Destination: Atlanta
Travel Day: September 23, 2012

I’m on the road at 645 after a lobby breakfast of scrambled eggs and a sausage (maybe) patty, with an English muffin and strawberry jam.

Along I-75 there is fog, heavy in some places, but it doesn’t block a slow and gentle sunrise. It actually adds some texture.

The itching is now under control. I am certain that this Benadryl anti-itch cream is a gift from the divine. The person who invented it will probably never win the Nobel Peace Prize for Humanity, but they should. To alleviate so much human suffering with such a simple product, is worthy of such recognition.

 

 

By 10 I cross the Georgia State line, and by 11 at a gas station in Tifton called the Magnolia Plantation. Modeled after a classic southern mansion right down to the shutters, it’s the best looking gas station I have ever seen. It’s almost the same size as Graceland. Inside it has a about an acre of jams, jellys, barbeque sauces, and relishes. Most of them are made with Georgia peaches and Vidalia Onions. I buy a jar of the onion BBQ sauce for my brother. He’s always experimenting with new sauces. Sadly I fail to take a picture.

The soil is now turning a great shade of red. The famous red Georgia clay. Today I am so focused I don’t take any pictures, which surprises me. The “unconscious machine” is distracting my thought processes. It happens from time to time. It’s normal, or so I’m told. The road is like that. Heading, focus, destination, and a tendency to lose all mental track of the serendipity and luck that guides a lot of my life.

I get to the Atlanta hotel by 230. Tonight it’s a Best Western Plus, out by the airport just off I-75. The online write up said it was close to the airport. It didn’t say it was slightly north and just across the railroad tracks from the active runways. As a plane lover I don’t find it to be a problem.

As I check in I do the usual "ask the desk clerk about dining options" routine. I add a slight disclaimer about not including the IHOP across the parking lot. She suggests Delaine’s right next door. They serve real "down home Southern cooking" and "on Sunday’s they open at 4:30", she says.

By this time it’s just after 3, so I head for my room, and transfer the beer from the cooler bag to the fridge. It doesn’t take long, there isn’t that much beer left. I walk across the hotel parking lot to a gas station and buy some tall,cold cans of Corona. Back in the room I fire up the computer, listen to airplanes landing  about every four minutes, and type up some blog posts. Increasingly I’m falling behind.

At 445 I am trying to get in the door at Delaine’s but it’s locked. I inquire at the front desk and the guy there tells me that they won’t be open today. The cook is sick. I ask him about dining options. He says there’s a Mexican place a couple of blocks over, and a Chinese place next to that. Or there’s a business district a half mile down and over the tracks.

I get in the car, check out the closer places, and quickly decide neither looks appetizing. I cross the tracks and drive a mile or so west and examine those options. Except for some fast food places and a divey looking “beach bar”, everything is closed. I pretty much have the road to myself too. Let’s say that my Atlanta dining experience is not quite working out as well as other stops on my trip, except for maybe Sioux Falls. And it’s Sioux Falls that provides the answer. I finally stop at Pizza Hut, order a medium Super Supreme to go, hand the lady $12, and sit on a bench to wait. I can’t believe I just paid $12 for a pizza that costs nearly $20 at home. While I sit there I contemplate why Atlanta isn’t open on Sunday’s. It doesn’t do me any good; I don’t get even a sniff of inspiration. So much for serendipity.

Later, in the hotel, the planes quit landing fairly early. I’m in bed about the time they quit. Tomorrow is another very long day. I have to get from Atlanta to St Louis. I want a really early start to avoid Atlanta’s notoriously bad rush hour.