we're not in kansas anymore (lyn)

We get up early and grab something to eat at the hotel’s free breakfast.  Zelia and I split a delicious homemade biscuit.  We see a big slow-cooker containing some kind of white mush.  We ask someone what it is.  “Y'all must not be from the South if you don’t know what that is. It’s a local dish.  A type of gravy that goes over the biscuits.  It’s made with flour and corn meal and bacon grease.”  We pass.

We leave Cherokee around 9:30, and begin a five-hour drive to Nashville.  This part of the country is so different from New York.  And it’s not just the accents.  The stores.  The signs.  The people. Everything.  We begin taking notes of the things we see along the way.

• Pentecostal churches everywhere
• A hotel sign that says, “Older than some, cleaner than most.”
• A store selling bear traps
• A muscle car museum
• A big sign on a little store advertising, “Blow guns, Knives, and Crossbows"
• A sign advertising rat cheese
• Places where you can “pan fer Gold.”
• Wedding chapels
• Nascar speedparks
• A beef jerky outlet

We stop for lunch at a Burger King.  Neither Zelia nor I eat.

The weather is horrible.  The further south we head, the more miserable the weather becomes.  It’s a torrential downpour.  The windows are fogging up.  The windshield wipers are making a loud, thoroughly annoying,  scraping sound. Huge semis are passing on either side.  Zelia is having an important business call in Portuguese.  Alexander is sleeping.  Rodrigo is listening to music.  And I am driving.

I pull over for one final stop so everyone can go to the bathroom.  Inside this little highway-convenience store is a sign for a shower (who would shower at a convenience store?) and a scale.  I’m tempted.  It’s been two days since I’ve stepped on one.  But I know how foolish I’d look if Zelia saw me, and besides, I don’t have a quarter…the cost to learn my current weight. 

We get back in the car and drive on to Nashville.