The rest of March 23

I decided next was Oxford. I just like southern college towns, I guess.

On the way there I got mesmerized by a giant Dairy Queen sign, and went on a detour through a town that had approx. 50 outlet stores and 0 Dairy Queens.

Then to Alabama, a state I'd never visited before. The welcome center was welcoming enough, with a serene display of rocking chairs chained to a porch.



I promise not to make any jokes involving the words "Sweet Home." I have too much respect for Alabama for that. But I will say they let me down with this overcrowded signpost. Make yourself clear, Alabama:



So far I've traveled backcountry roads in almost every state. Alabama was different. The small houses and stores I passed seemed sadder and more neglected than in previous places. And that's something. I saw confederate flags, to be sure, and propane tanks. It wasn't all that. It was something else.

Here's a list of the top automobiles to be found in Alabama

1. Gray pickup trucks
2. Red pickup trucks
3. SUVs
4. Kias

And here is a picture, somewhat blurry, of an entry for the Most Frightening Thing on the Road category. If you can't see it, it's a giant black pickup with a confederate flag on the tailgate. And filled with black trashbags.



Beyond sadness and pickup trucks, Alabama likes bingo. I saw a five mile stretch of road home to no less than six bingo places.

And beyond sadness and pickup trucks and bingo, Alabama is beautiful. Even the interstates are beautiful. I thought about taking a picture of the sun setting over the hills, but I just thought it wouldn't come close. It was indescribable. You have to know. And I think living here, yeah, even an athiest like me would feel the presence of something larger. Back east, it's hard to find spirituality in Target and Chilis. When the hills are large enough and the colors so vivid that you feel the size of a walnut, it's something else.

I stopped in Oxford, Misssissippi for the night. And here I am, at the Oxford public library.

Here is another contestant for the M.F.T.O.T.R. Can't remember where I saw this, but it scared the dickens out of me. It's a semi being towed by another semi. Imagine seeing this in your lane.

Point taken, Macon.

I didn't think it was possible, but Macon, GA is a cuter and more southern than Savannah. And the municipal vehicles are more weirdly European. Quick, though--I didn't get a picture.

I went there for the Cherry Blossom Festival. Macon fancies itself the cherry blossom capital of the world. They also have a very good hot dog shop. If there's anything I like more than hot dogs, it's towns that declare themselves the (irrelevant thing here) capital of the world.

Everyone and everything is pink during the festival. Lots of elderly tourists are in town, too, and so it was sort of like Valentines day at the old folks home.
The lady at the tourist center (pink sweater in a wheelchair, with, I THINK, pink ribbons tied to it, though I didn't get a good look) told me that some dude came into town and decided to make Macon known for its cherry blossom trees. So he planted a boatload.



The blossoms are crazy. And the bees are just having a good ole time. The trees are densest in the affluent areas, and each little Belle Reve had its own pink wreath tied to the mailbox. Some cadillacs had pink flowers painted, too. Some other people might call it overkill. But other people are usually wrong.



There was some crazy festivities going on in the park, like moonbounces and free samples of coca cola. But I wasn't having the parking fees, so instead I drove around until I found some weird old graveyard on a hill, behind a warehouse. I took my own picture with some trees. I'm not very good at self-pictures.



Downtown Macon is small enough that finding the hot dog place was easy. It is called Nu-Way Weiners. So delicious. What was the old way? Who cares? I got a chili cheese slaw dog, all the way (mustard and onions). And a sweet tea. If that doesn't sound delicious to you, you're probably a vegetarian. Or a weirdo.



Usually sweet tea is so sweet it verges on undrinkable for me. This was no exception and I carried around my jug of sweet tea for an hour until it got warm and gross and I had to come to terms with the truth: I AM NOT A SOUTHERNER.

Way back in the visitor's center I picked up a great brochure about things to do in Macon. Lots of Little Richard stuff and sports and blah blah history but then, in the corner, a totally random picture of two little boys sitting on an Otis Redding statue! I hope to include the text that went along with this picture, because it was so powerfully written that it convinced me I had to find this statue.

Also, if you know anything about me, you know I am 1) a sandwich fanatic 2)an Otis Redding devotee. I found the statue at the end of a path that was unreachable by car. To my great surprise no one else was around--what?? Why? Probably at that cursed Little Richard memorial--so I could not take a picture of myself sitting on Otis's lap.



But I did get to take a picture of this sign. It has some great typographical errors, forever immortalized for the world to see.



Lastly, here is one of my favorite signs thus far. And I've seen a few (including the oxymoronic "Hunting Preserve" and the haunting church marquee "VICTORY IS SWALLOWED BY DEATH"). This sign is simple, to the point, and yet also hopelessly vague.



That will conclude my entry on Macon, GA, though the day was not over.

A motel to avoid, if possible

The mint lemonade was one of my best ideas, ever. Wylie will agree. Ten minutes before I left I realized I had no pictures of Gainesville so I took this of Wylie sweeping his porch. Actually I thought it was a picture but it was a video, because I can't quite work the camera.



I ended my stay in Gainesville with a plate of huevos asheros from my favorite good-timey old family restaurant, The Top. But I didn't get on the road until 4 or so, and then I took some amazing backcountry roads instead of 75 (which might actually be worse than 95, only for the constant "DISNEY WORLD COUPONS...FREE OJ!!!" billboards. This is all to say that it got dark really quickly and I wasn't close to Macon, GA, my next planned stop.

But here is a beautiful road going through an idyllic small town.



The AAA camp book said there was a good camping site in Anderson, GA, near a Civil War memorial, but to get there, I'd have to take some lonely farm roads in the dark. Now listen. I never got lost, never. I always knew where I was.

But it all took longer than I thought, and by the time I reached the CLOSED camp site, I was almost out of gas. Well, all right. I kept on, hoping for either gas or lodging. I found lodging first at the Budget Inn in Montezuma, GA.

I won't say how much I actually paid, because it shames me, but I can say how much the room should have cost: $8. The sheets had some impressive cigarette holes, there was tape around the bathtub. And the trashcan said "Holiday Inn." I'd love to know the story behind that.

Here is a picture of a secret door that was in the closet, and by closet, I mean a large recess in the wall sectioned off with a curtain on a rope.



And here is a picture of the kitchenette. I didn't use it, but its existence was the only reason I valued my room at $8 and not $3. It was greasy and the stovetop had saucers on the burners. Is that a southern thing?



I did not sleep well, but it wasn't because my sleeping bag was way too hot or because I was worried about being attacked. It was because the motel was 20 feet away from the train tracks and a train went by at least twice an hour, throughout the night. And also everytime I heard a car start up I was convinced someone was stealing my car. In hindsight that was a silly worry, because there was NO ONE AROUND FOR MILES AND MILES.

The next morning the motel manager shook my hand when I checked out. I didn't have the heart to tell him I fantasized about burning his establishment to the ground.

I might need a bib

Thursday March 19

I left at 7 am for Savannah, GA. I had the privilege of driving on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Every time I see or say the words "Blue Ridge" I get a song by Fleet Foxes in my head.



And here is a great picture of French Broad River. Anyone else remember the "old French Whore" skit on SNL?



I was in a daze through South Carolina. I pulled over at a rest stop and took a brief nap, not thinking to avoid parking in the direct sunlight. When I woke up 20 minutes later, I was yelling. I don't think I've woken up yelling since high school.

I hope when I get further west (and have less people to visit) I'll avoid major highways. They really all do look the same, more or less. 95 is the worst, of course. Other highways have few distinguishing features. I did notice in South Carolina a beautiful stretch of trees all beginning to blossom in different colors. It was like fall in the north, except pastel. I took a photo but it's not the same.



I also saw a vehicle on the road that prompted me to create a feature which I will tenatively call: The Most Frightening Thing on the Road. The vehicle in question was a truck filled with hay bales. The driver was thoughtful enough to cover the hay with a giant, ill-fitting yellow sheet of nylon. I think it was nylon. It was tied in a few different places, but driving 80 mph it was a terrifying sight. Really almost like a deflated Thanksgiving day parade balloon undergoing a seizure. I took a pic but again fear it's not the same.



In Savannah I was determined not to spill anything on my shirt, as it was my 4th day on the road and I was 4 for 4. I knew it was futile as I had plans to find a BBQ shop.

When I got my sandwich -- pulled BBQ pork with coleslaw on top -- I sat in a nearby square and ate it. It was such a beautiful day, as a man missing three teeth pointed out to me. Savannah is a unique city, very liveable, very comforting. This applies to the historic district only, I'm afraid. Outside this small area, Savannah is a bit scary. But inside, ohhh. Huge trees, historic houses, squares, gardens.



It has a definite European vibe to it. Not just the history and old buildings, which is a large part of it, but the traffic layout. I couldn't put my finger on it until I saw this ridiculous car-thing, belonging to the city, in a parking garage. That's so Europe.



I didn't spend as much time as I'd like there. My legs still hurt from my mountain trek the day before, and the city was filled with tourists and art students and I somehow felt out of place. I think the city would be better traveled with a friend. The sandwich was delicious and that's important to me. I did spatter a few drops on my shirt. I hope no one saw me whip out my Tide-to-go pen. (Did you know they make a mini-Tide-to-go? Really? What is the point?)

I drove to Gainesville on route 17, which I heard a lot about. Maybe too much, because I wasn't that impressed with it. Earlier in the day I drove a short stretch on US 15 in order to avoid 95. This tiny road went through some nice southern towns, one of which did not have a single chain store in sight. 17 was a nice alternative to 95, yes, and I saw much spanish moss, but I guess I was expecting something crazy, from all I'd heard about it. Don't listen to me. It was beautiful, and I am jaded.