We arrived back in Evanston around noon on Saturday. The last stretch was along Lake Shore Drive. Chicago has a wonderfully accessible lake front due largely to planning by Danial Burnham a century ago. On this glorious summer post-pandemic day, sunny and in the 80s F, walkers, runners, cyclists moved along the lakefront path. On the water beyond, boats sailed, powered or were anchored with crews sipping and chewing.
We left Gatlinburg Friday morning soon passing through Pigeon Forge the home of Dollywood. 3,000,000 people a year visit Dollywood, more than visit Hilton Head Island, making it the most visited ticketed attraction in Tennessee. The main street of what was not that long ago a tiny country village is now a six lane divided highway, bordered for miles by wall to wall spill over attractions. Arcades, thrill rides, helicopter rides, restaurants, motels, gun shops, even what looks like a court house complete with Greek columns built for some reason upside down.
We resisted the siren call of all of these and continued north to Frankfort, Kentucky, where we stopped at the Old Friends Farm for retired race horses. We knew their tours were already booked, but were able to see horses from a reasonable distance, most alone in large penned fields. Near the entrance to the farm is a graveyard for horses who have passed to that great race track in the sky, complete with tombstones. I have long thought that cemeteries for people are a waste of space. You can infer my thoughts about cemeteries for horses.
About fifteen miles to the west of Old Friends we stopped at Buffalo Trace. As we knew there, too, the tastings and tours were fully booked and had been more than a week in advance, so we were able only to walk through a small part of the distillery to the gift shop. The place was much bigger and older and more industrial than I expected. The buildings are reminiscent of old textile factories in New England.
The gift shop has Buffalo Trace branded merchandise beyond imagination. We came away with a bottle of Buffalo Trace, a bottle of Buffalo Trace Old Fashioned—Carol likes Old Fashioneds, and a box of Buffalo Trace filled chocolates—I like chocolates.
Onward to the west where we drove around Churchill Downs in Louisville. It was a race day, but Carol had read that they have a dress code prohibiting shorts, which was all we had with us, and even jeans. That was o.k. I am not a gambler and don’t follow horse racing.
While I am likely to irritate some, I find Indiana to be a dull state. You may recall that Mike Pence was once governor. The state is flat and I presume good farmland. We travelled the length of it and the only sight of interest was a huge wind farm north of Indianapolis.
We crossed the state line into Illinois with relief.
At the moment we have three homes and a pocketful of keys. By the end of the month we will have one less home and several fewer keys.
The morning news reports that on this glorious weekend fifty-five people were shot in Chicago.
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