Last summer I followed my friend Craig from the Atlanta suburbs into the hills and hollers of northern Georgia. Places with names like “Blood Mountain” and “Wolf Pen Gap” always get the juices flowing in anticipation. We were far enough from the city to be free of its urban grip, and it was obvious as we passed trucks full of chickens that smelled so bad it burned the inside of our nostrils. The further we went, the more peaceful it became. To break the silence, I mumbled familiar tunes by the amazing Alan Jackson… way down yonder on the Chattahoochee!!!
I could tell we were getting close when the two lane roads started to turn red on the edges. That good old Georgia clay never ceases to amaze me with it’s rusty orange hue, especially when it’s splashed all over the pavement. There’s not enough traffic to brush it back towards the shoulder after a decent rain. So it becomes a part of the road like it was designed to be there, no one too worried about it’s presence. I guess the silver lining is that its much easier to spot a dirty turn before you get there, rather than when you’re right on top of it.
Needless to say, Buzz needed a decent bath after the day’s activities. Good thing he’s already naked, makes playing in the dirt so much more fun.