Tennessee / Kentucky Backroads

June 1, 2013

Somewhere east of Cookeville, Tennessee the interstate expediently moves the motoring horde north. But for me, the Harley and the GPS, what really spins our spokes is the solitude and serenity of country roads less traveled, which is precisely what we mapped out for today's 150-mile jaunt to Bardstown, Kentucky, the historic town of my 18th century ancestry where I plan to spend a few days before moving on to Indiana.

Backroads do have their set backs --- long, exhausting days without getting very far. Add to that the threat of rain and it causes one to wonder if ignoring the efficiency of the mile-busting interstate is a wise decision. Nevertheless, I was confident Tennessee and Kentucky have some decent secondary highways, ones with centerlines and road shoulders. Why is it then the GPS couldn't find any?

I have to admit the first mistake was mine. I was too busy ogling rivers, rolling hills, scare-crow guarded fields, and old barns, and failed to notice the GPS display directing me onto State Route 135 in the vicinity of Whitleyville, an unincorporated burg I never did see except when retracing my digital steps on Google Earth.

Not to worry, said the GPS as she recalculated and showed a right turn ahead promising it was an alternate route back to Hwy 135. Trust me, she said. But I was dubious.  Names like "Crabtree Creek Road" and "Pine Lick Road" never find their way to the Road Atlas Hall of Fame. Sure enough, we hadn't gone a quarter mile before the centerline disappeared and the narrowing asphalt devolved into a bed of tire-bruising ruts. Crabtree Creek Road looked like it might in fact turn into a creek bed. Tire swings and car bodies decorated some of the yards we passed and I wondered if, at any moment, a frothing Cujo-style dog might burst forth in levi-chomping frenzy, his backup a double-barreled-yankee-hating redneck. 

There I go again, letting my stereotypical imagination run wild. None of that happened. In fact we saw no sign of 4-legged or 2-legged life as we meandered peacefully for a couple of miles to a one-lane bridge with what appeared to be a dirt road on the other side.  The GPS finally admitted defeat, agreeing to back track to where I missed the turn onto Hwy 135.

After climbing several miles through deciduous forest, civilization appeared once again and I could see good road ahead, which is why I had issues when the GPS wanted me to ignore my lyin' eyes and turn onto another goat trail. Seems we couldn't go five miles before she wanted to turn again. In frustration, I pulled to the side of the road, dismounted, and removed from a zippered compartment a "real" Tennessee road map I paid more than $6 for in Andrews, North Carolina. I bought it for this very reason, the final word in my ever-increasing disagreements with the GPS. The bad news though was realizing we were a half-inch from Kentucky and this would be my first and last "final word" on Tennessee navigation. I needed to buy another map but was finding them a rare commodity in this age of technology.

I noticed on the paper map the goat trail suggested by the GPS was a short cut to Clementsville Road, the route we all agreed on. I gave her credit for accuracy but no points for logic. We took the good road, even though it was maybe a mile or two longer.

Back to her old tricks, the GPS insisted on turns at nearly every intersecting road. She was doing it for spite, I'm sure. But what could I say? Tennessee was fading behind us and I had no "real" map of Kentucky. The next town was Tompkinsville. I intended to stop there and have a serious discussion with the GPS as well as search for a no nonsense map.

I pulled into a parking lot under the watchful eye of two imposing churches, one emanating Godly music on its chimes. Such ambiance wasn't conducive for an argument with the GPS. Besides, I have to admit the GPS led me through that maze of country roads and I'm still on track. Besides, some of those roads don't even exist on a paper map. And as far as the scenery goes, the GPS really knows how to put on a show. 

Suddenly, I had an epiphany. In checking again the GPS navigational options I realized I had selected "shortest route" instead of "fastest route", which I mistakenly assumed would have sent us to the freeway. But, because under the "avoidance" options I'd selected to avoid freeways (which the GPS confusingly calls "highways"), the fastest route would then choose from fastest secondary roads, most often faster because the shorter ones are in bad repair and shaped like a spastic snake. Without hesitation I changed the selection, apologized to the GPS and rode on, completely forgetting to search for a paper map.

I'd been dodging thunder showers all day, luckily escaping downpours but seeing their left behind puddles quickly turn to steam on the hot, humid asphalt. Just north of Tompkinsville the sky looked serious enough to warrant rain gear. I stopped and suited up only to be out of the rain in a few miles and suffering the sauna effects of the rain gear. Stopped again to take it off. 

Passing through the tiny burg of Temple Hill, across from a tent-revival set up, I stopped at a convenience store, remembering my desire for a paper map. I didn't expect to find one but stopped anyhow because the store was, well, convenient.

"Kin I hep yew?" The plump lady behind the counter asked in Southern English while eying me with suspicion.

“Got any maps”? I asked, hopefully.

“Nope. Don’t have any maps”. The lady said. “Whereya tryin’ ta get tew”?

“Well, I know where I’m going now (an idle boast) but will be in Kentucky for a while and will need it later. My GPS keeps sending me down dirt roads. Can’t find anywhere to buy a real map.”

“I know”. The lady responded with a chuckle. “Not since they came out with cell phones.”

Sign of the times (even in Kentucky), I thought. Real maps are now rare as hen’s teeth …. to coin a country phrase.

More curvy, up and down roads led north to Glasgow, an old-brick-building town I’m sure is rich in stories of the past should one stop and ponder its history, which I didn’t have time to do. The sky was getting darker and darker, no doubt ready to cut loose again. At my request, the GPS led us the short distance to Interstate 65. There comes a time when you just have to say "no" to scenic tranquility if you want to put a quick end to a grueling day. You just have to jump in there and grab and growl with the rest of them, fighting for a suitable position in the fast moving herd. Soon, I was up to 70 mph and covering the remaining 62 miles to Bardstown pretty quickly, the last 20 or so on the “Blue Grass Parkway”.

As we review the day's ride on Google Earth, while listening to a thunder-laced downpour outside, the GPS wants me to mention that Crabtree Creek Road does in fact lead to Hwy 135, three miles further than I was willing to go. Yeah, right. So does the creek itself, which would probably make for a better road.

Below is a two-part video showing today's ride:

Cookeville, TN to Bardstown, KY

Missed Turn at Whitleyville

On To Bardstown