophe.  The dog did not survive and the Lotus sustained damage to its front spoiler and turn signal lens.  A bit of work with some duct tape and we were off again.  Arriving at Hardee’s a few minutes ahead of schedule, we added John Childress in his Bugeye, and Frank & Pam Ambrister in Pam’s new MINI.  Dave Wells brought my wife down to act as my driver as I navigated the rest of the day.  Don & Ginger Zerrip showed up to wish us well.  Don was fresh off a plane from China and in no condition to endure a drive like this.  Donna took photos of the damage to her car with her cell phone and e-mailed them to her concerned husband at home. 

     We made good time to Lansing and as we started to work our way across the Obed River we ran up behind a truck & horse trailer.  For miles we followed this deterrent to progress until it too, in turn, got stuck behind some type of gargantuan road maintenance vehicle.  Well enough was enough, all 12 of us passed this slow moving caravan in a moment of excited rage and we all lived to tell about it.  Before we knew it we were traveling through Mennonite country with well-manicured farms, country stores, and fried pie stands.  The roads offered plenty of scenery, lots of turns, and no traffic.  We had lunch creek side, just east of Gainesboro.  It turned out to be a nice stretch of the legs and chat session.  The weather was cool and cloudy and it would stay that way all day.  Back in the cars we worked our way north of Nashville and met up with Devin Wells (Dave’s son) where the route crossed I 65.  Devin acted as co-driver for John Childress.  Just past Cross Plains we diverted back to farm roads.  I had written one particular route instruction as “left @ Y”, but as it turned out it should have said left at the T.  The “T” was hidden over a rise in the road and we came up on it unexpectedly.  Terri took the turn about 40 mph and the 10” wheels on the Moke were screaming.  Others followed suit, each just as unprepared as we were.  Two instructions later it was clear that we were no longer a caravan of 12.  Amazingly enough I had cell phone service and I got a call from Childress asking where we were.  Evidently, John and co-driver were talking away when they came up on the T.  John looked up at the last minute and made a squealing right-hand turn and skidded to a halt.  On his heels was Shelia in the Lotus.  No sooner than both cars had stopped dead, a deer bound from the ditch and over the tail end of the Bugeye. 

          Every trip across the state has its striking moments.  Moments that creates the desire to slow down and enjoy the landscape.  The road itself is usually narrow and curvaceous, so progress suffers.  The necessary correction for these occasions in to make up time on a boring section of some U.S. highway.  (After all, there is a riverbank to reach.)  When we find ourselves this far north in this part of the state, there is only one highway to take us to take across the Cumberland & Tennessee Rivers, U.S. 79.  To say it is boring is an understatement.  But it does work for what it is meant to do.  As soon as we crossed the TN River we detoured to more picturesque byways.  West Tennessee was upon us.  It was time to put knock out the last 90 miles.  The countryside opened up and the smoking tobacco barns were replaced by large fields of corn & soy beans.  In the last decade we have been witness to the decline of West TN’s tobacco crop. 

     We headed north and found ourselves traveling down the geographic curiosity that is highway 116.  The road appears to be stuck in no man’s land on the border of TN & KY.  It happens to appear on a map of each state.  At every junction in the road you could look left and see a “Welcome to Tennessee” sign and look right to see a “Welcome to Kentucky” sign.  Our last stop for gas was on the north side of the road where one could buy a KY lottery ticket if one so desired.  This road was as straight as an arrow.  We picked up the speed and made the next 30 miles a true speed run.  I took over the driving from Terri, selfishly wanting the last dash of the last run to be mine to drive.  We would reach speeds of 65 – 70 mph only to have to back off for a four-way stop.  The overcast skies seemed to hasten dusk.  Naively, I had felt confident most of the afternoon that we were making excellent progress and we could reach the riverbank with plenty of time to spare.  Now it appeared as if the light of day was being drained from the sky.  When we left Hwy. 116, we got back into the curves of old farm roads that allowed us to round the east side of Reelfoot Lake, however our speed barely dropped.   The hamlets Blue Bank and Tiptonville slowed us down but once we made four rolling stops at all of the latter town’s stop signs, we were off again in one last mad dash to the river.  The flat road gave rise only for the levee and in a flash we were there.  A small county park offered a rare paved road to the Mighty Mississippi.  We lined up the cars for photos and some of us touched the warm waters of the father of all American rivers.  Within 10 minutes the opposite riverbank was a dark silhouette of treetops.  We had barely made it!

     The stats of the Cross Tennessee legacy are impressive (see below).  One of this club’s founders (Buddy Wagner) originally thought it necessary that a tow truck follow our monthly drives!  Now we can celebrate 20,000 miles of British motoring with just one annual drive.  There have been too many magical motoring miles to mention.  When I think back to all of the smiles, excited chatter on the radios, and fond memories months after the event I know that I was never alone in longing to go each year.  Like a roller coaster ride where one experiences the mundane of waiting in line and anticipation while being pulled to the top, only to be delivered a rush of excitement that crescendos into a sudden end; then this drive often delivered a thrilling ride into the often unknown depths of our great state.  It wasn’t always easy or always fun.  We had to work through the mundane to fully appreciate the moments of exhilaration and discovery.  To those that make this trek with me year after year, I sincerely thank you for helping me live an annual dream of reaching the end of the blacktop ribbon. 

Mark Caldwell

Stay tuned for next year’s mystery tour….

10 Cross Tennessee Runs =  5002 miles (not including return trips)

70 cars   

125 participants

143.5 hours (not including return trips)

16 breakdowns