Chatta New Year (Happy Nooga Year)

A new friend in Chattanooga (don't tell Percy)

Our favorite town in Tennessee never fails in offering new views. Since late summer, we had only seen Chattanooga in passing, partly due to a lesson in frustrating Tennessee highway traffic. Now we avoid that stretch anyway we can.

We found a new route, one that cuts north of the Tennessee Valley’s reservoirs. We climbed the rolling switchbacks that ascend Walden Ridge to Chattanooga. Despite the narrow road and exceeding the speed limit, a masked man on an ATV zoomed past us. As the road flattened, a small gas station overlooked the Sequatchie Valley behind us. This was not one of the rotting businesses stamped across rural America; it just closed in 2015 and was a staple of the area.

Briefly atop the ridge, the road follows a steep ravine through Prentice Cooper State Forest, a huge tract of protected land abutting Chattanooga. These roads gave away few traces of our nearness to Chattanooga. The state route became Suck Creek Road and followed the steep grade of its rocky namesake tributary until it joined the Tennessee. This bend in the Tennessee feels closer to its wild past, flowing as if the dams hold little influence. Modest one-story homes sat along the broad river’s north bank.

In a minute we crossed into Chattanooga, the first time either of us visited without first crossing the Tennessee. After so many trips, Chattanooga offered another round of new experiences. We stayed in a short-term rental on the North Shore, the neighborhood across the Tennessee from the bustling blocks of downtown. Even from here no one could miss the triangular towers of the Tennessee Aquarium, the linchpin to the city’s revival. A rental gave us our own patio for an afternoon glass of wine, a brick carport and a relaxing weekend ahead.

We needed a friendly bar and bite to eat. From our rental, we could see one - Mike’s Hole in the Wall. The bar at our doorstep had to be our first stop. The unpretentious burger bar was crowded for happy hour and college football bowl games. There wasn’t a free seat inside, so we went to the patio, which was less full but comfortable on this surprisingly crisp afternoon.

 As we sat on the crowded patio with gin & tonics, a friendly dog approached us for scratches and table scraps. What better validation in a new place than the company of a dog? Her owner noticed her attentiveness to us, and struck up conversation with us while setting the dog on Nancy’s lap. He asked why we came, how we ended up there.

He lit up when we told him how much we enjoyed Chattanooga excursions, telling us that after working at places around the country, he liked nothing better than returning to Chattanooga. He pointed out two men worth millions who sipped light beer along with the locals because no one cared they were rich or fawned over them. When I first noticed them, they seemed misplaced. After his explanation, they fit within the tavern’s mosaic.

We only spent a few hours at Mike’s, but it immediately felt more comfortable than any bar in Nashville. No braggarts, no hipsters, no faux Valley Girl accents … just a bar of affable people cheering for a team or enjoying each other’s company. The burgers and sweet potato fries hit the mark as well.

To walk off dinner we headed downtown. Daylight slipped away but we reached the quirky blocks of the North Shore and its pedestrian bridge in time for twilight. Walking the Walnut Street Pedestrian Bridge into downtown has become a tradition. We observed the thriving city. For all the crowds that the riverfront parks draw, downtown activity centers on the pedestrian bridge. Despite an ugly past – two black men were lynched on the bridge – it has become a melting pot. The diversity of people is sometimes stunning.

Below the bridge lies Coolidge Park, the reclaimed river shore. From here, we could see the bridge lights simulated falling snowflakes, Short winter days robbed Coolidge of its normal buzz of activity, but not everywhere. For a few dollars we each picked an animal and took a few spins to the calliope music. As the sunny day collapsed into a night fitting the season, we stopped at a coffee shop before wandering around the local shops on the way home. The North Shore has grown, sprouting new commercial blocks from old industrial lots and former brick warehouses repurposed with shops and restaurants.

The only prohibited walk was the most tantalizing – our apartment was down the hill from Stringers Ridge Park, 92 acres of untouched forest. Our first perfect December afternoon vanished in the gloom of Tennessee winter, and the driving rain prevented any hikes.

Home for two nights

Instead we slept in, stepping down the street for brunch at Sluggo’s a vegan eatery that would sway the staunchest carnivore. Having sized up the closed shops on Friday night, we browsed on Saturday afternoon. Nancy bought some shoes at a boutique. At the pet store, we bought treats, including freeze dried minnows the cats still eat cautiously.
Across the river, we wandered a little. As always, we stumbled into the Hot Chocolatier for sweet drinks and confections. For a few hours we loitered at the Winder Binder, digging through record crates, reams of old books and Chattanooga merchandise as the floors creaked with every step.

Nancy planned a dinner at the Back Inn Café in the Arts District, a peculiarity in any city. To reach the Arts District, one must cut around a number of two-lane roads to find the one that crosses to an island housing the art museum and a few blocks of restaurants and other businesses. We had a fine dinner at the Back Inn, one of the Gig City's fine-dining establishments.

Blurry pic of Suck Creek

This was our first New Year’s Eve together in the Eastern Time Zone, so we stayed in, watching the Time Square countdown live and sipping Gruet Rose once 2017 began. The rain pounded into the New Year, so we decided to head home. Chattanooga’s mysteries would unfold whenever we return. We had no doubt of our route home.

Entering the mountains a fog enveloped Walden Ridge. Climbing the Suck Creek Road, we stopped to observe the creek and its little cataracts rushing over rocks, hurrying to the Tennessee. Cars roared by, a new crept in and the waters that rose from springs on the mountain followed gravity as they always would.