Chattanooga from every angle

In Tennessee, some official declaration renamed August. 3 as “Slow Drive in the Left Lane Day” on Interstate 24. Our normal two-hour drive to Chattanooga occupied an eternity. Our usual drive down 24 turned into a slog, probably adding 30 minutes.

My parents arrived early at the Terminal Brewhouse, a change in our usual destination of the Big River Brewing Company. The flatiron building hosted a brewpub and an outdoor patio on its second floor. The beers were mostly average but the food was worth the drive, especially to see Mom, Joe and Dad for a few hours. I had not seen Dad since our Brownsville trek. Instead of his usual ultra-light brand, he dragged from a electronic cigarette. I never thought I would see the day. Our late arrival gave my Mom time to give Joe his grilled cheese and French fries while they snacked on appetizers.

Joe so enjoyed the brewhouse’s chocolate stout cake that he seemed disappointed when my mom did not load up the crumbs on his fork. As our Chattanooga visits go, it was another day that ended too briefly. We bid goodbye in the parking lot, with hugs from Mom and Dad and a handshake from Joe.

For Nancy and me, our time in Chattanooga had only begun. As my parents departed, Nancy and I chose to start with a view above the city. We headed southeast to Lookout Mountain, the massive peak/plateau that overlooks Chattanooga. Passing the tramway that reaches the peak, we wound up a series of switchback roads amid a cliffside forest, and skipped through neighborhoods that would have been highly attractive if we worked in Chattanooga. Little commercial strips came and went until we reach the other end of the tramway.

One steep railway

From its decks, the views of Chattanooga, the other nearby peaks and Chickamauga Lake were spectacular, even on a hazy summer afternoon. The air was cooler here, and we watched the two tram cars ascend and descend a 73 percent grade, one of the world’s steepest incline rail lines. The lookout platforms were relatively quiet, and we soaked in the views before rain sprinkled on the depot. From the bottom of Lookout Mountain, Chickamauga National Battlefield was the next stop.

I knew little of the battle, basically only that is was a bloody encounter and Ambrose Pierce’s short story of the same name was a personal favorite. It was a major loss for the Union Army, who would later win the battles of Chattanooga and Lookout Mountain before pressing into Georgia. Were it not for the monuments erected for major skirmishes and to honor states’ regiments, the forested plains were relatively placid.

But the monuments were the big attraction - Really big, in many cases. The Georgia and Kentucky monuments soared above the others, but none of the state markers felt obnoxious. That might owe a debt to Chickamauga’s terrain, a mix of open meadows and dense, pine forests.

The greatest accolade came to Col. John Wilder and his Lightning Brigade, one of the Union’s few bright spots in the battle. The monument resembled a giant rook from a chess set. Ascending a dark spiral stairwell in the monument, Nancy and I could survey the entire battlefield in a way Wilder never could.

Wilder Monument at Chickamauga Battlefield

Actually, Wilder could have later. His post-Civil War career included stints as Chattanooga mayor, a Tennessee Congressman and (wait for it) commissioner of the nation’s first national military park – Chickamauga. That might explain the park’s largest monument. Leaving Wilder’s Monument, we saw our wildlife for the day, a single deer loitering alongside the road.


Heading back downtown, we circled through the city looking for a hotel. Some on the periphery badly failed the sniff test. We ended up a stone’ throw from the river, with a bird’s eye view of the aquarium and a shuttered rooftop Mexican restaurant two stories below our room. After lounging briefly, we ventured out onto the Chattanooga riverfront.

We headed for the Walnut Street Bridge, a converted pedestrian bridge with an ugly history (more than a century ago, two black men were lynched on the bridge). Now it was the nexus of a thriving city, hosting thousands of people daily.  The North Shore District, a slightly funky area across from the more touristy areas, boasts a massive riverfront park and numerous boutiques. A record store where I found an Ennio Morricone recording back in early 2012 was long gone. Everyone else, especially the numerous bars, appeared to be doing great business.

From the parking benches to the splash fountains, Coolidge Park bustled on Saturday night. We left the park along the trail system, passing a metal sculpture depicted the Trail of Tears' passage through Chattanooga.

Sunset from the pedestrian bridge cast the Tennessee river and its surrounding mountains – Lookout, Signal and Raccoon. Cloud formations blotted out some hues, but the reds and purples broke through and provided a vibrancy to daylight’s end. Cities looking to draw tourists should take notes in Chattanooga. This previously industrial town best known for a 1940s song built the Tennessee Aquarium and a vibrant downtown culture that should be the envy of towns five to 10 times its population (Chattanooga clocks in just below 200,000).

We could only pass so many half-drunk throngs before we needed a respite. Most of the bars were thick with crowds and we wanted a nightcap and a few light plates before retiring. The crowds were good for Chattanooga, but after a few hours on a hot August night, were better left behind. On a whim, we went into Easy Bistro & Bar, a classy place with a nice wine list and a decor unlike anything else in downtown Chattanooga.

Although it felt like an 19th century bank remodeled into a restaurant, Easy was actually part of Coca-Cola’s original bottling plant on the Chattanooga riverfront. We snacked on squash blossom beignet, mussels and a meat cheese plate between glasses of wine. Mostly we stuck with wine, Washington reds and an occasional rose for me and whites for Nancy. Nancy’s cocktail of rhubarb-infused gin with strawberry syrup and arugula was off the hook.

Cat-free for the first time in several months, both of us slept soundly.

After much talk about bicycling through the relatively flat downtown of Chattanooga, we had to venture out under our own power. This was a birthday trip, and I wanted a bike ride more than anything. At our first attempt to rent bicycles, the riverfront rental station, we found the keypad shattered by a fist, most likely a drunken one. I'm sure destroying public property solved all of the guy's problems.

Five blocks up, we found another station and embarked upon a journey through a sleepy Chattanooga. Runners finished a 5K while we cruised back across the pedestrian bridge and took a few loops through Coolidge and Renaissance parks before hitting up our favorite coffeehouse for breakfast sandwiches. The spicy number I picked was a little much at 9 a.m., but soon enough we were back on our bikes, exploring the nooks of Chattanooga.

As we returned to 24, the highway signs warns of the interestate’s closure 40 miles ahead, which I estimated somewhere on the plateau, probably around Monteagle. We detoured at South Pittsburg, passing a series of tantalizing local restaurants closed on Sundays. From a simple neighborhood road we found ourselves, in a rare ascent of Monteagle through some desolate backroads. For most of it, we barely saw other drivers until we got close to Sewanee, one of the few outposts atop the mountain.

Descending Monteagle, we came upon some great views of the valley and plains below. At the bottom, we ground through a series of small towns and light industrial areas before reach familiar territory. From Altamont, the first westbound exit after descending Monteagle, we reentered 24 without a single car in sight behind us. Spared the worst of a major road closure, we could ride home comfortable with our fill of the River City and its sheltering mountains.