The days keep getting better and better — more interesting drives, more interesting scenery, and a growing respect for this beast of a car.

Up early for a terrific Bob Evans breakfast, we hit the road in the 3 cars for our run to the town made famous by Glenn Miller in his Chattanooga Choo Choo. While there are easy, interstate ways to go from Bowling Green to Chattanooga, they aren't the fun way.

The fun way involves going by places named Flealand,

and looking for food not normally available in my part of the county. Sure, everyone has seen SPAM,

but how many of you have checked out Beanee Weenee lately?

Now available in 3 terrific flavors. Step right up, don't be shy. Knowledgeable long haulers don't let passengers snack on anything that might involve Beano as an antidote.

Speaking of gas (okay, I was hinting at it, but you get the idea), our intrepid lead vehicle driver Michelle is always on the gas when it comes to leading the Tour. So much so that we couldn't decide if she was getting a Sheriff's escort through the county,

or the poor deputy was running from her.

We were fortunate enough to be directly behind Michelle, and even with a terrifically tuned suspension, it was a challenge just trying to stay close as we both obeyed the posted speed limit at all times. Others had a tough time trying to keep up as well.

Back in the '70s, they were known as "head shops." Today, I guess they call 'em an "herb house."

Whatever. It gets the job done. They didn't look too busy at the moment, but it was before noon. With the sheriff's deputies running in fear of Michelle, it was easy for the parking scofflaws to have their way with the shoulder of the road.

Rain was sporadic, with showers and fog making appearances in valleys (or are they hollers here?) and up in the elevations.

You take what you can get on a Power Tour.

The only way we found Michelle would drop below the posted limit was when bridge construction meant a traffic back-up. Even then, she never lost her smile.

The road less traveled often means less traffic, unless 3,000 plus of your closest friends are following you like a giant slinky. It doesn't make any difference if it's straight or curved, you're never far from a Power Tour buddy. Sometimes the slink stretches out,

and sometimes it gets kinda tight. Regardless, it's still a great drive. I remember making fun of that Nixon/Agnew bumper sticker back in Newton, figuring news was a little slow getting there. I guess parts of Kentucky are the same way.

When we came to civilization, albeit not quite the same as that experienced in places like Southern California, we often need to make a choice. There's lots of choices in Kentucky and Tennessee.

The rain, while heavy at times,

stopped as we pulled in to quaint Smithville, home of the Bumpers Drive In. As we saw on the menu and road sign, fried bologna is a specialty.

Here's what it looks like in person:

I called home and offered to bring a few back as gifts. but Pamela and Robert said they'd prefer a t-shirt instead.

Great cars, good food and lots of fun made it a wonderful lunch stop. We called Michelle and offered to buy her lunch, but she said the lead van never stops, so we sadly ate our lunch.

This new Mustang thought he could go nose to nose with us,

but our dominant stance soon had him backing away slowly. As we finished, those crazy Wisconsin guys in the Ariel Atom from years past buzzed by.

I gotta get one of those, or at least a ride along. After lunch and gas (in no particular order, thankyouverymuch), we were back to the curvies.

Fog may have reared its ugly head,

but it wasn't anything our surefooted Callaway Camaro couldn't handle. It's a good thing the THP was there to keep the median dry in the rain, otherwise it might have gotten wet.

With mountains often come overlooks, and they're always a great place to stop for a photo or two.

Shane decided it would be a great place to stretch his legs and take a hike,

until I asked about those rare Tennessee Lookout Rattlers. They look like rocks, you know.

He did find an errant gnome,

and offered it a ride in the Camaro. The gnome passed, so Shane gave it a big hug,

leaving it all alone at the overlook,

as we blasted back onto the road — fog hanging heavy.

In no time at all (time flies when your Callaway does, too), we arrived in Chattanooga.

Mark installed a new fan clutch to alleviate his overheating problem from yesterday,

and we walked around. Big surprise, the rain continued to come and go. But, we found some new iron to gaze on — like a '67 Cougar,

a car whose owner obviously owned a gas station,

and a 1959 Chevy convertible

sporting 6 one-barrel carburetors.

I can hear the younger ones now. "What's a carburetor?"

Aack. Go back to your hand held video games and leave us old guys alone. The rear deck was big enough for a football game.

Our buddy Joe Sebergandio from Motor Media, Inc., stopped by for a look-see and to beg for a ride to B'Ham tomorrow in the Callaway.

After some tough negotiations (he has to buy lunch, and no whining), the deal was signed, sealed and delivered. Joe rides, I drive. Ken and Shane both agreed:

He'll never be the same.

On our way over to look at the Tennessee river, Shane spotted a cool 1983 Quattro. This is the car that started the rally crowd on all wheel drive, and was a formidable weapon in its day.

It's still no slouch. Ken, on the other hand, drooled over this 1955 Morris Minor Traveller complete with matching trailer.

Sweet.

Me? I went for the slightly road dirty, but historically significant, 1995 Cobra R.

They only made 250 of these puppies, available in one color combination (white with tan cloth interior) and minimal equipment (no rear seat, radio or air conditioning, and a 351 engine).

If he tires of it, I'll gladly take it off his hands.

Finally arriving on river's edge,

Ken and Shane gazed at the dam just upstream. Safety reminders ruled the day:

Since none of us brought our life jackets, we headed back to the big rig and cars. I regaled Ken with stories of my younger days fishing, showing Ken the size of the fish in comparison to me.

Of course, I was much shorter when I was 10 years old.

I'm starting to get concerned, by the way. That oil mess in the Gulf is really spreading. It looks like it's made it to Chattanooga already.

I'm sure the workers are doing all they can to stop it. And, there are lots of workers. But, they need to stay somewhere when they're not working, and I hear Mobile is ground zero. The good news is, we have hotel reservations there. The bad news is, they're at a Hampton Inn. I hope we get treated better this time around. I guess in two days we'll find out.

Before bugging out, we went by the Coker Tire display. Corky Coker is one of the shining stars of SEMA, our trade organization. In many ways, he is the face of the manufacturer, lending his time, talent and resources to advancing our mutual causes. I have no doubt the Tour stopped in Chattanooga because of Corky and his ability to pull an entire city together.

When we got there, he was ending a television spot, and getting ready to head to another interview. But, for a few minutes, Jim had his undivided attention, and Corky made Jim feel glad to be in Chattanooga.

Shane even managed to sneak into a shot,

which is really tough to do at five frames a second.

Corky threw a party for all his Power Tour friends (that would be everyone on the Power Tour) downtown near the river.

What a guy. Thanks, Corky, for all you do. Cool mustache, by the way.

Since I had a story to write, we figured on grabbing a quick bite at a local restaurant. A few years back my family was on a road trip, and we really enjoyed Chattanooga's aquarium and a little place called the Mellow Mushroom.

So, we mellowed out and headed over.

Nothing had changed:

Shane couldn't wait to call Jamie, his wife of one year, and tell her all the fun we were having.

Me? I took advantage of his inattention to grab another slice or two.

The waiter was great, the pizza fantastic, and the ambiance unique.

It was the fitting end to another great day in paradise.

Tomorrow we head for Birmingham. With a little bit o' luck the sun will shine, the humidity will be low, and Joe will experience a ride like never before.

I can't wait.

Your humble (mellowed out) and obedient servant,

Forrest Tosie
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