Bags of trail mix left 6
Gin Scrore Phil 2175 Elaine 2170
Heading North now, in Nashville visiting brother Dave and family. Some reflections on the south:
Trees: The most beautiful trees I've ever seen anywhere. Modest homes, antibellum mansions or grand estates, each shaded by Live Oakes whose prodigious green crowns draped in Spanish Moss suggest such gothic mystery that Stephen King might step from behind one at any moment, such timeless elegance that so might Vivian Leigh. It wasn't just the Live Oakes though. In Texas and in the plains of nearby states another oak, leafless this time of year (not all southern oakes lose foliage during the winter) extends one wildly expressive silouette after another heavenward. No two are the same and some, often those forced in some alternative direction by wind or obstacle, or forced to mutate by lightning or other circustance seem to have a great deal to say. It've often difficult to keep one's eyes on the road. Fortunately, there often being no one else on the road for as far as the eye can see, that's no big deal.
Good beer: non-existent
Roads: more often than not these beautifully maintained thorofares are so relentlessly straight for so long that the prospect of a curve reveals itself long minutes and longer miles in advance and is cause in itself to shake Elaine loose from her reverie at the prospect of excitement.
Good bread or in many cases any bread whatever: unavailable
Ribs: Tremendiously varied from region to region. The best was had at Fox Brothers in Atlanta.