It was almost noon before I could extricate myself from the farm. It had started to rain just when I was going to cut the front yard and ensure that the place didn’t look abandoned, so I thought I might get to make a pass with the Turf Tiger before the 0900 conference call, but I walked out on the front porch and things were still soaked.
The conference call spun into something- and if I was going to cut the grass and get clippings all over myself, I needed to shower after that, and when I actually got down to the barn to fuel and fire up the Tiger I saw that the pastures were so proud with the ferocious green growth that if they were not severely chastised, it was entirely possible that they would be uncuttable when next I had a chance to confront them.
So, it was noon before I got rolling, and the GPS attempted to vector me to I-95. I refused, and took US-29 south, through Charlottesville, Lynchburg and Danville before finally hitting the North Carolina line. The old road still goes through a lot of places, and it is a much better and textured drive, seeing where people live and shop and worship.
They apparently still do that stuff out here. I listened to the radio, and can recite the events of the manic news cycle almost by rote, the minutia of which I will not trouble you. I think there are two kinds of citizens these days- the ones of who are so immersed in the turmoil and chaos that they are near apoplectic (either side of the culture wars, pick one) or completely oblivious to everything.
The miles rolled by with only two minor safety issues on the US route, and one after I picked up I-85 and began to flow with the faster North Carolina NSCAR wannabes near the speedway at Charlotte. I was sympathetic to the last- an older fellow who was driving thirty miles below the posted limit and punched up his emergency flashers when he saw overtaking traffic looming in his rear view.
The new tires on the Panzer are a grand thing. The old man was acting like I did when I had to drive slow with the temporary spare on the right rear wheel last week. Sometimes you have to be the hazard, you know.
Judge lest you be judged, I suppose. Or let those with poor tires cast the first stone. But the slowness with which my synapses processed the event led me to suspect that six PM was probably about as late as I could trust my body, and started looking for acceptable lodging.
I tried once after a fuel stop near the hamlet of Cowpens, site of the 1781 victory of the Continental Army over the forces of the King, and a key tipping point in the re-conquest of South Carolina by the Patriots. I was interested, since I had steamed in the same battle group as USS Cowpens (CG-63) but never knew much about her provenience. It is pretty cool.
(Battle of Cowpens, 1781. Painting by William Ranney. The scene depicts an unnamed African-American soldier (left) firing his pistol and saving the life of Colonel William Washington, mounted on the white horse at center).
Exit 78 was much more welcoming, which is how I came to be sitting here dining on some pretty good scrambled eggs and a turkey patty.
I recommend the New Asia Cafe, if for some reason you swerve off the interstate here any time soon. Not bad, and better than my local Chinese-American delivery place in Arlington.
Life on the road, you know?
Copyright 2015 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303