road trip, part three: ms, al, ga, tn, va, wv, oh, md, pa, nj. 6.2.7 - 6.6.7.

All I remember about Birmingham is how I made us sandwiches and it was 1 AM and raining a little bit. And that it was smaller and montane, and I was surprised how it already seemed like we had entered Appalachia. We got to a hotel in Gadsden over an hour later, and some big drunk motorcycle-type guy offered to carry Katie's luggage up the stairs. A complete coincidence that we ended up there, Gadsden is #1 on my list of names for a boy, if I ever have one. On dates I sometimes say, "well, I know I can't have one myself, but maybe if we try hard enough, it'll happen." That joke's a winner with the men actually.

Pigeon Forge, TN. Typical Dollywood family.

At Dollywood, our first stop was a buildingful of Dolly memorabilia. Rooms and hallways of endless Dolly faces and pink walls. I felt like I had died and become a doll(y). The place was wrought with interactive touchscreen videos about Ms. Parton's career, personal life, wardrobe, and even her hair―one screen had a camera so that I could try on her do's. Later, we went to Dolly's Closet, and Katie tried on Dolly outfits (see this and the rest of the roadtrip photos). Otherwise, not much separated it from any other amusement park experience, except the fact that on each ride we were in the company of many an Appalachian family.

Pigeon Forge, TN. On some mining ride. Kind of just very sad and beautiful actually.

Pigeon Forge, TN. A girl re-enters her own body in a Dollywood coffin.

Pigeon Forge, TN. You either want to sleep with Ms. Parton or become her; I wanted both.

Pigeon Forge, TN. Priscilla couldn't help but make eyes at the camera. No one gave her this kind of attention since Lester, her late husband and half-uncle.

The seemingly quintessential Dolly ride of the park, a humorous motion-chair simulated tour of the Smokys guided by Ms. Parton herself, was temporarily replaced with some Yogi Bear junk. It was actually so traumatic that we wrote a letter:

Dear Ms. Parton,

We are avid fans of yours, and have been since the early 1990s. Recently, along the journey of our cross-country road trip, we made a special stop in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, so that we could visit Dollywood and experience its magic.

While we enjoyed the rides, shows, and local color, we were sorely disappointed to miss out on your guided tour over the Smokys. We expected your amusing comedic talents, and instead were displeased to be met with the mocking countenances of Yogi Bear and the rest of his Hanna-Barbera cronies. We were informed only after sitting through this dismal farce that the ride had been changed for Kids’ Fest. Having only a limited time in the area, this was most upsetting.

The number one reason we came to Dollywood was to bask in your image’s glow, and we feel as though we have been unjustly denied that privilege. In reparation, we would be blessed by God, and you, Dolly, if you would so kindly send us a video version of your Smoky Mountain Tour so that we may enjoy it in our homes. It may not be as great as the moving-seat theater experience, but we can try to re-create the enchantment as much as possible.

We know that the change in program is through no fault of your own, and we remain devoted fans. Thank you, Dolly, for everything.

Sincerely,

Stephen van Dyck and Katie Jacobson

Pigeon Forge, TN. We each got a photo with Dolly.

That night, in Virginia about twenty miles south of the West Virginia border, we slept in a hayfield. We stopped at a gas station just off I-77, and I asked a man with a horribly thick and inimitable accent where the nearest camping site was. He told us he didn't know, but that we could camp out back behind the station. I thought he meant directly behind it, but then he gave me instructions to take a dirt road around it and down a hill. That dirt road ended up being maybe a mile through the woods before we went around a bend and up to an open field. The field was several acres of open space completely covered in hay, at the far end was someone's house. The scene was well-lit by the stars and moon and no nearby city light, and I avoided using any other light in fear of insects and the residents of that house. Katie didn't get out of the car, I think out of distress from the situation, and I set up the tent myself and got her to join me in it. I called up Amarantha and requested lullabies; the next morning Katie wound up better slept than I was.

Cheshire, OH. Imagine living in this town.

Bird-In-Hand, PA. Amish children in a buggie, one admiring a bus.

Bird-In-Hand, PA. Katie and I decided to start our own Amish family. Afterwards, some random lady came up to Katie and said, "Some poor child is going to wear that mask after it was on your face."

Reading, PA.

See the rest of the photos of the trip.