The more we travel, the more I get used to being a long way from home yet knowing exactly what’s around the bend. I’m honing the ability travelers have to be able to tell you minute details about places that freak you out when you get there, because they’re so close to how things actually look. It’s becoming easier for me on the I-75 corridor – the only highway we traveled frequently when I was young.
I was born in Atlanta. My Mom and Dad’s people were in Warner Robins, I had one Aunt in Valdosta, and when I was five, another Aunt and Uncle got stationed on Wright Patterson in Dayton, Ohio, so we traveled the 75 highway pretty much extensively if we went to visit family. As a matter of fact, I recall at least one early trip to Wright Patt that involved some pretty hairy state routes through Kentucky because 75 wasn’t finished all the way to Dayton. So I guess I’ve been traveling that part since it was built.
Excuse me while I go fart some dust.
Everyone looks for landmarks, but I doubt they’re annoying enough to loudly repeat the name of the landmark, over and over again, like an insane macaw. Guess who would love to blame this annoying habit on a mild form of Tourettes, but would be a filthy liar if she did?
“Oh no, here we go.”
“OK, I get it.”
“Did I mention we were in FLOOOOO-RIDER-RINSE?!!”
“I think you might have.”
“Because we’re in Fo-real-fo-sho-FLO-RINSE.”
“Is that right?”
The amount of time I can get away with yelling “Florence Y’all” is directly correlated with whether or not we’re heading toward or away from home. Toward home, I can usually get to the singing rendition of my very own “Florence Y’all” song, which is completely horrible, because I cannot sing. Away from home and I rarely even get to FLOOOOO-RIDER-RINSE, because he’s running his route through his head a gabillion times and isn’t very much fun. He gets all professional and concentrates and stuff. Florence is only two hours from the house, and leaving home is the hardest part of trucking for us, so the first day is usually crappy and I don’t get to sing. Waah.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to direct your attention to BIG BONE LICK!”
“You never miss that one, do you?”
“It’s big, it’s shaped like a bone and guess what? SOMEONE LICKED IT. BIG BONE LICK!”
“I don’t think anyone actually licked it, per se.”
“Silence! It’s in the name. Biggety Bone-ity Lickety Split with a cherrrrrry on toooooop!!!!”
“You’re not going to stop by yourself, are you?”
“When you wish upon a staaaar, Big Bone Lick is wheeere you aaaareeee!! Wheeeen you wish uuupon a star, you’re iiiinn Biiig Booone!”
“I think you should work on the end, it didn’t rhyme. Silently. In your head.”
“Whispering counts as out loud.”
“You have a problem.”
“Shh, I’m working on my song in my head…”
The strike was spurred by the Teamsters Union Local 848. The union alleges ...