MUSINGS FROM THE MIND OF AMANDA

We just got back from vacation. By “we” I mean me, my husband and our 19 year old son. I have a counselor’s appointment tomorrow to process it.

I wanted to go to Georgia because a man I’d worked for was retiring. He was always very nice and respectful, and was genuinely a wonderful boss. But I hate to fly. And my husband wouldn’t let me drive alone. And my son didn’t want to miss out. So we loaded up the Yukon with enough stuff to last four days, a cooler full of turkey, cheese, jelly and drinks, and a ridiculous sense of optimism and we headed out.

We headed out about four hours later than planned. It’s easily a ten hour trip with no stops…but the Yukon only gets about 19 mpg, and our bladders get only about 12 ounces per three hundred miles, so we stopped a lot. We were looking at about a twelve hour trip. And because it was my Yukon, I was gonna drive. I set my little Apple Google Map GPS thingie and off we went.

If you’ve read my previous post about the trip to Kansas City, you know that the GPS and I don’t always get along. Compared to my husband, however, the GPS and I are practically soul sisters. Bear in mind, he’s never been to Georgia, not once, but apparently the way is marked in some testosterone filled part of his DNA, so he magically knows better than the GPS. I first discovered this somewhere east of Monroe, Louisiana, when it routed us a different way without warning. I was just following the directions when he noticed and became incensed. That new way was gonna cost us a whole hour, and we just didn’t have time to wait. So he turned it off and started barking directions at me. Just about the time I was ready to simply park and attend the party via Zoom, he got us back on I-20…where we then had to wait almost an hour because (no lie) they were cleaning up a truck full of cabbages from the highway. We sure dodged a bullet on that one!! It’s almost like the GPS knew something was wrong and tried to help us out!

It got dark shortly after we left Louisiana, so I don’t have a lot of insight into I-20 in the last three states. I’ll save that for the end where it was daylight. I can say that I still don’t like Louisiana and I think they should spend less time cooking gumbo and chasing nutria rats and more time fixing their darn roads.

The one bright spot was in Leeds, Alabama. There’s a Buc-ee’s. As dedicated Texans, we are required by law to stop at every Buc-ee’s we see. We needed gas anyway, and the bathrooms there are clean enough to use for an operating room, if you don’t mind using the brisket knife as a scalpel. You might have to wait till there’s no “fresh brisket on the board!!!” but I’m sure a few minutes won’t hurt. We got some snacks and waddled back to the car…only three more hours to go!

Just before Georgia, my son took over DJ duties. We listened to a steady stream of weirdo Youtube videos, the guy who makes fun of ads and tries to write original music and Tim Hawkins. Unfortunately, about an hour before the apartment, he fell asleep and I had to go back to my regular music. Tim Hawkins is hysterical though and you should totally check him out.

We finally got to the apartment about two a.m. We drug alllll our worldly goods in and settled in for the night, thankful that while the motel wasn’t fancy, it was at least not moving at 80 miles an hour down I-20, where we had been driving for what felt like eleventy four million miles.

Tuesday was party day. We went to the plant and I threatened to maim both of my boys if they embarrassed me in front of my coworkers. For once, they were actually not terrible. Perhaps March is also a season of miracles. The party was good, and it was nice to see people I hadn’t seen in a while. They fed us, too, which was good because there wasn’t a Buc-ee’s anywhere around. After the party, the sightseeing portion of our vacation started.

Stop 1: Callaway Gardens. As far as I can tell, this is sort of Disney for nature lovers. There are lots of lakes (ponds) and trails and flowers and trees and a golf course, and there was a wonderful butterfly house. There’s also a chapel and a raptor show and a garden to tour. If I hadn’t selfishly decided I needed both kidneys, we could’ve stayed right on the grounds at Callaway Gardens. Unfortunately, we are not made of money, so we only visited. All in all, 10/10 for Callaway Gardens. Very nice place to visit, but only a good place to stay if you’re wealthy.

Stop 2: Walmart in Newnan: Most Walmarts are the same. This one was less scary than many. Kudos to Newnan for hiding the weirdos. We got groceries and headed back to the apartment to rest up for Wednesday.

Wednesday: We head to Atlanta, like the adorable redneck hillbillies we are

Stop 3: World of Coke: I’d been here before, and decided to take the boys. Our favorite part was the room where you can drink all the Coke from all around the world. Please note, there was no insulin dispenser for people drinking 17 gallons of international Coke products, so enter at your own risk. We didn’t find much we just loved, but we did decide that Beverly, the Italian Coke product was awful. I think if you mixed furniture polish, Febreeze, and goat urine, it would be pretty close to Beverly. If you’re ever in Italy, skip it. They also have a special section where you can taste “test” drinks and….wait for it…New Coke!! YES! There’s a section of Atlanta where New Coke exists, and you can drink it, although we still don’t know why you’d want to. We made our son drink some, though, because he’s 19 and it’s not child abuse anymore. He was spectacularly unimpressed, as was the entire United States of America when New Coke debuted.

Stop 4: The Georgia Aquarium: Expensive, but excellent. We were particularly impressed that they used UPS to bring the whale sharks in. I wonder if they used a flat rate box or paid by the pound. The aquarium was very cool, and by far our favorite part of Atlanta. It was so nice, I don’t even have anything snarky to say, except that it would’ve been cheaper otherwise buy a REAL seal than to buy a stuffed one in the gift shop. Also, some of the people there needed to look in a mirror before they left the house.

Stop 5: The Varsity: My husband saw this on a food channel and wanted to go. I would describe it as ” a place I never have to go again.” The food was basically like a school cafeteria, the decor was vintage 1976 and it was in Atlanta. But nobody got food poisoning, and the bathrooms were pristine, even though my husband felt the urinals were too close together. I can neither confirm nor deny. Parking was simple, and ketchup was readily available. Also drink refills were free, but the woman working the refill kiosk appeared to be part the junior varsity squad, if you know what I mean.

Stop 6-2474: Atlanta traffic: Previously, I would’ve said the people in Atlanta were traffic saints. It was busy, but not congested, and most people drove somewhere less than the speed of light, and there were no honking horns. This was about ten-eleven a.m. But…five o’clock traffic starts at four, and it is absolutely demonic. All the traffic saints have lost their religion. There was a one block stretch of road that was being destructed (aka road construction) and apparently it was the single most important piece of road in Georgia, because traffic was screwed. Atlanta is also fond of one way streets, so even though you could turn left for one block and be out of the traffic, there’s no physical way to turn left unless you go back behind the traffic. Want to exit? Tough. You should’ve got in the lane you wanted somewhere back in Alabama. You are NOT getting over. There were also several ride share vehicles that were driverless. Where we come from, that’s called witchcraft, but after about three months in that traffic, I was totally willing to hop in one of those cars if they’d get me out of there. After about ninety minutes, seven small cardiac arrests, twelve nervous breakdowns and one call to a divorce lawyer, we made it back to the interstate and headed to Newnan for the night.

Stop 2475: I discovered about nine o’clock that night that Newnan, Georgia has a Long John Silver restaurant. We don’t have that at home anymore. One hour and sixty bucks later, we all went to sleep with a belly full of greasy questionable meat and those little crunchy things, which are the only things that make LJS popular anyway.

Thursday: Time to head home!

We left the apartment fifteen minutes after we planned to. For us, that’s a major win. One of my biggest complaints about the trip…was traffic circles. Georgia loves those things. I have no idea why. They’re unhinged, as I suspect most people are after encountering them. I know I was. We also stopped on something called Hog Liver Road. There were no visible hog livers, but we didn’t follow the whole road.

Somewhere after Georgia but before Louisiana, I saw a sign for Talledega Motor Speedway. My son said he’d like to stop so we did. Y’all. If you’ve ever watched Ricky Bobby, you need to go there!! There’s a wonderful Motorsport museum next door, with lots of cars and gear and shrine to Dale Earnhardt, complete with one of the worst poems ever inflicted on a person. They also have Dale Earnhardt’s motor home. The museum staff couldn’t have been nicer, and everything was reasonably priced. There’s also a tour bus. We took the tour, did a lap around Talledega, stood at Victory Lane, and saw the stands. The driver also did a thing with the bus that almost made me lose the Buc-ee’s burrito I’d eaten three days earlier. I’m not bitter. Seriously, if you ever find yourself in Alabama, you should go there. We also got to sign the finish line, so if any NASCAR drivers are reading this, please don’t run over the block with our name on it.

We stopped at Buc-ee’s again. Don’t judge us.

We finally got home about five minutes before midnight. The pets were sort of glad to see us, but my bestie had babied them so much while we were gone, I think they were a little disappointed that she didn’t come back.

Here are my travel thoughts:

Louisiana is a cess pit. Seriously, skip it. The only good thing was that the Love’s gas stations were the cheapest anywhere.

Alabama and Mississippi don’t actually need separate names. They are the same place.

Georgia is all laid back and quiet…until four o’clock when the traffic demons cease their slumber and rise to torment mankind

Much of the four million miles on I-20 were spent trying to avoid the gravitational pull of the 18 wheelers while trying to keep tiny cars from being caught in the pull of the Yukon.

Driving out of state and finding a car with your state’s license plate on it builds a bond like no other.

There was a surprising lack of roadkill. I’m not sure if it was because there had been storms and cold fronts recently and no animals were moving, or if it was a commentary on the economy. Meat is meat, you know, and some of this was aged AND tenderized.

There is no feeling like pulling into your drive way after a long trip, sighing a deep sigh, and spending the next hour unloading your car and trying to put everything back where it goes before one of the family members loses their mind.

In summary: Georgia is great except between 4 and 6 pm. Alabama and Mississippi are the same. Louisiana bites. There’s no place like home.