Sleeping in the car is not the best.

Any sleep that takes place in a drivers seat is the result of your nervous system simply getting too bored to be awake. That being said, this is the closest I’ve come to camping so far this trip.

I dug around on my phone trying to figure out when anything opens, trying to figure out when I can move on from this spot and venture out into the world again.

Maybe it was 7AM. Don’t recall, but I finally decided to depart, and drive to the entrance of the Land Between the Lakes.

Its fascinating the things you never notice exist on a map until you actually have the opportunity to zoom in, and figure “Hey! I’m headed through that direction.”

Let me introduce you to the Land Between the Lakes.

A stones throw away from the southeastern Illinois border, and smack in the middle of the Kentucky and Tennessee border, this stretch of nature preserve is a sprawling network of overlooks, campgrounds, and trails.

While I was too aching and tired to make a wander of it, I had the privilege of rolling down 453/49 from northwest to southeast. A Minnesota native, I’m always happy to take a stroll through untamed wilderness

Peaceful rolling hills. Curving road through forests of white oak, southern red oak, black oak, hickory, sycamore, and maple.

There is even a bison prairie where they are free to roam.

The hour-long drive was the perfect transition back to the land of the living.

I wasn’t picky when it came to where to stop for breakfast.

…

Scratch that. I was turned around 180 degrees about five times rolling through Clarksville, as my hangry body began pulling me in random directions, and I kept refusing basic fare like drive-thru food. I stopped at a Dollar Store for some reason, and I can’t for my own soul tell you why. Perhaps it was to get gas at the station nearby and I wandered in zombified without any reason whatsoever.

A Minnesotan in Tennessee. Nobody could tell really. I’m tall, caucasian, red-headed, and wearing dark plaid with nothing to give it away except if someone cared to look at the license plate. … But a weird Southern pseudo-personality came out. I felt a tad more swagger in my walk, and I leaned into the more country-side of my speaking voice when I talked with people

Real shapeshifter shit.

Or maybe I just didn’t feel like acting like a tourist. Or maybe theres nothing different, and Tennessee is a state in the US with a lot of rural territory like Minnesota, and I didn’t even need to change anything.

Probably that last one.

Oh well! I finally landed at Rudys Diner in Clarksville, built into a small strip mall. … Time to eat some collard greens with breakfast!

Motoring to Nashville, I got hung up on 24. … Apparently, it is a notoriously busy and backed up road. After sitting in traffic and my fourth listening to “All My Exes Live In Texas” by George Strait, I pulled off and took a back country way through.

The first time my eyes embraced the beauty of the Tennessee countryside. Large meadows of various colors of plants and flowers between lines of proud trees and rugged bluffs.

Finally, the road opened up to better thoroughfares, and Nashville awaited.

…

First stop was the Five Points. A quaint coffee shop called Bongo Java East, and Five Points Pizza East. I didn’t know it at the time, but I wandered into the hipster side of town. Wow! I didn’t even try, and it happened.

Local beer, and a slice of pizza.

Unfortunately, despite the beautiful land I rolled through, I hadn’t quite found myself in the most happy state of mind. Rather, that familiar pressure encroached.

Nashville is a city with a big personality. Music City. This is my first time here, I’m rolling through by myself, no friend or social guide to pull me through, and the invisible audience began to question myself. How could I possibly make my stay here worthwhile? Past solo vacations were a mess of me confronting roaming fears of feeling exposed, or not trying something I should have, or feeling unable to communicate. I consider these not uncommon woes, but certainly intensified as someone who is neurodivergent, two beers in, and later realized that I missed taking my meds earlier.

The biggest pressure; I didn’t want to leave a place like this without feeling like I hadn’t made a friend, or didnt have a social reason or anchor to come back. Can be a lot of pressure.

Yes. The solo travel loneliness was peaking. I had to sit in the car for a half hour to calm down before rolling toward the AirBnB.

Oh my! … Of all of the options that AirBnB can provide, a small cozy room with a bed and bathroom, no needless amenities, located within a beautiful historic campus within walking distance from the Nashville nightlife is an S-tier stay in my book.

However, even after a nap, Nashville was calling. The pressure was on. What did my first night yield in terms of adventures? … Its a weekday, and I’m making things up as I go.

I prompted some friends who had been to Nashville before and sought to get their lay of the land. One big name popped out;… Hattie B’s Hot Chicken.

Located within walking distance, I meandered through streets of historic buildings, and small offices of music organizations; ASCAP was one of them. I recall a country music association of some sort.

Hatties is a down-to-earth, single story, wood framed, patio’d restaurant. A real jam for chicken lovers, and spice fiends. … Granted, if you don’t like spicy, the lower-tier options are still VERY good!

I ordered up a plate of three wings, … Medium, Hot, and Damn Hot! … while leaving the top-tier of hotness alone for my own sanity. … Red potato salad, and collard greens again. I sat down on the patio overlooking the front next to a middle-aged baseball capped gentileman, and began to dig in.

Peaking atop the roller coaster of flavor, I bit into Medium. … Tasty, juicy, well cooked, and just enough zing to make it pop. … Descending the top rail into the first big drop, I tasted the High. … Oooo! I’m in a delightful space of progressive heat, and the familiar blissful tingles of that spice mixing in with the juices and chicken that so tender that it melts in your mouth.

Zipping around heavy-G’s of the roller coasters twists and turns, my eyes widened a bit, realizing that I’m reaching a plateau of thrill where I might need to hunker down a bit. I cautiously went forth, grabbing bits of chicken skin from the Damn Hot!

Heightened senses, and a couple of coughs. Eyes watering, and sweat on my brow. Its delicious, and with better preparation I’d dig in just the same, but you know you’ve hit a limit when the spice begins to feel like someone shot a bunch of pepper into the back of your throat.

I stopped hunkering down, and realized the rest of the roller coaster was on the easy train. Thrilling, but not reaching over that plateau. … Its settled; Hot is my baseline!

…

I struck up some conversation with the guy next to me about Nashville, which he was also passing through but from a much more local origin, which we chatted about the Tennessee countryside. I mentioned I was from Minnesota, and they said they were looking at heading up that way at some point in the future. I spent a few minutes putting on my virtual tour guide hat and told him about the fun things to do up around the lakes and the boundary waters! … Good ole fashion American exchange!

Leaving Hattie Bs after buying a contained of their HOT and a flag that said “Shut the Cluck Up!”, I meandered. Ice cream was nearby, and a perfect compliment! … Afterward, I explored the bars in the area, overhearing multiple live music sets playing; nice to know that Music City kicks even on weekdays!

I settled at an bar whos name I forgot, and listened in on a country singer-songwriter while having a beer and chilling out for a bit. Another conversation struck with a couple from out of town, fellows within my 30’s age range, talked about nothing in particular. It was nice to get my social quota in after a very imbalanced first half of the day.

Though, live all outings, there is a sensible end that sometimes a person pushes past to see what more they can discover from the evening.

Sometimes they strike gold! … Sometimes, they’re sitting at another bar filled with 20’s-year-olds who are rolled up in over-the-top country fashion-wear, engaging in that ever-familiar social experiment comprised of local cliques, status signaling, and pick-up culture. … Not a place for a wayfarer.

I grabbed a beer and placed myself in two or three locations seeking opportunities to tune into something, anything not boring…, but the enclosure was apparent. Tribal insecurity was dripping from the walls. It made the place stink.

How about it champ? Want to call it for the night?… Yeeeeeah.