A series of goodbyes: The universe speaks in Chattanooga

Cupola of the Coolidge Park carousel building

Tennessee’s fourth largest city will always rank first for me.

Chattanooga developed into the place where I could meet my parents, have lunch and go visit someplace fun, then head home. Before I knew it, I was crossing Monteagle and hitting downtown Chattanooga three to six times a year. It became an escape hatch from Nashville.

Now there are too many memories. The first time was Labor Day weekend 2008, when we toured the Tennessee Aquarium and lunch at the downtown brewpub. There was the last time I saw my brother Joe at the Terminal Brewhouse in August 2013, where he enjoyed a luscious piece of Guinness chocolate cake. There were April thunderstorms on the perfect screened patio of an Airbnb in 2017 after a long day of adventuring.

Riverboat finishing its route

Crossing the pedestrian bridge, I was immediately reminded of Joe and a fun June Friday long ago. The noise was unmistakable. The Southern Belle riverboat was closing out a trip, a song from its calliope echoing across downtown and the North Shore. The only time I rode that trip, I remember Joe's face lighting up as the calliope played the Tennessee Waltz.

Taproom

I’d like to think he rode shotgun the rest of the way. Not in a sad way, but Joe was just there and wanted me to know Chattanooga was important for him too. I had five hours to burn before the Jeff Tweedy concert at the Walker Theater. Chattanooga would have no trouble occupying my time.

Heaven and Ale was the first stop, as I wanted to do any craft beer early. Like everything on the burgeoning North Shore, they had outgrown their original space. They still had the tiny taproom on Cherokee Boulevard, but had constructed a larger brewery in an adjacent retail strip. I had small pours of two variations on their Meditation saison, both aged in barrels (one red wine, one peach brandy). It was a nice stop, but I was glad to the drunk guy telling people that God told them they were going to drive him to Knoxville didn’t get too close.

Chattanooga has too many stops to squeeze into a day, much less two or three. I did not even try – no aquarium, no Incline railway, no Springer Ridge Park, no Coolidge Park loitering, no carousel, no towing and trucking museum, no Bluefish Grille, no Thai Smile, no Chickamauga battlefield, no Reflection Riding Arboretum, no Point Park, no passes through myriad neighborhoods where I spent long weekends.

Terra Nostra art

I did have time for a tipple at Mike’s Hole in the Wall - when I found it. The North Shore Mike’s as I knew it no longer exists, a new condo building rising from its old lot. The new Mike’s is palatial by comparison, with a bar, dining area and patio with five times the capacity of the old. Somehow, the affable nature of the old space transferred across the street. It could never be same, but it wasn’t awful.

I struck up with a local waiting on a tow truck. He told me the old-timers sit at the long tables or at the bar. It was sorority time everywhere else. A man two seats away found some lottery tickets stuffed into a barstool. He asked if they were mine and when I told him to go ahead, he offered me one-third of any winnings. On five tickets, only one winning number was on any of them. We got talking about the changes to the North Shore, I told him about Terra Nostra plans and hearing the riverboat play the calliope my brother loved. He turned quiet for a second.

“The universe was talking to you.” That line stopped me cold. The universe had been vocal indeed. Or he was just full of shit. I cannot confirm the truth.

The tow truck driver buzzed on his phone and he was gone without a goodbye. In a minute, I was too. Mike’s was a placeholder for the only restaurant where I wanted to eat. I crossed the backroads of the North Shore to avoid the sun.

Sorta' selfie

After a brief interlude in the aisles of books and records at Winder Binder, Terra Nostra called. The signboard went up outside. Terra Nostra plans to close in July, ending a 17-year run of tapas on the North Shore. I have eaten here more than at any Tennessee restaurant. I will miss the patio, a narrow space between the brick walls that offers respite from the bustling sidewalk.

Inside, I took a minute to survey the art on the the walls. Eclectic paintings and artwork swirled many memories nights spent on the patio over many small plates and bottles of wine. I worked through small plates of escargot, chicken tortelloni, asparagus and pear-walnut quesadillas before quitting.

Across this trip, personal connection became a priority. At each stop I made a point to talk to people. At Terra Nostra, the bartenders filled the lack of customers at the bar. We could talk about how good the dishes were, what were the best wine picks on the menu, and how much Chattanooga would miss this place.

When they were absent, the owner came by, and I made a point to talk to him, even as emotion overran me. But I had something to say. At first I struggled for the words. Then they came awkwardly. After babbling teary-eyed briefly, I came to my message - “Thanks for creating a place that made great memories.” A little corny, but 100 percent true. He shook my hand and made no comment about me choking up. I wished the bartenders the best and they wished me good luck in Colorado.

As I crossed the pedestrian bridge, the wind shoved at me. I was glad the wind took the effort, as the mix of clouds and sun cast Lookout Mountain and the other peaks in unusual light. Whether the universe spoke, nature demanded attention, and it was a hard point to argue.

A last visit to a favorite city sharpens the senses. The smells and the sounds stuck with me. Greenery sprouted from the shores and the Audubon sanctuary island in the middle of river. Birds and people squawking throughout Coolidge Park. An African-American man played acoustic guitar on the pedestrian bridge, and seemed unconcerned if anyone listened. The clouds splintered the sunlight in unexpected patterns, leaving downtown both blindingly bright and comfortably shady.

Chattanooga always comes back to the bridge, as if that bright blue span bound the entire city together. I never forget its ugly history as a lynching spot, a scar that should not go unmentioned. But seeing a plethora of cultures and hearing various languages on the bridge is a reminder it is a different place in the 21st century. I rested for a bit and assembled my trip notes, then decided on Hair of the Dog Pub for a last encounter before the show. I ended up seated next to a man from Las Vegas who journeyed up from Atlanta for a free weekend, and we had a good talk about the town over a single beer.

Unlike past trips, the wind was inescapable. From the time I left Nashville till I left the Tweedy show, the wind was there. As I descended Monteagle earlier in the day, the gusts pushed my car all over the highway, poor timing on a dangerous stretch of road. One truck was being pulled off the runaway truck ramp, the first time I ever saw those emergency lanes in use. I wasn’t surprised – my car seemed to twist in the winds, a sensation I don’t wish to repeat.

The next morning the wind had stilled, the air was crisp and cold, and I was five miles west of downtown Chattanooga. The goodbyes had been sent. The riverboat was docked, the North Shore was quiet and Jeff Tweedy’s tour bus was bound for the next city.

 I had one more crossing of Monteagle and a dash home before work. Goodbyes are hard but as I told the owner of Terra Nostra, places that create good memories are hard to shake. So it goes with Chattanooga.

 

Last images from the pedestrian bridge