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Extremes of localities... from the foothills of the headlands to the fall line. The wonders of transportation. An early start on a cloudless Kodak Saturday helped to add a stack of miles on the odometer. Must have ants in my pants, this weekend. I'd considered checking out the world music fest in southwest VA... big bucks, moist camping and the thought of having to lead Miss Jane through a sea of hippies nixed that. So, I ride. After a day of threatening black skies and steady rain, I set out on the quest for the elusive "Cooter For Congress" bumpersticker. Again, I have never seen "Dukes" from start to finish--ever, but the idea of being represented in DC by a man whose nickname makes even straightlaced folk rankle at the name is priceless. As it turns out, he's an informed and sensible man... having engaged him in conversation just before he went on the tiny stage next to his "garage" to sing with a Patsy Cline impersonator. I tell you, it just keeps getting more and more peculiar. So, I can say that I've "pressed the flesh" with Cooter... the most action I've seen in four months. Heaven help me. On the way to the mountains, we stopped into a roadside grocery/snack bar to stave off the empties... above the front door, a ziplock bag full of water was hanging by a string, twirling in the breeze. "Why?", I asked. "It keeps the flies away," the reply. Uh... huh. I'll say it again... it's Cornpone Twilight Zone. Downhill from there, geographically speaking, to F'bg. Tool time. And not a thing out of the ordinary, except noticing that the parking lot of America's favorite hot pants and haltertops $7 burger bar was packed to the maximum. Cooter's and Hooters. It comes full circle. Food's getting better around here, though. From barbecue to Middle eastern spinach-and-feta pies. Brilliant. |
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