We leave behind hearth and home in “Hemingway“, Roger’s trusty truck. Usually, when Roger drives, I use the nickname “Slim” for him. But this trip, he tells me that Slim has a couple weeks off and “Mario” is doing the driving. As he scampers to open my door he says, in a southern drawl, “Slim told me you like your door opened for you Miss Daisy”. I think Mario and I are going to get along just fine.
This adventure may involve foul weather, so I need a pair of duck shoes, which I do not own. Luckily, there is an outlet mall populated with multiple shoe stores right along our route. It is clear that Slim did not inform Mario of my shoe “problem”, so Mario foolishly allowed me to enter a shoe store, with a credit card. There is no picture of what happened in the store, as Mario was too busy hustling me out…but not before I got my duck shoes and perhaps, a few more pieces of foot candy…
As I suspected, Mario and I do get along just fine. His driving is as impeccable as his companionship. He also pumps all the gas, stops whenever I need a comfort break, and does not fuss at all when I spill my entire beverage all over the tray of food he has selected at Picadilly Cafeteria. This is going to be a wonderful adventure.
All of my premonitions of good things to come are manifest in a rainbow in Tennessee!
Pack light. Carry extra money. I am accomplished at the first part, but because of the story I am about to tell, I hope Mario brought extra money. We stopped around midnight, South of Atlanta, at a luxuriously appointed Super 8 motel. I rinsed out Monday’s clothes and hung them to dry (because I packed light). The pants were not dry by morning, and I resorted to the microwave trick. Putting man-made fibers in the microwave is tricky, and I now have one less pair of pants.