Originally I had planned to pass through Knoxville on my way south to see my friend Greenling. The bus I took from Roanoke transferred in Knoxville, though, and I figured it would be too much of a drag to bike back the way I came. On the eve of my departure from Asheville, however, a lady I had only just met offered me a ride to Knoxville. Taking this as divine providence, I met with her the following morning and was soon wandering about the city with Greenling.
At this time of year, Knoxville is unnervingly quiet. An entire evening of pedestrians can number only a couple dozen, and car traffic is minimal. This depopulation, as we explored the quaint and crumbling Old City, made me feel like we were wandering in the ruins of a once-great civilization.
But among the ruins there was yet life. Out on my own one evening I stumbled upon a small group of musicians who lent me a drum to join them and gave me some beer. Here the lack of people worked out as a benefit, as this was a far more intimate and involved drum circle than I’d experienced in Asheville, and every bit as enjoyable. We were joined by a couple other drummers and an old black flautist with one blind eye. When we were finishing up our jam session, he told me I played so scared that when everybody else was starting to lose it I still held it. I’m not entirely sure what he meant, but I took it as a compliment. Read the rest of this entry »
