I am returning to Georgia again. This is an annual pilgrimage to see family and friends and to get in touch with my roots. I enjoy traveling in the South. It seems like a slower pace of life, people tend to really listen and be interested in what you say, and there is a genuine concern about you as a person. That is not always true, but that is how is seems. Returning to my home region also reminds me why I no longer live there. I will not mention the reasons but it helps put my current life in perspective. Yet, to be honest, the reasons (even in the time of Trump) to not be there are less and less, and the pull to be with my family members on a more constant basis is strong. Very strong.
I took the red-eye from LA to Atlanta on American Airlines. Good basic flight in 3 hours and forty-five minutes. Got charged $25 to check one bag (? Really?), then asked if I wanted to move seats to the exit row that would another $45 or to get on board first for another $32. Traveling on US based airline is like paying to be treated like crap. They say that they need to do this to be competitive. And I know that national airlines in parts of the world are under written by their individual governments sometimes, but could US based airlines just find a nicer and better way to treat us – the paying customer – like we were not sardines in a can?
Landed at Hartsfield-Jackson in Atlanta which I am always amazed at how busy and how well managed it is. I had decided to rent a car from Sixt, but instead of paying the extra 10% surcharge at the airport, I opted to ride the subway into mid-town and get the car at a mid-town location for about $50 cheaper. I have ridden the MARTA trains (Atlanta’s train and bus system) only a couple of time in Atlanta, but again I am impressed about how efficient it is. I live in Los Angeles and even though we are considered the second or third largest city in the USA, we are just starting to build our transportation infrastructure. There is not even a train that runs to the airport, and not to have a train that goes to the airport is ridiculous. There are 3rd world countries in Africa and South America that manage that feat, but not LA.
I came out for the subway at the North Ave station in Mid-town Atlanta and only had to walk a couple of blocks to find the rental agency. However, I had left my phone in my car in LA, so I was depending on the kindness of strangers for correct GPS directions. The first gentleman sent me 4 blocks in the wrong direction but I got turned around and headed correctly. I located the SIXT mid-town office in the bowels of the Georgian Terrace Hotel although a sign would be nice. There is no indication anywhere on the building or inside the building to let you know that a car rental office even exists here.
My next task was to locate a T-Mobil phone company office to get a temporary phone. I located one near I-85 in Union City as I head south out of Atlanta to my first stop in Bainbridge, GA., to see my old friend from college, Pamela. When I found the office, it was 8:45 AM and the office did not open until 10 AM. There was someone in the store, but they would not let me buy a phone until the store officially opened. While I was standing in the parking lot trying to figure out what to do for the next hour, the manager Michael Smith invited me in and got me taken care of in about 15 minutes. I am very thankful to him for his great and very kind service to me in a time of great need.
Now Bainbridge is in the south-west corner of Georgia just above Tallahassee, FL. The best and most direct way to Bainbridge is take I-85 south toward Birmingham, then I-185 to Columbus, GA., and then after that to take Georgia 27 and 520 further south after Columbus. Highways 520 and 27 run together for about 50 miles and then they split, and you should follow 27 at that point. The whole journey should take about four and half hours. I still had not taken the time to make sure my GPS was working correctly plus I was driving in the middle of a torrential late-Spring rain storm where I could not see 5 feet in front of me sometimes. Long and short of it, I missed the turnoff for GA 27 and continued along 520.
When I realized that I was off course, I stopped at a rather large convenience store dressed up to look like a back-country store with fake barrels everywhere, and rocking chairs placed along the long veranda on the front of the store. After buying some supplies for the road, I asked the woman behind the counter how to find a connecting road to 27. She pointed to an old farmer type guy on the veranda, and said to ask him because he knew all the roads in the area. I grew up in this part of the world so to see a man wearing overalls, chewing tobacco, and standing around to wait for the rain to stop in the middle of the day is very normal to me. However, I was not quite ready for the dramatic effect that this particular encounter would involve.
What follows is the exact conversation (with spitting included).
Me – “Excuse me, sir. The lady inside said that you might help me get back over to 27. I am head to Bainbridge and missed the turnoff a’ways back. I saw Highway 45 cuts across to there. Can you tell me how far to the turnoff for 45?”
Him – (Spits)“You going to Bainbridge?” (Spits).
I should also explain at this point to anyone not familiar with the practice of spitting tobacco that you usually carry a cup with you to spit into at least while in public places. Not this gentleman. Right on the sidewalk in large brown spatters of brown juice.
Me – “Yes sir.”
Him – (Spits) “You don’t want to go that way.” (He spits and points towards the way I had come) “You want to go back up there to 41 and turn right.” (Spits)
Me – “Well, 27 is in that direction.” (Pointing west which is the opposite direction.)
Him – (Spits) “Oh that 27. (Spits again) Then you want to turn left. (Spits again) If you go down to 45 that will take you more out of the way. So go back to 41. (Spits) You follow that for six, seven, maybe eight miles and you will come to this sharp curve to the left, real sharp. (Spits) In the middle of the curve, you will find a road to the right. Take that road. Chain Gang Road. Led you right to 27. (Spits)
Me – “Back to 41, turn left, look for the sharp curve to the left and take the road to the right. That correct?”
Him – (Spits) “Yep. Go seven, maybe eight. I think it is seven miles, but it could be eight. And take that curve. (Spits) It is really sharp to the left, I mean real sharp and you will see the road off to the right. Don’t miss that one cause it goes right to 27.” (Spits)
Me – “Well, thank you sir. I appreciate it.” I start to walk to the car, but the rain in unrelenting.
Him – (Spits) “Yeah you want to take that 41.” He spits again and the entire conversation repeats again. He would repeat the same information while spitting two more whole times as I tried to avoid the tobacco juice. Finally I could escape to the car and I made a beeline. As I sat in the car with no good option, I was unsure of what to do. I still did not know where 45 crossed my highway or I could follow the back-wood directions of my new friend.
I opted for the back-wood direction. Nothing was as he claimed, but I am blessed with a decent sense of direction, and I knew where south and west were so eventually I found highway 27 and followed it to Bainbridge in time for lunch.
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