Last week I told you about

the basic amenities that river cruisers crave along their watery blue

highways: a public dock with cleats, access to a viable downtown, newspapers,

perhaps city water within reach.

In the small-town category,

give high marks to Harriman and Kingston, Tenn., on the Harriman and Clinch

rivers, respectively. Harriman had all of the above except a water pipe

within reach, but we made a few bucket runs from one we found in their

obviously new city river-park. A large band shell and shelter suggested

summer afternoons in the park, and indeed, balloons and hand-lettered

signs told of a family reunion scheduled for the next day.

Harriman also has a delightful

historic district. After a week of walking only the length of a 25-foot

boat, we were happy to have a few miles of hilly streets to stride, with

pleasant architecture to admire. When the day turned rainy, we passed

an hour or so in one of those little antique/used-book/flea markets that

every small town seems to have. I actually bought a lemon squeezer and

a glass jar with a tight lid for the boat, of course.

Kingston's elegant green river-front

park stretches for miles, but we did most of our walking in the downtown

area. There's a great mid-sized grocery close by, and I found a mailbox

store where they let me plug in to get e-mail.

Next day we decided to have

Sunday dinner "out" at a local restaurant we had visited on

an earlier trip. A mile or two past the center of town, it was worth the

walk.

Lesson learned. In any small

Southern town where the largest building in town is the Baptist church,

you won't find a locally owned restaurant open on Sunday. Nor the pizza

place or a Chinese restaurant we passed on the way. Taco Bell was less

constrained, so that's where we had our Sunday dinner.

Time and again, however, as

we approached a small town around the next bend of the river, hoping for

a hint of welcome, there was none ­ as when we neared the first town

above our put-in spot on the Cumberland, a sinuously beautiful river in

northern Tennessee. The charts show two bridges crossing there, and a

launch ramp coming down to the water. Maybe they'd have a city dock.

And maybe they wouldn't. Our

blue highway took a wistful turn at Carthage. Nearby communities named

Difficult, Defeated and Poorhouse should have given us a clue.

We beached Alice III near the

boat ramp, tied her fast to a tree, and scrambled up a rocky embankment

to the street. It was nearly a mile into town. We passed a pair of groundhogs

taking a stroll in what could be the capital of The Land of What-if-and-might-have-been.

Nondescript is a flattering term.

Downtown has a hotel boarded

and closed "for renovation," a souvenir shop still pushing Gore/Lieberman

campaign memorabilia, and one promising gas station closed for overhaul.

The only food source is a convenience store at the foot of the iron-girdered

Cordell Hull Bridge.

The proprietor of a dwindling

antique shop was willing to talk when I paused beside an old desk stacked

with Gore-2000 signs and poster invitations to the grand opening of Gore-for-President

campaign headquarters at the Smith County Courthouse across the street.

"We don't have to apologize

to anybody," the antique dealer said. "We made mistakes, but

it was a good honest campaign. You've got to remember, Vice President

Gore won the popular vote."

He said he believed the candidate's

strong opposition to tobacco interests defeated him, at least in Tennessee,

the cruelest loss of all. At least Vice President Gore that's what he

always called him won Smith County.

"The Gores are nice people,

good people," our friend asserted. "I've done a little business

with them, and they're good decent hard-working people."

I asked where they lived, the

general direction, and he said you go out the highway about three and

a half miles, and the Gore family home was the place behind the white

fence with the security gate. Vice President Gore owns 88 acres across

the road.

We talked about the town, and

what a difference it would have made if what happened to Plains, Ga. and

Hope, Ark. had happened here. Instead, downtown is failing. A few law

offices there is not only the county courthouse but also a federal building

a TV repair shop, three churches, two large video stores, a health clinic,

an auto parts place and a florist. But no food market.

The old story: Wal-Mart opened

out on the highway and sucked the commercial life out of downtown Carthage.

Our informant said when he came here in the 1960s to open his two-story

furniture store, you had to turn sideways to walk through the Saturday

crowds chatting on the sidewalks. Everybody came to town for their week's

provisions and socializing.

He resolved to stay on even

after his furniture store became an antique store just to open, "but

our main antiquer died last year and the others who were in here didn't

want to stay, so I said I'd stay on until everything was gone."

Looked to us as though he didn't

have long.

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