Sober Tennessee Road Trip: Best Things to Do in Dollywood, Franklin & Nashville

The Sober Curator Founder, Alysse Bryson, and I celebrated our soberthdays (twenty years for Alysse and fifteen years for me) in Tennessee recently. And what a bell-ringer it was…

We flew into Nashville, rented a Jeep Wrangler truck (that we needed step stools to climb into), and—like any respectable out-of-towner landing in the South—went straight to Walmart. As one does.

Now, because it was Easter, the place was aggressively decorated in pastel everything, and that’s when I saw her. A bunny. But not just any bunny. This bunny was…posed. In a way that suggested she was either stretching or preparing for her OnlyFans debut. Naturally, I decided she would be our trip mascot. We pondered what her name was to be, and finally Alysse came up with “DollAA“ (pronounced “doll-ay”) since we are both A names. We dressed her in various accessories throughout the weekend, and brought her along for our adventures like the slightly inappropriate emotional support bunny she was meant to be.

As we were bonding with DollAA in Walmart and buying junk food snacks in bulk, suddenly, BOOM, the power went out. 

Now, I don’t know if that was the universe aligning to prepare for our arrival or a soft launch of the apocalypse, but either way, we took it as a good sign because mindset is everything: this weekend was about to be something special. The magic began with Walmart and DollAA. Alysse was convinced we jumped timelines (because she’s been spending too much time in ApocalypseTok, ahem.)

DollAA Goes to Dollywood…with A & A

Hopping back in the truck (#seewhatididthere), we proceeded to roll up to Pigeon Forge, TN, for the next day and a half. Let me say this upfront: whoever decided that Dollywood in the Great Smoky Mountains was merely a theme park was deeply, profoundly, cosmically wrong. We didn’t even ride one roller coaster, so we can assure you of this with confidence. Dollywood is a kind of spiritual experience. It is a rhinestone-studded pilgrimage to the altar of a woman who clawed her way from a one-room cabin in Locust Ridge, Tennessee, to become one of the most beloved humans on the entire planet. And if you can’t feel that energy walking through those gates, then I’m genuinely worried about your chakras.

We stayed at Dollywood’s HeartSong Lodge & Resort, and the moment you walk through those doors, you are engulfed in a not-so-subtle huge portrait of Dolly hanging over a fireplace, paying tribute to Dolly’s seven-decade career. Alysse and I stood there for a solid minute like golden retrievers who’d just discovered a sprinkler. Mouths slightly open. Fully enchanted.

Sober Curator Pro Tip: If HeartSong is sold out when you’re booking, Dollywood’s DreamMore Resort and Spa is right down the trolley route and equally as stunning. You cannot go wrong. You will not go wrong. Just go and let Dolly’s people take care of you. Also, if you stay at one of these resorts, you get discounted tickets into the park and a band that lets you jump the lines multiple times a day.

We decorated our room like two unhinged queens who had waited years for this moment—because we had—made videos, ate an obscene amount of junk food, and giggled until breathing became optional. Two women in long-term recovery, celebrating like the whole world was ours. Because, honestly? It kind of is.

The Cinnamon Bread Will Change Your Life, and You Can’t Convince Us Otherwise

Dollywood’s world-famous cinnamon bread is not a snack. It is not a side item. It is a warm, pillowy, sugar-glazed revelation that will make you question every bread decision you have ever made in your entire time on this earth. We had it in the park. And then, because our mamas didn’t raise no dummies, we ordered it delivered to the room the next morning. Fresh out of the oven. Direct to our door while we were still in our pajamas. It was a spiritual experience that I can’t even fully articulate. It was more than worth the price of admission. 5+ hour flight and 3.5 hour drive. Full cinnamon stop.

Between bites of life-altering carbohydrates, we rode the train winding through the park (charming, absolutely charming), attended a Dolly sing-along that I will not fully describe except to say that mascara was involved and zero apologies are forthcoming. Alysse scored the most magnificent airbrushed T-shirts and trucker hats, and we spent serious time in the museum showcasing Dolly’s iconic gowns, wigs, accessories, and full rhinestone regalia across the decades. There’s also a beautifully constructed exhibition tracing her early life—her roots, her values, her grit, her humor, her rise from nothing to everything.

In between everything, we discovered the “Professional Porch Sitters” rocking chairs, casually lined up in a row outside the establishment where one procures the aforementioned cinnamon bread. Bread in hand, we melted into the chairs and magically 200 years of accumulated stress drained out through the soles of our feet into the Smoky Mountain air. No agenda. No alcohol. Just rocking chairs, leisurely people-watching, notes of life-changing cinnamon bread still lingering on our tongues while we sipped fresh fountain Diet Cokes, and the pure joy of being alive, present, and well.

Sober Curator Pro Tip: The HeartSong Resort trolley runs between the resorts and Dollywood every 20–25 minutes. You never have to think about logistics. The trolley will take you. The trolley will bring you back. The trolley is the unsung hero of this entire operation, and it deserves its flowers.

All Dressed Up…with Somewhere to Go

Night Two. Alysse has always been down for my tomfoolery, which I absolutely appreciate. She just takes the costume from my outstretched arm, no questions asked, and begins putting on the wig. And by “dressed up,” we went full Dolly—wigs, jewelry, rhinestones catching every available light source, the entire theatrical production. We were not subtle. We were not attempting to be subtle. We were two women with a combined 35 years of sobriety, and we have earned every sober breath, every sober good time, and giggle.

We made our grand entrance downstairs to Ember & Elm: Tastes Rooted in the Smokies, HeartSong’s gorgeous signature restaurant, and had an unexpectedly, genuinely delicious meal. Honey salmon that made us emotional. A filet mignon prepared with the reverence it deserves. Shrimp and grits, split between us, because we are civilized and also because we were saving room for the junk food calling our name back up in the hotel room. I’m not sure what the fellow Ember & Elm diners and the wait staff thought about us, because nothing was mentioned about our appearance; however, what I am very sure of is that Alysse and I were unconcerned.

Because we only had three days in Tennessee, we were trying to cram in as much as possible, and so now that we were Dolly-fied, I suggested that perhaps the night was still young and asked Alysse if she’d be up for a trip to Buc-ee’s. In full costume. Naturally, she agreed and back into the giant Jeep truck we went.

If you have never been to a Buc-ee’s, allow me to attempt to describe it, though language will ultimately fail us both. The Sevierville, Tennessee Buc-ee’s—conveniently nestled near Dollywood on I-40—clocks in at a staggering 74,000 square feet. That is not a typo. That is not hyperbole. That is bigger than many professional sports arenas. That is approximately two acres of gas station. It has 120 fuel pumps. It employs over 350 people around the clock. It has a fresh brisket station where actual pitmasters carve meat to order while they sing. It has groceries. It has sundries. It has tools. It has kids’ toys. Toiletries. Novelty items. Pajamas. Fresh banana pudding. Fudge in a display case that goes on for what feels like a city block. It has a home goods section. It has literally…everything, and apparently its restrooms are so famously pristine that they have become a cultural landmark.

We bought PJs and swimsuits. We bought fudge in three flavors. We bought magnets and keychains and every knickknack our sober little hearts desired. We also, technically, got gas. And when the brisket team spotted us gliding through the fresh food section in our full Dolly regalia, they erupted: “Hey Dolly! What’s happening, girl!” Upon our return to the hotel, we passed the lobby bar at the HeartSong and were greeted by a bunch of drunken young adults who spotted us and proceeded to hoot and holler at us. I think they appreciated our costumes almost more than we did.

The Morning After: Cinnamon Bread Hangover

Morning arrived with fresh cinnamon bread delivered to the room, because #hairofthedog. By this point, we had collected a respectable seven bags and four coolers, totaling approximately 10,000 pounds. What can I say other than we did it right.  If you haven’t tracked, that’s luggage for two people staying two nights (a sober mystery for the ages), and onto their last night. When we were ready to roll out of Pigeon Forge, an absolutely heroic bellhop showed up like an angel sent from heaven. He surveyed the full catastrophe of our situation, and said exactly nothing judgmental. Not one negative or judgy word. He helped us load our rental truck with the dignity of a man who has seen everything and fears nothing. We tipped him generously. We tipped him enthusiastically.

On the road toward our next stop, we made the essential pilgrimage to Cracker Barrel—because some traditions are sacred—for some additional unnecessary knick-knacks we neither needed nor had room for. Alysse needed a parking lot power nap while I gleefully shopped to my heart’s content.

I took this momentary break at Cracker Barrel to write “HONK IF YOU’RE SOBER” in chalk marker on the back window of our rental truck in giant letters, along with the numbers 15 and 20—our respective years. We rolled through Tennessee and collected twenty legitimate honks from twenty different cars. Twenty strangers, honking for sobriety. We celebrated each one like a touchdown. This is simple, sober fun, and it is undefeated.

Act II: Southall Farm & Inn

The honks kept us rolling all the way to Southall Farm & Inn, a 325-acre luxury farm resort tucked into the rolling hills of Franklin, Tennessee, a short drive south of Nashville. It is the kind of place that causes you to inhale slowly and audibly the moment you arrive — all dark wood and clean lines and pastoral beauty that goes on for as far as you can see. It has a world-class spa, two on-site restaurants fed directly from the working farm, mineral pools, medicinal herb gardens, beekeepers tending hives whose honey ends up drizzled on your dinner, and the kind of profound, grounded stillness that makes a person feel genuinely replenished.

We went straight to The Spa at Southall for our couples massage. (They assumed we were a couple. We let this play out and decided to pass on clarifying. It was funnier that way.) In the relaxation lounge, we consumed some dried strawberries that were so mind-blowingly delicious, they took second place only to the Dollywood cinnamon bread. The other edible highlight of the spa was experiencing the most transcendent organic, gluten-free granola squares I have consumed in forty-something years of being on this planet. The concierge later gave me the recipe. I will protect it with my life.

And then the fire alarm went off.

Approximately thirty strangers, all of us in spa robes with precisely nothing underneath, filed out into the surprisingly warm Tennessee sunshine. We baked outside for fifteen minutes, shifting our weight and trying desperately not to make eye contact with those outside our party, wondering exactly how long we’d be standing around with strangers, essentially nude. When we finally got the all-clear. We re-entered the spa, and as we prepared to settle onto the massage tables, when — I swear to everything that is holy — the alarm went off again. Back outside we went. Same nude strangers covered in a piece of Terry cloth tied to their bodies. Increasingly awkward expressions all around.

When the all-clear came a second time and we finally got our 90-minute massage, it was so extraordinary, so deeply restorative, that I emerged from that room completely boneless. Limp as a noodle, smelling of aromatherapy and very, very relaxed. After the porch sitting at Dollywood, let’s be honest there wasn’t a ton of mental angst left in our bodies, but we definitely wrung out anything remaining.

And then the spa staff met us at the desk with news: because of the disruptions, our massages were complimentary. Free. Zero dollars. On the house. That’s some amazing customer service.

Dinner Under the Stars at Sojourner’s

That evening we went to a local 12-step meeting — because that’s what we do, and it is always, always worth it no matter where in the world you are — and then we floated back to Sojourner’s Restaurant at Southall, where we were seated on the patio beneath an actual canopy of actual stars and proceeded to eat what may be the finest Caesar salad in the recorded history of western civilization. The smashburgers were NOT to be trifled with, and we’re not entertaining a debate about that fact.

We sipped our mocktails (a hard core Shirley Temple for me, a lovely lavender haze drizzled with honey foraged right there on Southall’s own property for Alysse) under the stars in Franklin, Tennessee. Just a couple (non-couple!) of sober women in long term recovery feeling the full and undiluted weight of how lucky we are…so grateful to be here building more memories we’ll actually remember. 

Franklin, Shopping, and Killjoy Bottle Shop, the Zero-Proof Holy Grail

The next morning, the Southall valets heroically reloaded our ten thousand bags into the truck (bless them, with all of my heart, bless each of them individually), and we headed into downtown Franklin for a morning of shopping that can only be described as thorough.

But the crown jewel — the glittering rhinestone finale of our Tennessee tour — was our stop at Killjoy, Nashville’s booze-free/functional beverage shop. If you are sober, sober-curious, or simply a person who is over hangovers and ready to discover that zero-proof beverages have gotten absolutely extraordinary, Killjoy is your don’t miss jam. Founded by the fierce and brilliant Stephanie Styll and John aka Goody, it’s a fully alcohol-free shop stocked wall-to-ceiling with NA wines, spirits, beers, adaptogens, hemp-infused drinks, ready-to-pour cocktails, and more options than your brain can initially process. A colorful vibe greets you, comfy and welcoming furniture, and a giant banana mural painted on the wall…say less, am I right? With tasting flights and staff who actually know their inventory inside and out, it is the NA bottle shop experience the sober community has always deserved.

Alysse had been on the podcast for Killjoy with Stephanie and John, and they are exactly as wonderful in person as you’d hope. We took pictures and video like we were kids in the world’s most sophisticated candy store. Cards, stickers, magnets, tokens of sober life, bottles of things we’d never tried before. A bottle shop built for us, by someone like us, in one of the most spirited cities in America. The irony is not lost on us. The joy is enormous.

Killjoy is currently located at 1100 Fatherland St, Ste 107, Nashville, TN. Put it in your phone. Book your ticket to Tennessee. Worth it.

The Takeaway (Other than the Fruits of WAY too much Shopping and Eating.)

Here is what I want you to know about celebrating a sobriety anniversary, a birthday, a milestone of any kind in long term sobriety: you do not need a drink to make it extraordinary. You need to simply show up one day at a time and be present for your life, without being altered. If you haven’t yet, maybe become a 12 stepper. Maybe find a spiritual practice. Maybe go to therapy. Whatever you do,  choose to work on yourself, and eventually a love for yourself begins to grow. Slowly you may find you move from being a taker to a giver if you haven’t experienced this already. Days become weeks, weeks become months, months become years, years become decades.

Slowly you begin to appreciate the simplest of things in life: a decorative bunny from Walmart becomes a weekend mascot, Cracker Barrel gift shop becomes a mandatory stop (and we’re not mad about it), and a trip to a gargantuan gas station in wigs is the exclamation point on a perfect day. Easy. No expectations, just surprise and delight from the universe in ordinary ways. Being comfortable in our own awkward but fun skin…chef’s kiss.

Where the Universe Literally Rang Our Bell

When we originally arrivedat Dollywood, Alysse informed me she had learned on TikTok that one should dance to “Ring My Bell” every morning because it’s said to attract good luck and abundance and magnetize positive energy into your life. Obviously, since TikTok assured us this was basically a scientific fact, we committed to trying it. For the past 2 days, we have faithfully partaken in this practice; ergo, we credited our free massages to “Ring My Bell.” Twenty highway honks. Bucc-ee’s brisket boys and a gaggle of drunken millennials appreciating our Dolly energy. And then, strolling slowly through the lobby at Southall, we passed an entire decorative wall of bells.

Did you catch that? A wall. Of bells. After “Ring My Bell.”  For the past three days we had faithfully partaken in this practice, ergo we credited our free massages to “Ring My Bell.” Suddenly, we recounted all the things: the honks. The Cinnamon bread delivery to our hotel room. Bucc-ee’s brisket boys and a gaggle of drunken millennials appreciating our Dolly energy.  Even our suitcases at the airport did not exceed the weight limit, despite our purchased treasures. A friendship that wouldn’t exist if we both hadn’t made the one decision that changed everything: quitting drinking.

To symbolize the end of cancer treatments, many hospitals give the patient an option to ring a bell to honor their experience after many months of fighting. The bell itself carries a lot of symbolic weight — it’s loud, joyful, communal, and impossible to ignore. (Kind of like two midlife women dressed like Dolly Parton at a gas station). Staff, other patients, and families often gather to witness it, which transforms a private medical milestone into a shared moment of celebration and community. For patients who may have spent months feeling powerless, ringing that bell is an act of agency and triumph.

In the same way, we rang our bell this weekend to signify the end of a significant chunk of sober years, and the beginning of another. And we absolutely felt the abundance mindset radiating through everything moment of the celebration. On so many levels, the universe is an absolutely extraordinary collaborator…and we’re pretty sure it’s wearing a Dolly wig and carrying an emotional support decorative bunny in a provocative pose.

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Tennessee Road Trip Resources:

• Dollywood | HeartSong Lodge | DreamMore Resort
• Ember & Elm restaurant
• Buc-ee’s 
• Southall Farm & Inn
• Killjoy Bottle Shop
• Cracker Barrel

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Tennessee Road Trip Instagram Reels:

• En route to Tennessee
• Spraypaint artist at Dollywood
• Ring My Bell Dance
• Dollywood
• Dollywood Cinnamon Bread (because it deserved it’s own reel)
• Behind the Seams Exhibit – Dollywood
• Dolly The Experience – Dollywood
• Bu-cees Gas Station
• Ring My Bell Dance 2.0
• Southall Farm & Inn
• Downtown Franklin, TN
• Killjoy NA Bottle Shop

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RECOVERY PODCASTLAND – KILLJOY AFTER PARTY: AB That’s Me: Laughing, Living, and Loving Life After Booze | The Killjoy After Party Podcast

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WHAT A TRIP: A Weekend in Nashvegas Sober

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WHAT A TRIP: Sober Girls Trip to Nashville

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A Curated List of Sober Anniversary Archives

• #ADDTOCART: Celebrating Sober! Badass Balloon Co. Will Help You Celebrate Your Next Soberversary
• So You Say It’s Your Soberthday? Check Out Our Custom Giphy Soberthday IG & TikTok Stickers And #RecoverOutLoud
• SOBERTHDAYS! How To Celebrate A Sober Sweet 16 Anniversary 80s Style
• #ADDTOCART: 17 Gift Ideas for Non-Drinkers
• Sobriety Is DOUGHP: Celebrate Milestones with Doughp’s Sober Birthday Box!

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