It’s taken a little over a year for me to get the permission from my husband (the driver) to tell this story. He finds it embarrassing. I believe that I have finally convinced him that this incident is in no way his fault. It was a series of unfortunate events on the backroads of Tennessee.
This story cannot be properly told without explaining my roots. My ancestors are from Tennessee. We can’t really figure out where they came from before Tennessee. They were so dirt poor that there wasn’t much in the way of records, family heirlooms, etc. that might have given us a clue as to where they came from before Tennessee. For all I know, they could have been hatched in Paint Rock, Tennessee.
My dad has told us stories that he heard from his grandfather and my grandmother about Tennessee. For instance, the nearest school was 5 miles away. So, my great uncle drove my grandmother to school at the age of 9 while standing up in their jalopy of a Model -T Ford. The other story – more relevant to this story is that the people in the backwoods of Tennessee, including my family, didn’t wait for the police or the school principal or whoever to take care of matters. Instead, they took matters into their own hands. For instance, if you were to trespass on my family’s farm, you might find yourself looking down the barrel of shotgun. It’s just how things were handled. My dad also had me convinced that this is still how things are handled in the backwoods of Tennessee.
Fast forward to modern times – October of 2022 to be more precise. We were going to meet my dad in Sweetwater, Tennessee so that we could explore the cemetery in nearby Paint Rock and he could share the stories of my ancestors buried there. On the way, we decided we’d stop in Pigeon Forge and check out the Great Smoky Mountains, Gaitlinburg, and of course, Dollywood. We were headed from Charleston, SC to Pigeon Forge, TN. My husband carefully checks Apple Maps, Google Maps, and a paper trucker map for directions – three maps. He plots our route and we hit the road. This three map system had never failed us.
On this particular day, our maps took us through the Smoky Mountain National Park boundaries which we thought was strange, but we kept going. What the heck?! It was a beautiful drive! Surely our maps – especially the trucker map wouldn’t give us a bum steer…
And then, it happened …. There was a sign …. A really big sign that said “Bridge is Out. Do NOT trust your GPS” (Or something like that). Unfortunately, the sign was placed at a fork in the road and it didn’t specify which direction the bridge was out. Apparently, if you were a local, you would have known all about it and tourists should have gone a different way. We pulled over into a church parking lot and consulted all of the maps and tried to decide which direction the washed-out bridge might be. After careful consideration and a whole bunch of guessing, we decided on the road that went to the right.
The road was a beautiful backroad with two narrow lanes and thankfully, no low bridges. We kept going about two miles down the road and then, there was the second sign “Bridge is Out – take alternate route” (or something like that.). We had no idea how much further up the bridge would be because the road was so twisted we couldn’t see it. Have you ever turned a fifth wheel and truck around on a narrow winding road? It’s not possible. It appeared that our only option was going to be to back up the winding road two miles to get back to the fork in the road. So, we did what every good Fifth Wheeling couple would have done – we just sat there … trying to figure out what to do do next.
We finally decided that the best thing to do would be to have me get out with my phone and start walking toward the bridge. Thank goodness there was at least a little cell service! I walked up and found a long driveway that we could probably pull into and then back out and get pointed in the opposite direction. But, with all of those family stories my dad told me about the people of the Tennessee backwoods, I was pretty concerned that we’d find ourselves in some trouble with the owners of the driveway and possibly end up with some bullet holes in the truck and the trailer. There had to be a better option.
I walked a little further up the road and found a church parking lot. I may have heard an angel chorus singing! Knowing it takes about 40 acres to turn a trailer around, I saw at least 30 acres and that would do! (OK – I may be a little off on the acreage, but you get the idea.) I headed back to the truck and the trailer feeling pretty proud of myself for getting us out of our pickle. I was stopped by a driver in a blue car who told me he knew we were in trouble and he had talked to my husband and was going to turn us around and lead us into Pigeon Forge. He kind of stole my thunder, but YAY!
My husband wasn’t far behind him with the truck and the trailer. I got back in the truck and we drove to the very church I had found and got ourselves turned around. The blue car driver got out and came to the window to tell us where he was going to take us and explained that he was an Uber Driver and a former truck driver. He’d go slow, make sure we had wide enough turns, and not take us under any bridges. The driver of the blue car had a name that I can’t remember, so I’ll just call him “Clarence”– after the angel from “It’s a Wonderful Life.” Clarence did a great job getting us out of our jam and getting us to Pigeon Forge, leading us on an equally pretty road that got exactly where we needed to be. When all was said and done, he didn’t even want to take any money for his efforts, but finally took a little cash for gas after a lot of convincing from us.
You have to wonder, what was an Uber driver doing in the backroads of Tennessee? It couldn’t have been good for business. I like to think he was an angel sent by God to protect us from ourselves… and some confusing signage. My dad later asked, “How did you think to call an Uber driver? That was genius!” We didn’t … he was sent!
Post script:
Here are some things we learned while in Tennessee – in addition to “even 3 maps might be wrong.”
- The people of Tennessee are lovely. They are not like my dad described. Of course, we did our best not to trespass on anyone’s property.
- Tennessee was much prettier than we expected! It was just like the song from Davey Crocket – “Greenest state in the land of the free.” I can’t wait to go back!
- If you’re in a jam – call an Uber driver! You’ll look like a genius!





