I woke up very depressed that morning. I was alone. I had been taken in and thrown out the night before, and I had a bit of a hangover. Slowly, very slowly, I gathered my things and once again vowed never to drink again. Stepping back on the road I made my way toward Lynchburg, Tennessee, home of Jack Daniels.
And what did I find at the very edge of my little patch of woods to brighten my day, no one other than Don Cox. I don’t know how he knew where I was or where I had stayed, but he was there with a cell phone and a recommendation on where to sleep that night. He called a few friends of his in Lynchburg and confirmed my reservation at their home. Wishing me once again a good trip he drove off again. I realized then that I was his pet project for those few days.
It was a great walk up to Lynchburg. I stopped in at Tim’s Ford Dam and restocked my water, chatting with some folks as well. Then set up a system of stopping and resting for myself because my feet were really starting to ache with the new 17 mile days I was starting in on myself. I have a very bad habit, that Ingrid was very good at curbing, of over pushing myself to the point of making myself useless quickly.
When I woke up that morning I checked different essentials to see if anything had been stolen the night before. My wallet was there, my cell phone was there, and various other things were still there. I think they were good people they just had some issues to work out. The only thing I could see that was missing was one of the knives that Clifton had given us back in Sparta, and I figured that was probably still on her lawn and not intentionally taken. When I stopped to take a picture, though, I noticed the camera had no batteries in it anymore which it had before I reached their house. A very strange theft.
Entering the heart of Lynchburg, Harleys off all kinds littered the square speeding up and down roads. There happened to be a motorcycle rally going on that day so I took in the sights of the three wheelers, camper hogs, and other funky bikes before going to feed my famished belly. The entire way up there had been no country stores or gas stations at all.
After dinner I made my way past the Jack Daniels distillery up to the home of John and Ester, Cox’s brother’s in-laws. These were the people Don had called that morning and they seemed very happy to have me. Their home was gorgeous, an old plantation home that had survived Sherman and The War (I’ve gotten used to the Civil War replacing WWII when The War is referred to down here). We had dinner that night and chatted on the porch for a bit before they went to bed and I used their computer into the wee hours of the night.