The rest area/Welcome Center in Clearbranch, Tennessee, is kind of nice, once you get used to the smell.

It's very new. The mortised, squared logs are still sharp at the edges. The stone walls are likewise pristine. You can still see the gridlines in the recently-sodded grass around it.

Inside, the newness is even more obvious. Everything's spotless and shiny and fresh. The rocking chairs have not been sat in enough to start molding themselves to the average human bottom. They haven't even started losing their varnish yet. I was almost afraid I wasn't supposed to sit in them. The fireplace they were arranged around had obviously never seen a fire.

The view is impressive, too. This stretch of mountaintop Interstate is still trying to decide if it's spring, but the mountains are lovely. Of course, it's hard to find an ugly piece of scenery in the Appalachians, but still.

Didn't see a lot wildflowers yet. Might not have noticed anyway. The nose wouldn't at any rate. The truck parking area has a perfume all its own.

Overheated brakes.

Don't know whether people push their trucks too hard or if jake brakes are still too new, but even at this hour the sharp aroma of hot brake linings lends a certain sharp edge to the evening experience. As soon as one set cools down the next truck gratefully comes to a stop and adds its own contribution.

It could be worse. It was, for at least one driver. A flatbed I passed half an hour ago, on a downhill slop, riding my jakes for all they were worth. I looked back in my mirror a little later and saw him. And the huge cloud of smoke that followed him. One of my neighbors here at the rest area says he passed him shortly after I did. Rolled down the window to tell him how bad his brakes were.

“I know!” was the answer. My neighbor said the driver looked terrified.

I don't blame him.

I-40 on the border between North Carolina and Tennessee is an interesting drive anyway. But you can't make it now. Last year a major rockslide blocked the whole thing, right around the border. They're still trying to clear it. Meanwhile, you detour up I-26 into southern Virginia, then back down I-81 to Knoxville. Not as many curves, but more hills.

And more miles. When I told my boss I could make it to Chicago by tomorrow night, I didn't take those hills into account. Nor did I (or my boss) consider the size of that detour.

Hope they aren't going to be too disappointed.

Another of my neighbors has a very different brake problem. His trailer brakes locked up and he can't get them to release. He's driving a car hauler, on its way to an auto show in Pigeon Forge, if his trailer will ever roll.

His cargo?

• A late-sixties Ford Falcon.
• A 1930 Ford Tudor coupe.
• A 1940 Ford two-door sedan.
• And three Mustangs. Two of them are Mach 1's.

All of them properly “improved,” of course. He had quite an audience for a while, until it got too dark to take pictures and ogle.