New Cases: 655,190 (⬆︎ .40%)
New Deaths: 13,019 (⬆︎ .38%)
USA
New Cases: 30,214 (⬆︎ .09%)
New Deaths: 659 (⬆︎ .11%)
Vaccination Scorecard
Total Vaccinations: 160.2 million (⬆︎ .63%)
Total Eligible Population: 57.2%
Total Population: 48.2%
Getting back in the saddle.
Have vaccine, will travel: How a road trip served as a needed jolt from the blahs at home
In early April, when my husband, Neil, and I had both secured vaccine appointments, he suggested a road trip. He had been fixing up a sporty old car — one of his many pandemic sanity projects — and wanted to put it to the test, driving it from our home in Chicago to a serpentine stretch of road called Tail of the Dragon, in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains, straddling the Tennessee and North Carolina state line. At the same time, I had been thinking about how much I would love to see a couple of friends in North Carolina, a state I had never visited. And why not add places we had been meaning to explore to the list? Nashville, Louisville, and Dolly Parton’s Dollywood theme park rounded out the itinerary, and our first trip since December 2019 started coming together.
Anticipation is one of the highlights of any trip, and this time that anticipation was next-level. For the past 13 months, I had been following state and local covid guidelines closely — and then some. Like those of most people I know, my day-to-day, work-from-home life didn’t feel particularly exciting: work, work out, chores, repeat, with the occasional outdoor friend meetup. Neil and I had each dined out on a patio one time since the pandemic began, and we were otherwise committed to takeout, picnics and cooking (so much cooking). I had spent so much time on the couch, I was pretty sure I could make out an indentation shaped like me.
So planning a trip felt at once exhilarating and overwhelming. As I researched our route, I would pepper my husband with all the little nuggets I learned. “Uh, this cabin listing near the Smoky Mountains has a picture of bears climbing around the hot tub.” “Did you know Paula Deen also has a theme park in Pigeon Forge, Tenn?” “Looks like we’ll be passing by something called the Ark Encounter, a.k.a. ‘the life-size Noah’s Ark!’ in Hebron, Kentucky.”
With each discovery, I recalled the giddiness of pre-pandemic times, when travel, novelty, planning and adventure were a part of the regular routine. But there were also many questions about the trip ahead. We would be leaving our pandemic comfort zones and entering a number of states. Would people be wearing masks? Would we be judged if we wore ours? Would we eat indoors? Would the car hold up? Would bears be climbing around our cabin’s hot tub? Most importantly, how stunted would our social skills — and mental health — be as we reemerge?
We loaded up the car in late April and set off to find out.
Twists and turns
There was nothing but water in our hot tub, I’m pleased to report. But when we got to Wears Valley, in east Tennessee, we did see a bear about 50 yards from the front door of our cabin, and that was close enough for comfort (we were in the car, and it loped off after making awkward eye contact). But that sighting was only No. 2 for adrenaline pumping in those first vacation days. No. 1 was that winding road that inspired the trip: Tail of the Dragon.
Let me just say that I am risk-averse, and my husband is exhilaration-motivated. While he was looking up tips on driving this section of Route 129, about an hour south of Knoxville, Tenn., I was researching crashes and deaths that have occurred there. Neither of us were truly prepared for what it felt like to navigate 318 curves over 11 miles on a narrow, two-lane mountain road where skilled (I hope) drivers on motorcycles and in sports cars were checking off a bucket-list item. I got through it by taking off my glasses so I couldn’t see the vehicles hurtling toward us, while Neil maintained a death-grip on the steering wheel, maniacal smile firmly in place. We made it through, sweaty but unscathed.
The next day brought a different kind of test: Dollywood, where we would be surrounded by more people than we had shared space with in a very long time. The theme park, which celebrates its 36th season this year, is a slice of Americana, with rides, musical performances galore, a museum filled with Dolly Parton memorabilia and even an eagle sanctuary. Our interests were in the funnel cake and the roller coasters, and I think I can speak for both of us and say we were glad to experience a more controlled thrill ride than we had the previous day. On those roller coasters, I kept my glasses on, and the views of the surrounding Smoky Mountains, dotted with sugar maple trees and magnolias, were magnificent.
After spending a few hours in the park, we agreed that we felt no more uncomfortable than we would have around the outdoor crowds before the pandemic. Masks were required on rides and when social distancing wasn’t possible (this was just before the CDC said fully vaccinated people could stop wearing masks), and people adhered to that, from what we saw. As I loaded up on Dolly swag at one of the many gift shops, the sales attendant engaged me in a charming conversation. She’s worked at Dollywood for 18 years, and has met people from all over the world, including Australia and South Africa. My small-talk skills started out a little rusty but loosened as the conversation continued. I thought about how much I had missed these micro-interactions with strangers.
Back at our cabin, we cooked burgers for dinner and admired the panoramic views of the Smoky Mountains from our deck. We sank into the bearless hot tub as the sky darkened, and we looked at the stars — something we’re only able to see when we travel, because light pollution largely obscures them back home.
On the road again
The next few days were a blur — long stretches of driving through Tennessee and North Carolina, interspersed with all-too-brief visits with friends. On those days, we traveled through the whole spectrum of attitudes toward the virus, passing through towns where masks were neither required nor seen. At some gas stations, we followed the locals’ lead and left our masks in our pockets, and it felt completely normal very quickly. In Boone, N.C., we had our first indoor drink at a bar and indoor meal at a restaurant, and it felt, well, natural, and not like a milestone capping a long year of indoor dining abstinence. By the time we reached our next stop — Nashville — we felt measurably lighter. After days on the road, away from the news, away from work and email, away from those same four walls, life seemed rife with possibilities again.
We had rented a house in East Nashville, within walking distance of dozens of restaurants, bars, breweries and doughnut shops. We enjoyed one of our best meals of the trip at Lockeland Table Community Kitchen and Bar, a sweet neighborhood spot serving American fare with a Southern lilt. Sitting on the patio, enjoying bourbon cocktails, we each chose seafood items: I opted for the mahi mahi with cheesy grits, and Neil had grilled Cajun shrimp with Carolina gold rice. In hindsight, seafood had fallen by the wayside from our carryout routine, because takeout seafood sounds unpredictable, at best.
The next day, we headed downtown to the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum, reading up on the fascinating roots of what was originally “hillbilly” music, while admiring some seriously flashy rhinestone-filled fashion and over-the-top cars. We’re both caught off guard by the tribute to the long list of country musicians who died in 2020, which felt shockingly lengthy and sad — some were covid-related (John Prine), others were not (Kenny Rogers). After a gift shop stop, we wandered around downtown, past loud honkey tonk bars and groups of bachelorettes and raucous pedal pubs, feeling slightly stunned by the sensory overload.
Our last stop was Louisville. On the 2½ -hour drive there, I started doing distillery research, thinking we would be able to roll into town and do a tour or tasting. Here’s where I was wrong. Every place I looked — Angel’s Envy, Old Forester, Evan Williams Bourbon Experience, Heaven Hill, Kentucky Peerless Distilling Co. — was unavailable, booked days or even months out. Unpracticed in covid travel, we had committed the cardinal sin: not planning ahead and making a reservation.
But it’s Louisville, so there was no shortage of bourbon. We checked into our hotel, 21c — which doubles as an art museum — and headed to the bar, Proof on Main, where they shook up a couple of cocktails, including an excellent old-fashioned. Then we wandered the gallery halls with other masked patrons, losing ourselves in the art.
A new perspective
On the five-hour drive back to Chicago, we reflected on the trip. It was such a different experience than trips in the past, and not just because it involved a car rather than a plane. After a year of relative solitude and stress and grief and introspection, we had recalibrated. As in so many aspects of our lives, the things we had taken for granted — health, friendship, travel, novelty — had become luxuries. It’s those things that shaped this trip. On past trips, if someone asked me about a favorite experience, I’d likely name a city or a neighborhood or maybe a restaurant. On this trip, the favorites were less tangible, and cast a light on the things that have felt so absent during the pandemic. I loved the new-to-me mountain views of Tennessee and North Carolina and the rolling hills of Kentucky. I relished hugging friends and swapping pandemic survival stories. I was energized talking to strangers in real life. Being away from the same backdrop, day after day, Neil and I found we were sleeping more soundly and laughing like we used to.
Our last stop was Louisville. On the 2½ -hour drive there, I started doing distillery research, thinking we would be able to roll into town and do a tour or tasting. Here’s where I was wrong. Every place I looked — Angel’s Envy, Old Forester, Evan Williams Bourbon Experience, Heaven Hill, Kentucky Peerless Distilling Co. — was unavailable, booked days or even months out. Unpracticed in covid travel, we had committed the cardinal sin: not planning ahead and making a reservation.
But it’s Louisville, so there was no shortage of bourbon. We checked into our hotel, 21c — which doubles as an art museum — and headed to the bar, Proof on Main, where they shook up a couple of cocktails, including an excellent old-fashioned. Then we wandered the gallery halls with other masked patrons, losing ourselves in the art.
A new perspective
On the five-hour drive back to Chicago, we reflected on the trip. It was such a different experience than trips in the past, and not just because it involved a car rather than a plane. After a year of relative solitude and stress and grief and introspection, we had recalibrated. As in so many aspects of our lives, the things we had taken for granted — health, friendship, travel, novelty — had become luxuries. It’s those things that shaped this trip. On past trips, if someone asked me about a favorite experience, I’d likely name a city or a neighborhood or maybe a restaurant. On this trip, the favorites were less tangible, and cast a light on the things that have felt so absent during the pandemic. I loved the new-to-me mountain views of Tennessee and North Carolina and the rolling hills of Kentucky. I relished hugging friends and swapping pandemic survival stories. I was energized talking to strangers in real life. Being away from the same backdrop, day after day, Neil and I found we were sleeping more soundly and laughing like we used to.
With each discovery, I recalled the giddiness of pre-pandemic times, when travel, novelty, planning and adventure were a part of the regular routine. But there were also many questions about the trip ahead. We would be leaving our pandemic comfort zones and entering a number of states. Would people be wearing masks? Would we be judged if we wore ours? Would we eat indoors? Would the car hold up? Would bears be climbing around our cabin’s hot tub? Most importantly, how stunted would our social skills — and mental health — be as we reemerge?
We loaded up the car in late April and set off to find out.
Twists and turns
There was nothing but water in our hot tub, I’m pleased to report. But when we got to Wears Valley, in east Tennessee, we did see a bear about 50 yards from the front door of our cabin, and that was close enough for comfort (we were in the car, and it loped off after making awkward eye contact). But that sighting was only No. 2 for adrenaline pumping in those first vacation days. No. 1 was that winding road that inspired the trip: Tail of the Dragon.
Let me just say that I am risk-averse, and my husband is exhilaration-motivated. While he was looking up tips on driving this section of Route 129, about an hour south of Knoxville, Tenn., I was researching crashes and deaths that have occurred there. Neither of us were truly prepared for what it felt like to navigate 318 curves over 11 miles on a narrow, two-lane mountain road where skilled (I hope) drivers on motorcycles and in sports cars were checking off a bucket-list item. I got through it by taking off my glasses so I couldn’t see the vehicles hurtling toward us, while Neil maintained a death-grip on the steering wheel, maniacal smile firmly in place. We made it through, sweaty but unscathed.
The next day brought a different kind of test: Dollywood, where we would be surrounded by more people than we had shared space with in a very long time. The theme park, which celebrates its 36th season this year, is a slice of Americana, with rides, musical performances galore, a museum filled with Dolly Parton memorabilia and even an eagle sanctuary. Our interests were in the funnel cake and the roller coasters, and I think I can speak for both of us and say we were glad to experience a more controlled thrill ride than we had the previous day. On those roller coasters, I kept my glasses on, and the views of the surrounding Smoky Mountains, dotted with sugar maple trees and magnolias, were magnificent.
After spending a few hours in the park, we agreed that we felt no more uncomfortable than we would have around the outdoor crowds before the pandemic. Masks were required on rides and when social distancing wasn’t possible (this was just before the CDC said fully vaccinated people could stop wearing masks), and people adhered to that, from what we saw. As I loaded up on Dolly swag at one of the many gift shops, the sales attendant engaged me in a charming conversation. She’s worked at Dollywood for 18 years, and has met people from all over the world, including Australia and South Africa. My small-talk skills started out a little rusty but loosened as the conversation continued. I thought about how much I had missed these micro-interactions with strangers.
Back at our cabin, we cooked burgers for dinner and admired the panoramic views of the Smoky Mountains from our deck. We sank into the bearless hot tub as the sky darkened, and we looked at the stars — something we’re only able to see when we travel, because light pollution largely obscures them back home.
On the road again
The next few days were a blur — long stretches of driving through Tennessee and North Carolina, interspersed with all-too-brief visits with friends. On those days, we traveled through the whole spectrum of attitudes toward the virus, passing through towns where masks were neither required nor seen. At some gas stations, we followed the locals’ lead and left our masks in our pockets, and it felt completely normal very quickly. In Boone, N.C., we had our first indoor drink at a bar and indoor meal at a restaurant, and it felt, well, natural, and not like a milestone capping a long year of indoor dining abstinence. By the time we reached our next stop — Nashville — we felt measurably lighter. After days on the road, away from the news, away from work and email, away from those same four walls, life seemed rife with possibilities again.
We had rented a house in East Nashville, within walking distance of dozens of restaurants, bars, breweries and doughnut shops. We enjoyed one of our best meals of the trip at Lockeland Table Community Kitchen and Bar, a sweet neighborhood spot serving American fare with a Southern lilt. Sitting on the patio, enjoying bourbon cocktails, we each chose seafood items: I opted for the mahi mahi with cheesy grits, and Neil had grilled Cajun shrimp with Carolina gold rice. In hindsight, seafood had fallen by the wayside from our carryout routine, because takeout seafood sounds unpredictable, at best.
The next day, we headed downtown to the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum, reading up on the fascinating roots of what was originally “hillbilly” music, while admiring some seriously flashy rhinestone-filled fashion and over-the-top cars. We’re both caught off guard by the tribute to the long list of country musicians who died in 2020, which felt shockingly lengthy and sad — some were covid-related (John Prine), others were not (Kenny Rogers). After a gift shop stop, we wandered around downtown, past loud honkey tonk bars and groups of bachelorettes and raucous pedal pubs, feeling slightly stunned by the sensory overload.
Our last stop was Louisville. On the 2½ -hour drive there, I started doing distillery research, thinking we would be able to roll into town and do a tour or tasting. Here’s where I was wrong. Every place I looked — Angel’s Envy, Old Forester, Evan Williams Bourbon Experience, Heaven Hill, Kentucky Peerless Distilling Co. — was unavailable, booked days or even months out. Unpracticed in covid travel, we had committed the cardinal sin: not planning ahead and making a reservation.
But it’s Louisville, so there was no shortage of bourbon. We checked into our hotel, 21c — which doubles as an art museum — and headed to the bar, Proof on Main, where they shook up a couple of cocktails, including an excellent old-fashioned. Then we wandered the gallery halls with other masked patrons, losing ourselves in the art.
A new perspective
On the five-hour drive back to Chicago, we reflected on the trip. It was such a different experience than trips in the past, and not just because it involved a car rather than a plane. After a year of relative solitude and stress and grief and introspection, we had recalibrated. As in so many aspects of our lives, the things we had taken for granted — health, friendship, travel, novelty — had become luxuries. It’s those things that shaped this trip. On past trips, if someone asked me about a favorite experience, I’d likely name a city or a neighborhood or maybe a restaurant. On this trip, the favorites were less tangible, and cast a light on the things that have felt so absent during the pandemic. I loved the new-to-me mountain views of Tennessee and North Carolina and the rolling hills of Kentucky. I relished hugging friends and swapping pandemic survival stories. I was energized talking to strangers in real life. Being away from the same backdrop, day after day, Neil and I found we were sleeping more soundly and laughing like we used to.
Our last stop was Louisville. On the 2½ -hour drive there, I started doing distillery research, thinking we would be able to roll into town and do a tour or tasting. Here’s where I was wrong. Every place I looked — Angel’s Envy, Old Forester, Evan Williams Bourbon Experience, Heaven Hill, Kentucky Peerless Distilling Co. — was unavailable, booked days or even months out. Unpracticed in covid travel, we had committed the cardinal sin: not planning ahead and making a reservation.
But it’s Louisville, so there was no shortage of bourbon. We checked into our hotel, 21c — which doubles as an art museum — and headed to the bar, Proof on Main, where they shook up a couple of cocktails, including an excellent old-fashioned. Then we wandered the gallery halls with other masked patrons, losing ourselves in the art.
A new perspective
On the five-hour drive back to Chicago, we reflected on the trip. It was such a different experience than trips in the past, and not just because it involved a car rather than a plane. After a year of relative solitude and stress and grief and introspection, we had recalibrated. As in so many aspects of our lives, the things we had taken for granted — health, friendship, travel, novelty — had become luxuries. It’s those things that shaped this trip. On past trips, if someone asked me about a favorite experience, I’d likely name a city or a neighborhood or maybe a restaurant. On this trip, the favorites were less tangible, and cast a light on the things that have felt so absent during the pandemic. I loved the new-to-me mountain views of Tennessee and North Carolina and the rolling hills of Kentucky. I relished hugging friends and swapping pandemic survival stories. I was energized talking to strangers in real life. Being away from the same backdrop, day after day, Neil and I found we were sleeping more soundly and laughing like we used to.
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