Nov 20, 2008 “A City for the Children, A Character Counts”—so reads the message on a billboard along U.S. 70 welcoming the traveler into Lebanon. And it seemed to be the perfect theme for my ride that day from Smithville.
“Character” refers to features that are distinctive or interesting. That term can apply to much of what I’ve seen so far on my bike ride across our interesting and distinctive state. But it seemed especially appropriate on this leg of the journey.
After checking myself out of the Center Hill Inn, I pedaled into Smithville on Thursday morning looking for a light and quick breakfast. Passing Me-Ma’s Restaurant, its window proudly proclaiming its #1 Breakfast, I was tempted to stop. But, no, with miles to go before I next slept, I wanted to be on my way, with a light load in my stomach. Passing Hardees, I almost stopped again, thinking a quick sausage biscuit might fill the bill. But wait—was I biking across Tennessee just to eat at another ubiquitous fast food joint? No, I wisely overcame all resistance and stopped at Susie’s Restaurant for a sit-down breakfast of eggs, biscuits with gravy, sausage, hash browns, and orange juice—a breakfast with character. Susie’s itself was full of characters that morning, white-haired men’s clubs dawdling over their coffee and solving the world’s problems, apparently a daily ritual.
With a happy tummy I pedaled down the broad five-lane section of U.S. 70, looking forward to Liberty. Now there’s a town with character. Founded in 1797 by Adam Dale, a Revolutionary war veteran, this community likely was named in honor of liberty from Great Britain. Boasting 367 residents, the town has one claim to fame: the caricature of a mule painted on a limestone bluff next to the highway. When the state widened the highway in 2003, local citizens were fearful that the new construction would destroy their local masterpiece. They began a letter-writing campaign and placed signs along the road saying, “Save the Mule.” Apparently the State of Tennessee agreed.
For decades no one knew who had painted the old girl in the first place. Some thought perhaps it was Lavader Woodard, a local photographer whose name is painted on the bluff. But historian Thomas G. Webb cleared up the mystery upon finding a 1957 article in The Smithville Review by Dr. Wayne T. Robinson of Dallas. As a 21-year-old college student and resident of Liberty in 1906, Dr. Robinson had climbed the bluff on a lark and painted the mule with coal tar. His creation was patterned after Maud the Mule of a popular comic strip of that day.
I had no idea where to look for Maud. However, local residents were only too glad to direct me to the site. Naturally, I was expecting this limestone mural to be as large as the Mt. Rushmore sculpture, or at least as big as a Mack eighteen-wheeler. But it was only about six feet across. I almost missed it altogether. I was not disappointed, though. It was worth seeing just for the story behind it. A whole town defending a piece of bluff graffiti? Now that’s character.
From Liberty I pedaled on down toward Watertown. The road narrows down to two lanes somewhere along the way and bypasses the town proper altogether. A town with character, however, will not let the traffic just pass it by. A large sign proudly proclaims, “Historic Watertown—Next 4 Exits,” as if U.S. 70 were a major controlled access multi-lane freeway. (The “Exits” are short side streets.) The town lives up to its billboard, with its picturesque collection of specialty shops and restaurants on a square centered around a gazebo with piped-in easy-listening music.
Finally, I entered Lebanon itself, with its character-proclaiming welcome sign, and I was not disappointed. From the log cabin and still-flowing spring on the main square, to the plaque designating the spot where Sam Houston once had a law office, this bustling town of 20,235 exudes character. Even its name is distinctive—in the Middle East the word is pronounced LEB-uh-non; here it’s pronounced LEB-uh-nun, or simply LEB-nun. And before this ride was ended I would see mailboxes that looked like a motorcycle, a dog, and a hair dryer. I would see—honest-to-goodness—a large authentic-looking Statue of Liberty complete with an electric torch on its own little island in somebody’s front yard pond. And then there was the used car dealership with a 1940 Plymouth for sale for $5999, right alongside its later model vehicles (my Dad says such a car originally sold for $700). Interesting. Distinctive.
Did I say earlier that I thought the southern U.S. 70 route from Crossville to Lebanon might prove boring? What was I thinking? This is Tennessee! The state has character!
“Character” refers to features that are distinctive or interesting. That term can apply to much of what I’ve seen so far on my bike ride across our interesting and distinctive state. But it seemed especially appropriate on this leg of the journey.
After checking myself out of the Center Hill Inn, I pedaled into Smithville on Thursday morning looking for a light and quick breakfast. Passing Me-Ma’s Restaurant, its window proudly proclaiming its #1 Breakfast, I was tempted to stop. But, no, with miles to go before I next slept, I wanted to be on my way, with a light load in my stomach. Passing Hardees, I almost stopped again, thinking a quick sausage biscuit might fill the bill. But wait—was I biking across Tennessee just to eat at another ubiquitous fast food joint? No, I wisely overcame all resistance and stopped at Susie’s Restaurant for a sit-down breakfast of eggs, biscuits with gravy, sausage, hash browns, and orange juice—a breakfast with character. Susie’s itself was full of characters that morning, white-haired men’s clubs dawdling over their coffee and solving the world’s problems, apparently a daily ritual.
With a happy tummy I pedaled down the broad five-lane section of U.S. 70, looking forward to Liberty. Now there’s a town with character. Founded in 1797 by Adam Dale, a Revolutionary war veteran, this community likely was named in honor of liberty from Great Britain. Boasting 367 residents, the town has one claim to fame: the caricature of a mule painted on a limestone bluff next to the highway. When the state widened the highway in 2003, local citizens were fearful that the new construction would destroy their local masterpiece. They began a letter-writing campaign and placed signs along the road saying, “Save the Mule.” Apparently the State of Tennessee agreed.
For decades no one knew who had painted the old girl in the first place. Some thought perhaps it was Lavader Woodard, a local photographer whose name is painted on the bluff. But historian Thomas G. Webb cleared up the mystery upon finding a 1957 article in The Smithville Review by Dr. Wayne T. Robinson of Dallas. As a 21-year-old college student and resident of Liberty in 1906, Dr. Robinson had climbed the bluff on a lark and painted the mule with coal tar. His creation was patterned after Maud the Mule of a popular comic strip of that day.
I had no idea where to look for Maud. However, local residents were only too glad to direct me to the site. Naturally, I was expecting this limestone mural to be as large as the Mt. Rushmore sculpture, or at least as big as a Mack eighteen-wheeler. But it was only about six feet across. I almost missed it altogether. I was not disappointed, though. It was worth seeing just for the story behind it. A whole town defending a piece of bluff graffiti? Now that’s character.
From Liberty I pedaled on down toward Watertown. The road narrows down to two lanes somewhere along the way and bypasses the town proper altogether. A town with character, however, will not let the traffic just pass it by. A large sign proudly proclaims, “Historic Watertown—Next 4 Exits,” as if U.S. 70 were a major controlled access multi-lane freeway. (The “Exits” are short side streets.) The town lives up to its billboard, with its picturesque collection of specialty shops and restaurants on a square centered around a gazebo with piped-in easy-listening music.
Finally, I entered Lebanon itself, with its character-proclaiming welcome sign, and I was not disappointed. From the log cabin and still-flowing spring on the main square, to the plaque designating the spot where Sam Houston once had a law office, this bustling town of 20,235 exudes character. Even its name is distinctive—in the Middle East the word is pronounced LEB-uh-non; here it’s pronounced LEB-uh-nun, or simply LEB-nun. And before this ride was ended I would see mailboxes that looked like a motorcycle, a dog, and a hair dryer. I would see—honest-to-goodness—a large authentic-looking Statue of Liberty complete with an electric torch on its own little island in somebody’s front yard pond. And then there was the used car dealership with a 1940 Plymouth for sale for $5999, right alongside its later model vehicles (my Dad says such a car originally sold for $700). Interesting. Distinctive.
Did I say earlier that I thought the southern U.S. 70 route from Crossville to Lebanon might prove boring? What was I thinking? This is Tennessee! The state has character!
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