Day 1, July 3: Washington to Knoxville

On the road about 11:30 a.m., after we watched Maria Sharapova's amazing victory over Serena Williams in the Wimbledon final.

The usual trip out I-66 at first, until the switch to I-81. The drive takes us past James Madison University and Radford and VMI and Virginia Tech. As the Tennessee border nears, the roadside scenery shifts to ivy-covered rocks.

First new-career ephiphany, somewhere around Bristol, Tenn.: We could be consultants to cheap motel chains, designing something for their billboards and logos other than that horrible Quality Inn-knockoff with the Cooper Black typeface.

First gas stop: The Koala store in Wytheville, Va. Seventeen gallons, 30 bucks. Disgusting restrooms. Driver switch: Jacqueline moves to shotgun, and Bill takes the wheel for the first time. (The huge Explorer was made for cruise control.)

The first six or seven hours passed quickly. Then, when we realize we're only an hour away from our destination, every five minutes seems to take an hour.

Jacqueline observes that Tennessee is surprisingly tidy. The hotel billboards all seem to trumpet high-speed Internet access, something we have made sure to secure on all our stops. Bill is skeptical; these things never work. "I'll believe it when I see it."

The Comfort Hotel in Knoxville is right on the freeway, surrounded by pits of red clay as some sort of construction proceeds. It's a '60s-era building that has been rehabbed recently. Not great, but not bad.

Shirl -- Jacqueline's mom, the cats' grandma -- procured subs for us from Italia in Silver Spring, and Bill had his during the Wimbledon final. Jacqueline had half then and the other half early in the trip. We're kind of hungry, so after check-in we immediately set out to get dinner.

Litton's seemed like a great choice. An old-school burger joint endorsed by Roadfood.com and many reviewers. It's about seven miles from the hotel, and the trip is fine. Knoxville has a lot of vintage roadside architecture and signage.

We get there, and ... the staff is on summer vacation. Drats! So we're stuck miles from our hotel without our restaurant-finding resources. And we're determined to avoid chains (for obvious reasons), barbecue (Memphis and Texas are coming up), and Mexican (New Mexico and Arizona are coming up).

So we drive. Through the down side of town. The streets are deserted. Eventually we get to the university and the river. We pass the Ye Olde Steak House, which was my second or third choice, but it looks crowded and we have a lot of steaks in our future.

On the river are abandoned and decrepit factories. New-career ephiphany No. 2: We need to move to Knoxville and go into real estate.

Further exploration finds that not everything of that vintage is decrepit. In fact, downtown Knoxville is breathtaking. I never thought I'd be typing those words, but this is a well-preserved slice of the '60s and earlier. The brick buildings, the signage. Maybe times were tough in the '70s and they couldn't afford to ruin things the way most cities did.

Say what you will about the "Carnies" of the University of Tennessee (as Jacqueline and her fellow Florida Gators call the Volunteers), but this is a heck of a lot nicer than Gainesville, Fla.

We see a sign pointing to the "Old City" and it gets even better. Here, there actually are people. This seems to be a nightlife district. We park and look for food, but ... this seems to be a nightlife district. Note to Knoxville planners: You need a healthy mix.

We had seen a wonderful vintage rooftop sign for a place called Regas. It looks like a time-honored old-people special-occasion place, and essentially it is. It's pretty crowded, too, and we're told there might be a long wait. How long? "Twenty to 25 minutes." They must not have the Cheesecake Factory around these parts.

Drinks at the bar as we flirt with hypoglycemia. There's a help-yourself cheese display, but we're wary. Finally we're seated, in the shielded booths apparently reserved for those not dressed for a special occasion.

The food is fine but not great, and we eat way too much. Bill: fried calamari and a prime-rib sandwich. Jacqueline: a salad and then filet mignon. And then there's dessert -- a complimentary sliver of red-velvet cake for both (the place is celebrating its 85th anniversary). Bill has that plus blueberry ice cream; Jacqueline barely touches her cake because the strawberry shortcake (really strawberry pound cake) she ordered is so big.

On the way out Jacqueline hels a nice couple with another anniversary, taking a snapshot of them. She then takes the wheel. We're under a spaghetti bowl of freeways, but the entrances are nowhere to be found. We drive around in confusion for a while, but finally we retrace our steps and find some signs.

Back in the room, we fire up the laptops. The advertised free wireless Internet is remarkably hassle-free, but the service is spotty. Jacqueline eventually settles in for uninterrupted access, but Bill's computer gives up. ("I'll believe it when I see it.")