Remember that time Shannon scared the crap out of us when she was creeping around on the bow at night and shined a flashlight through the hatch above our heads? Happened again. Only this time it turned out to be a terawatt moonglow. It was light enough in the cabin to quilt. Since we aren’t quilters—although the National Quilt Museum in Paducah almost persuaded us to give it a try—we opted for rolling over.
Off at 8. Nothing like a little bluegrass gospel music on a beautiful Sunday morning on the Tennessee River. Everything’s just a smidge better south of the extended line formed by the crownstones set in place by Charles Mason and Jeremiah Dixon. Certainly Dana would say the iced tea is better and more readily available than in, say, any town that sports an LCBO. Today we even saw the first colors of autumn. Even the graffiti seems more genteel.
If possible, the cruise to Cuba Landing in Waverly was even better than yesterday’s journey. Smooth as Tennessee whiskey. Or Wyoming Whiskey. Distilled in Kirby, Wyoming by our old friends Brad and Kate Mead before they sold out to Big Liquor. We’re sort of guessing here, however, since we aren’t whiskey drinkers. Anyway, the water was calm and the scenery was awesome.
There was of course one minor issue, which always seems to be the case. As we approached the Highway 70 bridge, we had no worries. Something like 50 feet of charted clearance. Hey wait just a minute here! That’s not 50 feet. What the hell is a second bridge doing there? The CSX Railroad bridge has a 24 foot clearance? Quick Dana, pump the fake brakes just like in the car. We need to figure this out. Oh great, now a tow captain wants us out of his way too? Fortunately we’re all professionals here, so the bridge operator lifted the bridge, we maneuvered out of the tow’s way, and order was restored.
Of course, behind every gorgeous day on the Loop lurks monsters under the bed. Today the fear relates to the East Tennessee floods that are pushing a wall of water our way. High water brings current and debris. Current and debris respect no cultural boundaries, imagined or otherwise. This could jam up our plans. But we’ll figure it out. If we need to kill some time, Doug’ll take off his shirt, Dana’ll throw on a tank top, and we’ll do some fishin’ from an abandoned old bridge support like the locals.
In the meantime, we docked at Cuba Landing for the night. These small Tennessee marinas are as cool as they come.