If you have ever lived or spent any amount of time in East Tennessee, you probably know about a jewel of an area nestled in the hills about an hour outside of Chattanooga. Exiting I-75 and heading out toward Highway 64 East, you will eventually cross over from Bradley County into Polk County, Tennessee. The Ocoee River runs along parts of Highway 64 and is well known for world-class whitewater and, according to Tn.gov. and the
Department of Environment & Conservation, possesses “Class III, IV, and V rapids.”
Polk County was introduced to the world during the 1996 Olympic Games and was the site of the Olympic Canoe/Kayak Slalom course. As you travel through the Ocoee River Gorge and into the Cherokee National Forest, it is only the snake-like twists and turns that force you to keep your eyes locked on the road. This proves a difficult task because, while the technical aspects of the Ocoee River are world-class, the scenery that cradles the river also has the potential to take your breath away.
Many years ago, I used to spend an extraordinary amount of time at different points all along the Ocoee River. I always managed to find solitude, whether it was enjoying a book while sitting on one of the massive rocks, treasure hunting along the banks of the river or simply watching paddlers perfect their skills at one of the more difficult rapids known to locals as “Hell Hole.” One morning, as I had done many mornings before, I went white water rafting. I was on the bus for the return trip back when, with the most authentic southern drawl I had ever heard, the raft guide said, “Hey, have ya’ll ever seen The Pride of Polk County?”
Everyone on the bus looked confused, yet intrigued. “Well, if you ain’t, you’re about to! Driver, take the long way back!” she shouted.
A short time later and after many twists and turns, the bus stopped right in the middle of the road, out in the middle of nowhere. Rolling hills surrounded us and the lush green fields were all you could see for miles. Not a sound could be heard except for the occasional cry of a hawk hunting for prey.
“Okay,” she said. “Everyone move to the left side of the bus and stick
your head out the window! Keep lookin’! That’s right! See that? Those workmen were too gosh darn lazy to pick up that old dead possum in the road and now look what we have here – The Pride of Polk County!”
The entire bus full of people burst into laughter at the sight of the painted yellow lines in the center of the road. The workers had not bothered to pick up the road kill – the dead possum – that was in the center of the road the day the lines were painted.
The bus had barely pulled into the parking lot and stopped before I jumped off, hopped in my car, and raced all the way back to my apartment. When I got there, I left the car running, ran in and grabbed my camera. I sped off again, hoping that I could remember how to get back to that road.
I drove around for hours, almost running out of gas before I finally found the long stretch of road that held the outline of the dead possum. I must have driven for miles – at about 20-30 mph – with my head hanging out of the window, scanning the center yellow lines in search of the outline. Anxious and dangerously low on fuel due to the fact that I really had no idea where I was, I finally found it! I stopped the car right there in the center of the road and the rest as you can see, is history and what has now become known as “The Pride of Polk County.”
Holly Abernathy
info@6qCreative.com