I left Navarre on Monday, in the midst of a downpour which was so torrential I almost began to question the wisdom of getting on the road. I finally decided to head out and, in hindsight, I'm glad I did. The rains let up a bit after about an hour and, after two hours, I was seeing sunny skies.
What surprised me most of all about this leg of the trip was how much of it wasn't being driven on interstates. That's a double edge sword, though. On the plus side, the scenery you see when you're not on the interstate is so much more enjoyable. Driving through small towns in the south can be like a step back in time, sometimes. On the downside, though, the drive invariably takes longer. It's a trade-off and, for this trip, a trade-off I was more than happy to make.
This leg of the trip was actually taking me to the small town of Bartlett, Tennessee. Bartlett is the home of my old friend Alphonso. He and I were stationed together in San Diego back in the early 1990's, and we'd not seen each other since I transferred from that duty station in 1994. He retired shortly thereafter.
The drive wasn't bad, even if it did get monotonous every once in a while.
At some point in the day, I found myself in the little town of Georgiana, Alabama. Ordinarily, I think I probably would've just cruised right through, but a sign caught my eye. It was a sign directing me to the boyhood home of none other than Hank Williams. Of course, since a major part of this trip is to get photos I may not normally have an opportunity to get, I pulled off the main road and started following signs. Now, I'm never going to be accused of being a country music fan, but I known an icon's name when I hear one, so I thought stopping would be a good idea.
|Hank Williams lived in this house from 1931 until 1934...|
Williams only lived in the house for four short years, after which his mother moved the family to Greenville. Despite being known as one of the founding fathers of country music, Hank Williams was only 29 years old when he died.
The road got a little bit long after I was on the interstate for a while, and I knew I was starting to fade. That tends to happen when your view doesn't change and you stare at these two views all afternoon:
After being on the road for what was just shy of eight hours, I found myself pulling into Alphonso's neighborhood. Yeah, it'd been a while; 26 years, as a matter of fact, but it was damn good to see him...