Somebody said it stormed last night, but I didn’t hear anything. To say we’re tired is an understatement. While these small towns can be fun, the lack of stable high-speed Internet means it takes forever to upload all the pix we shoot each day (about 1 gigabyte worth, each and every day). I’m going to hate to see the bill for my 3G data card, which I’ve been using out of desperation when the alleged “high-speed” in the hotel poops-out.

Leaving Somerset was not only a blast; it was easy to do. The Kentucky transportation folks reconfigured those big highway sign boards to show us where to turn.

Thanks, guys. I appreciate it. You know how I sometimes get turned around — GPS or not.

The misty fog made driving through the hills fun.

The roads were great — sweeping turns, elevation changes and light non-Tour traffic.

A guy couldn’t ask for more. In between Parkways, Pikes and Gaps (whatever those all are), we passed a few cars like this finned Pontiac

before really hitting the mountains.

It’s a great place to drive the speed limit — 55 miles per hour.

Cumberland Gap must be a lot of things — road, trail, park and who knows what else. It’s a beautiful part of the country. Some fine folks in a new red Camaro and then a silver late model Corvette made the drive really memorable. Going through the tunnel was a real treat.

We proceeded with caution, but the drive was just a blur.

Take a peek at a video of driving through the tunnel:

The Gap has these great roads that go up, down and around.

That race-looking car in the trailer finally came out — and we passed him up.

From the overlook, we, uh, overlooked the valley (holler, I think they call it) below.

Neisan shot me shooting the ZR1,

so I returned the favor.

Note the difference in shooting style between old, fat guy and young kid.

The down side of stopping at the overlook was being passed back by all those cars I worked so hard to get by earlier.

At the end of our Gap run we returned to interstate for the final miles. Traffic north bound was sitting still because of an accident and fire.

Look at these poor folks sitting still.

I’m glad it wasn’t us sitting in traffic and I hope the folks involved in the accident were all okay.

At the Bristol exit we decided to find some local food instead of chain fare. Neisan said he wanted some real southern barbeque, so we followed the signs to the Dixie Outpost. I knew it was my kinda place when the drive thru was labeled:

Yep, it’s a PIG-UP window. Neisan ordered

while I tried to pick a sauce.

I thought a revival was in town when the signs said “Meet the New Preacher”,

but come to find out this joint does hot dogs, too.

We passed, wimps that we are. Still, our lunch was great!

On our way back to the route, we passed through a really interesting neighborhood. They had it all — UFOs,

missiles,

and I don’t even know what.

Once at the track, we made another wrong turn (big surprise), and ended up at the circle track instead of the drag strip.

It seemed like a good place for a photo.

Around the corner, through the gate and we were finished with Power Tour 2009. We found the rig and were treated to the sight of Jim washing the El Camino.

That de-ionized water sure is great out in the sun. You mere mortals, don’t try this at home.

I noticed behind the rig this road that looked like a shortcut back to the hotel.

Divided roadway, only one stop light and no speed limit sign visible; man this is the road to save me some serious time.

We walked the lot one last time, finding Oscar Mayer and friends,

a really clean flame job,

and the Cherry Bomb guys

acting as EMS attendants.

For some, the end of the Power Tour means it’s finally time to rest.

For others, it’s time to try and remember where you parked.

That road I found earlier seemed to be popular with lots of other folks. Here’s a series of an El Camino that looks just like our’s driving down it.

It seems to be a fairly short street — it hardly takes any time to drive down it, thanks to only that one stop light and no speed limit.

The Beach Boys were running through my head as I looked under the hood of this ’59 El Camino. "She’s so fine, my..."

My friend Chloe from Cuba, Missouri, brought her cousin Isabel by.