So, there's a statue of Dolly here, the Dolly Parton Parkway there, Dolly Drive is up there, Dolly wood over they-ar, the Dolly Parton stampede all you can eat dinner show is they-ar and hee-yar we hev Dolly's splashworld warder park.

We avoid the lot!  One great thing about all things Dolly is that she's attracted hundreds of hotel chains which keeps rates real Low.  It's been a long driving day so we pitch into OHallan's Grill for some wings 'n' fajitas and a couple of beers.

Next morning with a bit more energy we look for somewhere to stop over for a few days so we can get ourselves organised for Nashville.  The  Creekstone Inn Backs onto a creek which comes roaring out of the rockys just below our room.  Opposite is a campsite with firepits dug into the ground, on our balcony we have two rocking chairs so we don't need to fight! Shortly, in a cool box purchased from Food mart we have a six pack of beers, a box of wine, some cheese, ham, pickles, nuts, pringles and humus.  We are sand boys, dogs with two dicks!

There's a lovely "Old Town" section here centred around the Old Village Forge.  The forge still works and the Mill, general store and stone masons are still going concerns.  There's also a "Moonshine" brewery and a Cider house.  Both are extremely generous with samples, in fact the moonshine place will keep serving you samples until you "Caint hardly speak a word"

Kim and I wander around the whole town centre and wind up on a beautiful balcony set over the river which roars away underneath us.  We have purchased a sample board of two glasses of sparkling wine and two rough ciders. 

It's wonderfully warm and sunny after all the hurricane effected weather of the last week or so.  Just infront of us the 18th century mill wheel creakingly turns next to the weir, the river stretches straight away from us bordered on both sides by leaning Oak and weeping willows, leaves are just starting to fall and fill the air.  The piped music is a joy, as Living Lovin' maid by led zeppelin fades into Love is the drug by Roxy music i say to kim, 

"It's a bit like home isn't it?"

"Where would you hear music like this in a bar in the UK?" She replies.

She's right, we'd probably be treated to a line of 5 talentless schmucks skipping about pretending they sang on a remake of an old hit re-recorded on a computer somewhere.

Janis Joplin is singing me and Bobby Magee as sun dappled, we sip our cider and grin like cheshire cats. 

 As the weekend kicks in the campsite opposite across the river starts to fill up.  It's endlessly amusing watching families trying to park campers which seem larger than some eastern european states. The "Griswalds" arrive one evening around 9pm, they set up the camper then run a string of lights from their van to a neighbouring tree and back then out to another tree then back.  Happy with that they then lay out a huge reel of blindingly bright green chaser lights which they use to deliniate their "Plot".  For all the world it looks like a UFO landing site and colours everything for a quarter of a mile a sickly green hue.

Into Gatlinburg for dinner.  We can take a 50c trolley bus (Parkin' aint easy in Gatlinburg)  We meet a great couple in the Landshark Inn and over beers they tell us how they've sold up and moved to Tennessee and they're currently building a shack in the woods.

The bar culture is good here, less sports oriented than New York, more about yarnin' and chit chet.  After  a couple of beers we head to a steak and fish house, over looking a stream we eat trout and stunningly tasty pulled pork washed down with good white wine while the searingly hot day gently softens to a balmy evening acconpanied by the odd, softest of rain showers which refresh rather than make you want to rush for cover.

With our room comes breakfast.  True to local form it comprises sausage, egg, taters, (fiendishly spicy cubed fried spud) 'n' fixins.   Basically a white, floury sausage gravy, which you pour over "biscuits" (Scones to you and me).  By and large we stick to sausage and egg, but fixins come with most meals here in Tennessee.

After brekkie today we load up our day pack and head into the Smoky Mountains National park to attempt the Porter Creek Hiking trail.

It's a stunning walk through beautiful woodland, all the time beside the creek which babbles, burbles and occassionaly roars down waterfalls to keep us company. There's an old barn in the midst of everything, part of a farm owned by the Cantrell family in the late 1800's.  You can only guess how tough it must have been to tame the land here on the one hand and understand why the Cherokee (whose land this was) fought so hard to keep it so suited was it to their hunter gatherer lifestyle. Still, they found Gold and from then the Indians had pretty much had it. Not colonialisms finest moment.

The Porter creek trail is around a 4 mile hike there and back with the "there" being uphill.  When we get back to Pigeon forge we're knackered, hungry and thirsty with a hankerin' for some beer and cat fish.  We set out on a 2 mile hike to Huck Finns Catfish Shack.  It's hot, that beer is gonna taste reeeeeeeeel good! Jesus, the road seems endless, maybe we shoulda taken the trolley bus.  The sun is low and right in our faces, sweat is starting to trail down our backs, boy, that beer is gonna be mighty welcome.  Here we are at last, the catfish shack, we'll settle at the bar for a cold one while we check the menu.

"Har, ma names stacey, how may I hayulp yoo'all"

"You can show us to the bar"

"The what now?"

"The bar, where's the bar please"

"Oh, Huck Finns Catfish Shack don't sell alcoholic bev....."

By the time she said "......erages" we were already settling at the bar at O'Hannahs where we have the enormous pleasure of meeting Aldridge and Dierdre.  They're enjoying their last weekend as singletons before they get married.  We  toast the happy couple with Sweetwater IPA.

There's a furore out here.  Some Black American sports people are kneeling during the playing of the anthem at sports events.  It's a protest against a perception that Black Lives are of lesser value which manifests as a number of killings of young balck men by police officers.

The latest of these involves a police woman who some how enetered the wrong flat, thinking it was her home. Oddly the furnishings and decor didn't alert her to the fact that she was in someone elses home.  No, the only thing that struck her as odd was the presence of a young black man, whom she promptly shot dead.....in his own home.

To make matters worse the police then searched the victims home and managed to find a small amount of weed, which they publicised, in an apparent attempt to in some way justify his murder.

Anyhow, battle lines are drawn, it's serious business.  Today we're at the trolleystop and a guy of about 60 is approaching.  He wears a pair of camoflage pants and a T shirt.  The T shirt has a picture, two crossed flagpoles bearing stars and stripes hanging sadly toward a view of a war cemetery.  White crosses stretching to the horizon.  Above the flag it says "I stand for he Anthem"  Below the crosses...."I kneel for the Fallen"  Like I say ....serious business 

He wears a baseball cap.....backwards. On it is a decal it bears the famous image, the image of Big foot, Sasquatch, turning to look back over it's shoulder at the cameraman.  Underneath the picture is written "I Believe".  Serious business.