The freedom that the open road offers means more than just getting to wear black socks with my sandals because Trixie is not here to yell at me (pic related).

It also means that I can meander about without any set agenda.

On the downside, apparently, the combination of red clay and pine trees yields an increase in ambient temperatures.  I know, because I’m in Georgia and it is like a million degrees F.

It could probably solve the world’s energy crisis thing except, you know…Big Earl (that’s how Georgians pronounce “Oil”).

As a result, I have been driven indoors to (for the first time ever in my whole life) a Starbucks.

Now, before I tell you how I am not a coffee drinker let me first say this about the clientele:

This is the densest conglomeration of pretentious 13 year old pricks it has ever been my misfortune to stumble across.

And, I say that with love. Because I know the mere mention of this establishment has you turning to your mate and asking if they feel like going with you to get a coffee.

It seems the only reason people come here is to feel superior to another human being by bossing them around with the most fussy and useless set of detailed orders they can conjure up by combining partial products and services.

I feel like I am in a freshman psyche experiment. The goal is to see who can make the barista snap, quit his job and return to shoot the place up. Again …I say it with love.

But, it is air conditioned and has wifi. So, I’m down.

I am not a coffee drinker.

In my travels through Georgia I had the entertaining experience of visiting Harlem, Ga, birthplace of Oliver Hardy (the fat one). And, because of that, they have the Laurel & Hardy Museum. Stan Laurel (the thin one) is a stinking limey Brit – who knew?

Anyhow, Harlem is a small town. It is seriously off the beaten path. As such, there was plenty of parking and no line for the exhibit. According to the guest book, in fact, I was the first visitor in three days. And, the last few folks listed Harlem, Ga as their hometown.

The curator was a friendly lady, whom I suspect was Ollie’s babysitter or something. Bless her heart.

She said she would be happy to show me some of their short films in the screening room when I was done poking through the memorabilia.

I asked her to select one for me. She chose, “The Music Box” because it won the Oscar in 1931. She couldn’t get the confounded, new-fangled contraption (VCR) to work, so i pressed PLAY for her.

I enjoyed it.

Harlem itself is the very picture of small town America and they are quite proud of their favorite son (pic related).

In fact, it is the most like Mayberry RFD of any other place I have seen so far…and I have been to Mayberry RFD (Mt Airy, NC).

From there I went to Macon because of that movie that Jethro Bodine produced in the 70s that became a cult classic and is responsible for everybody being a NASCAR fan.

I didn’t care for Macon. Sure, it had strip malls and Wal-Marts and Applebee’s just like everywhere else but, I dunno, I just didn’t care for it. So, I invoked the Freedom Card and left. I took the backroads and just kind of drove for a few hours.

I had some mild excitement about 90 minutes into my excursion. My thoughts had kind of drifted, when out of nowhere another car passed coming the other way. They waved. I waved back. It was a nice break in the routine.

I saw a sign. Made a detour. The Auchumpkee Covered Bridge  (pic related)

And, proof I was there…

Since Upton County, where the bridge is located, is in a null zone, young couples in love have no way of going “Facebook Official”. Instead, they come to The Auchumpkee Covered Bridge and seal their intent by professing their misspelled but undying love for one another. It’s kind of sweet. (pic related).

The tradition is so strong that even the lonesome losers can’t resist getting in on the action, despite their inability to mate (pic related)

just breaks your heart…right?

And, then there’s this guy. I wanna give him a special shout out and half credit for this message…

He’s no fool. The same part of him that made him face forward for 6 hours every day in school was screaming: “BREAD” don’t look right, even tho that’s how it’s pronounced!

He went against his better judgement and with his gut. Kudos, brother. Well done. For the most part.

From there I took to, well, it’s not the backroads, it’s more like the ONLY roads toward Columbus and Ft. Benning. I “lived” there once in as much as I was stationed there for 3 years while in the army.

As I cruised along, my mind pleasantly adrift, I saw Pobiddy rd. I turned onto it. It was an auxiliary artery off of what was a very rural route. The road was ancient. The asphalt had been bleached of its color and the unrelenting heat had caused it to mold itself to the contours of the earth. It was not well-traveled.

Still, I couldn’t help but wonder, at what point in the distant past did someone pore over the county’s budget in hopes of finding the money to finally pave Pobiddy rd. I do not know. But, dammit, they got it done.

I still miss Trixie.