The Tennessee Valley Road Trip: From Music City to the Mountains
There’s a kind of magic in the first road trip you take with someone you’ve known for a third of your life. After eleven years of friendship, Liz and I finally did it — our first true interstate adventure together.
When I lived in Austin, Texas we saw each other all the time — always finding something fun to do, whether it was live music, art nights, or just wandering around town. But since moving to Florence, Alabama our friendship has taken on a new rhythm. Now we meet each other in different corners of the country for a few days of sweet girl time, catching up on life and laughing like no time has passed at all.
I miss those days when we could just text and meet up for dinner on a whim, but there’s something special about these little reunions — they turn time into treasure.
Here’s a little preview:
To make this trip even sweeter, I had just eloped three weeks before — a complete whim! Planning a wedding started to feel overwhelming, so my now husband Adam and I decided to get married in the Azores, Portugal — a chain of volcanic islands in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, surrounded by misty cliffs and rolling green hills. You can read all about it starting here: The ULTIMATE Travel Guide to THE AZORES – Everything You Need to Know.
If you’re interested in some of Liz and I’s previous adventure stories, check out our trips to:
→ Seattle: Nothing Went According to Plan (and That’s What Made It Perfect)
→ What Started as a Joke Became a Trip to Vegas, 24 Hours Later
→ Cherokee to Chattanooga: The Spirit of the Smokies and the Southern Soul
→ My Best Friend’s Wedding in Costa Rica: Tamarindo, Potrero, and the Pura Vida Way
→ Somatic Healing in the Desert: Taos & Sedona [COMING SOON]
Nashville | The Shoals | Huntsville | Gatlinburg | Chattanooga
DAY 1: NASHVILLE
I picked Liz up from the Nashville airport after a two-and-a-half-hour drive from Florence, Alabama — both of us buzzing with the quiet disbelief that it had taken us 11 years to finally take a real road trip together. We’d seen each other briefly in Las Vegas that July, but this trip felt different.
Our first stop was The Russell, the hotel where we’d be staying — a beautifully converted church in East Nashville that still hums with the reverence of its past life. The self check-in process was quick and seamless, setting the tone for a stress-free stay. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, painting the white walls in fragments of ruby, sapphire, and emerald. Each room came with complimentary snacks (a small but thoughtful touch), and in the lobby, a simple digital photo booth offered a fun way to capture our arrival — the first of many moments to come. The massive lockers for our luggage and free parking were gracious amenities, but the space itself — a blend of old grace and modern design — felt like a gentle welcome.
We dropped our bags off in the lockers and headed straight into the day. Union Station was our first stop for Sunday brunch — a gothic masterpiece turned hotel where a live DJ spun soft house under the arched ceilings. The building once served as Nashville’s main train terminal in the early 1900s, its clock tower once guiding travelers on journeys far grander than ours. Now, it holds a different kind of traveler — the ones who come to cherish a past life.
After brunch, we wandered downtown toward Broadway. Neither of us are the honky-tonk, neon-light, drink-in-hand type anymore — our 20s in Austin’s Dirty 6th had scratched that itch long ago — but it was Liz’s first time in Nashville, and some things you just have to see once. We listened to a few cover bands at Kid Rock’s Big Ass Honkey Tonk and Miranda Lambert’s Casa Rosa, ducked into Goo Goo for something sweet, and eventually found ourselves on the John Seigenthaler Pedestrian Bridge overlooking the Cumberland River. The walk across to East Nashville was long, but the view of the skyline glowing behind us made it worth it.
Back at The Russell, we rested our feet before heading out again that night. Dinner turned into an adventure of its own. We started with pizza rolls (yes, gourmet ones) at the Urban Cowboy Boutique Hotel, which feels like someone turned a western daydream into a speakeasy. From there, we strolled to The Lipstick Lounge, where karaoke and Halloween decorations blurred into off-key singing and easy laughter — the kind that belongs entirely to the moment.
We kept walking — past pumpkins on porches and quiet residential streets — to The Chopper, a tiki-style bar with great design but comically bad service. After grabbing some late-night bites from a food truck outside, we wandered across the street to Coral Club, which felt like stepping into a candlelit cave. The space glowed with warm light, and melted wax dripped beautifully down bottles and candlesticks scattered throughout the room. It was cozy, moody, and unlike anywhere else we’d been that night. We may have had one too many drinks, but it was worth every laugh — the kind of night that reminds you why friendships like ours never fade, no matter the distance.
DAY 2: NASHVILLE
One day in Nashville is just not enough. We definitely started the morning with a hangover — though neither of us wanted to admit it at first. We grabbed coffee at Barista Parlor in East Nashville, and that’s when I realized something was off. My vision blurred, and I started seeing stars and rainbows everywhere.
A week earlier, my neighbor’s dog had slammed into my jaw, and suddenly I could tell it was misaligned. The rainbows were beautiful in a strange way — almost mystical — but I knew something wasn’t right. For the first time, I finally understood why in Looney Tunes they show stars spinning over someone’s head — it’s real. Right then and there, I booked a CranioSacral Therapy session in Franklin, just south of Nashville, with Lori Fenner for the next day.
After coffee, we had a private appointment at Refinery Fragrance with Johnny, the owner. He guided us through his beautifully curated selection of perfumes and colognes with a passion that made time slow down. Liz was getting married in Costa Rica that coming summer and wanted a scent for her wedding — you can read more about that experience → My Best Friend’s Wedding in Costa Rica: Tamarindo, Potrero, and the Pura Vida Way
As a massage therapist diving deeper into CranioSacral Therapy and somatic work, I’ve become fascinated with the body’s subtle ways of knowing. The olfactory nerve — our sense of smell — is one of my favorites, right beside the vagus nerve. There’s something profoundly primal about scent. It’s the only sensory pathway that connects directly to the brain’s most ancient emotional centers, bypassing all the usual filters. It reaches beyond language, beyond logic — a quiet messenger that reminds us of what we’ve loved, lost, and longed for.
If you’re curious about my favorite fragrances (especially the ones I fell in love with from Johnny’s collection), you can check them out → Inhale: A Journey Through My Favorite Aromas
We didn’t know what to expect from Refinery Fragrance, but the experience exceeded everything. Johnny’s patience, attention to detail, and sheer enthusiasm made the appointment unforgettable. I’d absolutely go back — but know that you’ll probably drop at least $150+. Personally, I’ve spent closer to $450 on some truly incredible scents — and I have zero regrets.
Afterwards, we picked up lunch at East Banh Mi, one of the best sandwiches I’ve ever had — no exaggeration. Their baguettes have that perfect crunch-to-chew ratio, and the balance of pickled radish, carrots, cilantro, and jalapeños is spot-on. Every bite hit that sweet-spicy-fresh harmony only a proper banh mi can deliver.
Right next door was LabCanna, a local dispensary, and we thought, why not enjoy a little bit of green on our trip? I hadn’t smoked in 355 days, so within minutes I was giggling at absolutely everything. The owner, Jordan, was super chill and into shoes — he had an entire collection for sale right there in the shop. I walked out with a pair of orange-and-white Air Forces, designed from the June 18, 1971 line, for only forty bucks. The back of the store was set up like a garage hangout — couches, instruments, the kind of space where you could picture friends jamming for hours.
We took our banh mi sandwiches to Centennial Park for lunch, sitting in the grass with a perfect view of Nashville’s Parthenon — that surreal, full-scale replica of the Greek original. The afternoon light slid across its stone columns, and for a moment, the whole park felt timeless. A light breeze carried the smell of food trucks and cut grass, and everything slowed down. It was one of those rare pauses in a trip — the kind that makes you realize how full a single day can feel when you’re with someone who’s known you through every version of yourself.
After lunch, we decided to stroll through 12 South for some window shopping. That’s when the hangover really hit — and in the most unexpected way. Liz accidentally stepped on a dead bird. The sound, the shock, the sheer horror of it was too much for her fragile, post-cocktail stomach to handle. We darted into the nearest restaurant so she could throw up, and somewhere between panic and laughter, a little tinkle joined the chaos.
At that point, there was no denying it: she needed new clothes especially pants. Luckily, Madewell was just a few steps away, and we turned the whole ordeal into an excuse for retail therapy. The staff couldn’t have been kinder, offering one-on-one styling that turned a messy moment into something genuinely fun. Liz found a pair of jeans, and somehow our little wardrobe emergency turned into a surprisingly fun stop along the way. The Nashville location even offers in-store embroidery, so you can personalize your denim right there — a charming touch you won’t find in Austin.
Next, we stopped by KREWE, a boutique eyewear shop based in New Orleans known for its limited-edition frames that change every season. I’d been eyeing their designs for months and finally decided to splurge on a pair — though it took me nearly two hours to decide. Every frame felt like a work of art. I still get compliments on them constantly. (For anyone wondering — KREWE doesn’t make prescription lenses, but your local optometrist can easily fit them.)
By the time we wrapped up our impromptu shopping spree, we were officially done for the day. We grabbed Edley’s BBQ to go and headed back to The Russell, laughing until we cried about the day’s ridiculous chain of events. It was chaotic, hilarious, and so perfectly us.
DAY 3: FRANKLIN, TENNESSEE & FLORENCE, ALABAMA
The next morning, we woke up early — well-rested and ready for my CranioSacral Therapy appointment to help with the rainbows and stars I’d been seeing. If you’re curious to learn more about CranioSacral work, I’ve written an in-depth post about it → My Path into CranioSacral Work
I met Lori Fenner for the first time that morning in Franklin, and she instantly put me at ease. There was a grounded kindness about her — a quiet wisdom that made me feel safe, seen, and deeply understood. The session was exactly what I needed after such a whirlwind few days. That first meeting would later grow into something special; Lori has since become a mentor and guide for me as I continue to dive deeper into somatic and healing work.
Afterward, we stopped for lunch at The Factory in Franklin, a beautifully restored warehouse filled with small shops and local eateries. Liz ordered tacos, I went for ramen, and of course, I couldn’t resist grabbing one of my all-time favorite donuts from Five Daughters Bakery — soft, flaky, and layered with the kind of sweetness that just makes you pause for a moment of joy.
From Franklin, we took the Natchez Trace Parkway back to Florence — a 444-mile scenic road that stretches from Nashville, Tennessee all the way to Natchez, Mississippi. Once used by Indigenous peoples and early traders, it’s now one of the most peaceful drives in the South: no billboards, no chaos, just trees, winding rivers, and the gentle hum of the car on an open road. (Be careful, though — the rangers are known to keep a close eye on the speed limit!)
I’m slowly working on a full post about the parkway as I explore more of it The Ultimate Guide to the Natchez Trace Parkway (Tennessee to Mississippi).
Liz couldn’t believe how beautiful the drive was. The trees shimmered in late-autumn light, and the whole landscape seemed to exhale. After about two hours, we finally arrived back in Florence, Alabama.
That evening, we ended our trip with drinks at the GunRunner Hotel, sitting by the fire on the rooftop, laughing and reminiscing as the quad-cities lights flickered below. It was the perfect closing chapter — two friends, one long road, and a weekend that somehow held laughter, chaos, and calm all in one breath.
DAY 5: FLORENCE, ALABAMA
I still can’t believe we did it — but we did. We woke up at 4:45 a.m. to make it to a spinning class at Grit Fitness by 5:15. This studio is one of my favorite parts of living in Florence — it’s such a supportive community, and the workouts are always top-notch. It was Liz’s first time indoor cycling, and I really hope it won’t be her last. It’s not easy, and anyone who’s ever done their first spin class knows: it’s unforgettable because it completely kicks your ass.
After class, we rewarded ourselves with coffee at Groundhog in Sheffield — a cozy little spot with great vibes and even better espresso. For lunch, we stopped at Ricatoni’s in Florence for some hearty pasta before taking a peaceful stroll through McFarland Park, breathing in the quiet beauty of the Tennessee River. The sunlight shimmered across the water, and everything felt still for a moment — like the perfect exhale after a weekend full of laughter, movement, and memories.
That night, back at home, we decided to wind down with a “thematic” movie choice — Deliverance. It seemed like a fitting tribute before heading toward the Appalachian Mountains the next morning. In hindsight… maybe not our most comforting pick. Still, there was something funny about two women curled up on the couch, half-horrified, half-amused, psyching ourselves up for the backroads and wild beauty that waited ahead.
DAY 6: HUNTSVILLE, ALABAMA + FRANKLIN, NORTH CAROLINA
The next morning, we woke up slow and cozy, still carrying that mix of soreness and satisfaction from the spin class. We grabbed breakfast at Rivertown Coffee in downtown Florence — one of my favorite local spots for the breakfast pimento cheese sandwich. The smell of freshly ground beans, the soft hum of conversation, and sunlight spilling through the front windows made it the perfect start to the day.
From there, we headed east toward Huntsville, following winding roads lined with fiery autumn trees. Along the way, we stopped at Gold Sprint Coffee, one of my favorite cafes in North Alabama. Liz went for an draft beer, while I couldn’t resist their Umami Dearest — a miso caramel latte that somehow tastes both earthy and indulgent. It’s the kind of café that blends modern and vintage — with graphic shirts for sale, a small stage for live music, and a creative hum in the air that makes you want to stay longer than you planned.
Next, we spent a couple hours exploring Lowe Mill Arts & Entertainment, a labyrinth of creativity and color housed in a converted textile mill. It’s the largest privately owned arts facility in the Southeast, and every hallway leads to something unexpected. You can peek into open studios and actually watch artists at work — painting, sculpting, and experimenting with new ideas. On one visit, I saw someone crafting a massive 20-foot sculpture of Martin Luther King Jr., while another studio was filled with Nordic-inspired art and design. The space hums with creativity, especially on weekends when the building fills with visitors, music, and conversation. I met artists who had moved from L.A. and New York, drawn by the slower pace and tight-knit art community that Huntsville has quietly built around this place.
But the real adventure of the day came just east of Huntsville at Stephens Gap, a hidden cave tucked deep in the forest. You can’t just show up at Stephens Gap — visits are free, but you’ll need a reservation, and weekends often book up weeks in advance. The hike itself is short, but the reward feels otherworldly: a massive cavern where light pours through an opening above, illuminating the moss-covered walls and the cool, damp air below. It’s the kind of place that naturally makes you whisper. I’ve been here after a heavy spring rainfall, when the waterfall thundered through the cave — this time, it was only a gentle trickle, but still every bit as breathtaking.
Still buzzing from the beauty of the cave, we made one last stop before crossing the Alabama–Tennessee line: Unclaimed Baggage in Scottsboro, Alabama. If Lowe Mill was a labyrinth of art, this was a labyrinth of forgotten treasures — aisles of everything from vintage cameras to designer handbags, snow globes, and mysterious souvenirs from lives we’d never know. We laughed our way through each section, trying on sunglasses, flipping through old books, and wondering about the stories behind the things that ended up there.
Traffic thickened as we approached Chattanooga, so we decided to detour off the highway and somehow found ourselves on part of the Trans America Trail — a cross-country off-pavement route that stretches all the way from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Originally designed for adventure riders and overland travelers, it winds through rural America in a way most highways never could. We hadn’t planned to be on it, but the unexpected detour turned into one of those moments that make a trip feel destined.
As we continued, we passed through Ocoee, a breathtaking area wrapped in water and forested ridges. I ended up returning there a year later with my husband — you can read about that trip → From Storytown to the Smokies: A Journey Through Jonesborough and Gatlinburg. hat evening, as we drove, we listened to breathwork and meditations by one of my favorite intuitives, Bree Melanson, while the Aries full moon rose over the horizon.The sky turned molten orange and silver, the light spilling over the river. Our jaws dropped — both of us in quiet awe.
When we reached the winding roads of the Ocoee Scenic Byway, the air grew cooler, the forest denser. We could feel the eerie yet mystical presence of the ancient Appalachian forest breathing above us — as if the mountains themselves were alive and watching. The road twisted through the darkness, lined with towering pines and shadows that seemed to hum. We noticed an unusual amount of truck traffic, later realizing it was due to road closures from Hurricane Helene. In the days to come, we’d see more of the storm’s scars as we drove farther east toward Asheville.
By the time we reached our little Airbnb cabin in Franklin, North Carolina, the night had deepened into that still, heavy quiet unique to the Nantahala National Forest. Too tired to go out for dinner, we made cup ramen, laughed at how delirious we were, and discovered a closet full of costumes. Naturally, we wore the wizard robes. Under the soft crackle of a record player spinning Donna Summer, we danced our hearts out before I read the opening lines of The Fellowship of the Ring. It was silly, enchanted, and somehow profound — two friends beneath the ancient breath of the Appalachians, laughing under the same moon that had followed us all the way from Northern Alabama.
DAY 7: GATLINGBURG
The next morning, we hit the road without much of a plan — just letting the day unfold and the road decide for us. Our route took us through the scenic town of Cherokee, a place that seems to hold both history and mystery in its air. A month later, Liz and her fiancé actually came back to visit us, and we spent a night at the casino there — you can read about that trip → Cherokee to Chattanooga: The Spirit of the Smokies and the Southern Soul.
From Cherokee, we drove through the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, surrounded by the soft golds and rusts of early autumn. The leaves were just beginning to turn, and the mountains seemed to breathe under the shifting light — that misty, dreamlike quality the Smokies are known for.
By late afternoon, we reached our campsite at LeConte RV Park, where we pitched our tent before driving the short five minutes into Gatlinburg. If Nashville is country glitz and Vegas is desert glam, Gatlinburg is somewhere in between — a PG-rated mountain version of Vegas. A little hillbilly, a little hokey, but undeniably charming in its own way. There’s a mix of everything: quirky museums, tourist traps, hidden gems, and plenty of ways to escape into the surrounding nature. The town itself might not be a must-see for everyone, but spending a day here is worth it just to feel the pulse of it — the strange, endearing energy that holds the Smokies together.
We spent the evening wandering downtown, eventually ending up at Ripley’s Mirror Maze. For eight bucks, it seemed like harmless fun — until we realized we couldn’t find our way out. What started as laughter quickly turned into mild panic, and for a moment I thought Liz might have a full-blown anxiety attack if we didn’t escape soon. That’s when I got laser-focused — determined to lead us to freedom. When we finally stumbled out into the night air, it felt like victory.
Just as we caught our breath, someone outside Anakeesta offered us two wristbands for $40 — half the usual price — and we couldn’t resist. Minutes later, we were on the ski lift, slowly gliding over the glittering town lights. Liz clutched her Crocs like her life depended on it, both of us laughing at the absurdity of it all.
Once at the top, we realized the park was closing in just ninety minutes — barely enough time to explore, but we made the most of it. We wandered across the Treetop Skywalk, a series of suspension bridges strung between towering trees, swaying gently in the cool mountain air. The forest glowed with soft light, and for a few minutes, it felt like we were walking inside a dream.
As the crowds thickened for the last rides down, we decided to linger by a fire pit, sipping cocktails and watching the mountains fade into night. Eventually, we joined the long line for the descent — tired, tipsy, and giddy from another day of adventure.
Back at camp, we crawled into our sleeping bags, the air crisp and cool around us. The sound of the river nearby lulled us to sleep — a perfect ending to a perfectly chaotic Smoky Mountain day.
DAY 8: APPALACHIAN TRAIL
The next morning, we drove east toward Standing Bear Farm Hostel, taking what felt like a dozen detours along the way — most of them the lingering aftermath of Hurricane Helene. Fallen trees, closed roads, and endless reroutes stretched the drive longer than expected, but we made the most of it — laughing, listening to music, and soaking in the shifting mountain scenery. By the time we finally arrived, we were so relieved to have reached our destination. The place was nearly empty, the silence thick in the cool air — just a few long-term stayers scattered around the property and the owner, who greeted us with that kind of easy mountain warmth that instantly puts you at ease.
One of the men, clearly born of the mountains, was sitting near the fire pit rolling a joint. He was thrilled to have visitors, explaining that no thru-hikers had passed by in weeks because of the hurricane and that the season was winding down as fall began to surrender to winter. It had been quiet — too quiet, maybe — and he was eager to show us around.
He led us through the grounds, pointing out relics left behind by hikers on the Appalachian Trail — boots lined up neatly, broken trekking poles, and other small mementos scattered around. Each one seemed to carry a story, a fragment of a journey still unfolding. As I looked at the collection, part of me couldn’t shake the thought that maybe everyone who’d stayed here had just… vanished. Deliverance was still fresh on our minds, and though he was genuinely kind, there was something about the quiet intensity of the place — the isolation, the way everyone seemed to move in slow rhythm — that felt a little cult-like, just enough to keep us on edge. I half expected a banjo to start playing — and sure enough, one did. But instead of coming from the woods, it drifted from a nearby speaker: Dirtwire. They’ve since become one of my favorite artists — though, in that moment, not so much. Liz and I exchanged a look, both of us a little too high for the moment, silently agreeing it was time to “go for a walk.”
As we headed away from the hostel, Liz and I walked side by side in silence, holding our breath in nervous laughter, unsure how to even process what had just happened. I could tell we were each dying to talk, but neither of us dared to say anything in case someone could hear. We were filled with so many tangled emotions — confusion, amusement, a flicker of fear — all blurring together under the mountain quiet. Once we were far enough down the trail, we finally exhaled, gasping in paranoia. “Are we just insanely high?” I whispered. It was my first time smoking a joint in almost two years, and the intensity was catching up fast. We stopped to make one of our dehydrated meals, which somehow grounded us — the simple act of cooking helping us sober up and find our footing again. We kept walking, trying to shake it off, laughing at how our minds had spiraled so wildly, all because of a movie we’d watched a few nights before.
During the hike, the forest opened around us in a haunting, beautiful way. That’s when we began to see the true aftermath of Hurricane Helene. It looked like Godzilla had torn through the woods — entire roads ripped apart, massive trees uprooted and twisted, the path carved by landslides and fallen branches. The silence of it all was staggering. It was heartbreaking and humbling at once — nature showing both her beauty and her brute strength.
As the evening settled in, we joined the small group for a potluck dinner. They shared what they had — simple, hearty food — and we made pasta and poured the apple cider we’d brought from Gatlinburg. Around the fire, we exchanged stories. They told us about Appalachian Trail culture — the rhythm of the seasons, the hikers who’d come and gone — and shared their local perspective on the aftermath of Hurricane Helene, how the storm had reshaped the trails and the towns tucked between them. The fire crackled, the stars burned bright above the ridge, and the mountains, so quiet all day, seemed to hum again — ancient, alive, and at peace.
DAY 9: CHATTANOOGA, TENNESSEE
We left early that morning, before anyone else had woken up, wanting to make the most of our last day together. Before pulling away, we left a note at Standing Bear Farm, thanking everyone for their kindness and hospitality. Despite our nerves the day before, the people there had been nothing but warm and genuine — a reminder of how quickly perception can shift once fear fades.
The drive toward Chattanooga took about three hours, winding through valleys still marked by Hurricane Helene’s destruction. We were quiet for much of it, watching the landscape roll by in disbelief — belongings piled outside homes, furniture and clothing spread in yards to dry, entire hillsides scarred by flooding. It was sobering to see how much had changed in just a couple weeks.
When we finally reached Chattanooga, we checked into the historic Chattanooga Choo Choo Hotel — once a grand train station, now transformed into a charming stay filled with vintage railway charm. We headed straight for the Incline Railway, a century-old funicular that climbs the steep face of Lookout Mountain. The ride was both thrilling and slightly terrifying — the car angled so sharply that we couldn’t help but grip the seats and laugh the whole way up.
At the top, the view stretched endlessly over the Tennessee Valley, hazy and golden in the late-morning light. We grabbed a quick slice of pizza across the street from our car before continuing on to Rock City, one of those places that sounds kitschy until you actually see it. Massive ancient rock formations twist together to form narrow passageways and towering cliffs, all draped in moss and color. We wandered through the Lover’s Leap overlook, where you can supposedly see seven states at once, the wind cool against our faces. It was pure childhood wonder — part fairytale, part natural miracle — and we didn’t care how touristy it was.
Later, we had a cozy pre dinner at Elsie’s Daughter, a little café with raw oysters and artisan cocktails that felt like a deep breath. For dinner, we found an Asian-fusion restaurant tucked downtown — a hidden gem that, sadly, seems to have closed since. Still, there are plenty of amazing spots nearby for anyone visiting today.
After dinner, we stopped for drinks at Nic & Norman’s, a lively spot co-owned by The Walking Dead’s Norman Reedus and Greg Nicotero. The place had that easy Southern buzz — a mix of tourists, locals, and late-night laughter spilling across the tables.
We ended up seated beside a kind gay couple and a man who appeared to be homeless, nursing a drink and eager to talk. After a few minutes, he asked me what my nationality was. I kept replying, “I’m American,” but he grew frustrated, repeating the question as if I wasn’t understanding. Finally, I asked, “Do you mean my ethnicity?” His face lit up — “Yes! That’s what I meant!”
From there, the night took a turn for the absurd. He began congratulating the gay man sitting next to me, insisting he was my husband and a “lucky man.” The four of us couldn’t stop laughing. The stranger and I kept exchanging amused glances — two people who’d just met, now accidentally married in someone else’s version of reality.
When we finally left, still laughing, it struck me how travel invites these fleeting moments — tiny collisions of lives that exist only for a few minutes, but somehow stay with you long after the road ends.
We walked back to the Chattanooga Choo Choo Hotel, still laughing about the night, and sat by the fire one last time. It was the perfect ending — two friends, a long road behind us, and the glow of a journey that had been as chaotic as it was full of heart.
DAY 10: BACK HOME & GOODBYE
Before driving back to Nashville, we stopped for juice at Real Roots Café, a bright little spot filled with plants, sunlight, and good energy. Right next door was a place called REV Optimal Living, a wellness studio that caught our curiosity. Inside, we discovered it was a sanctuary for holistic health — a blend of gentle chiropractic, breathwork, and nervous system restoration.
We decided to give it a try, and it felt like exactly what we needed after so many days on the road. We met the owners, Monica and Loren, who radiated the kind of grounded peace that makes you instantly exhale. They spoke about balance, restoration, and learning to listen to the body — themes that seemed to echo everything this trip had quietly taught us. By the time we finished our session, we felt renewed, both in body and spirit — like the road had softened us, and this moment was the gentle closing breath.
We made it to the Nashville airport just in time for Liz’s flight. The goodbye was tender and unspoken — a knowing look, a squeeze of the hand, the quiet recognition that we never really know when life will pull us together again.
Some friendships are like that — they stretch across time and distance, yet never lose their pulse. This trip reminded me that connection isn’t measured by proximity, but by presence — by showing up when life allows, by laughing until tears fall, by witnessing the world together, even for a little while.
