Southern Comforts - Fredericksburg, Virginia
Part of the trip -
Southern Comforts
Ramblings of a rambling man as he finds his way through the Southern United States
Another day, another deicision. Do I sit down and read a book and chill out by the sea or do I head off for the unknown? I figured the only thing keeping me here was the best crab cakes I have ever had and, after all, the sat nav and I had kissed and made up. The trade off was crab cakes for lunch and then heading north once again.
The first item on the agenda was to sort out the car. I was supposed to be dropping it off at 1800 tonight in Washington but decided another six hours behind the wheel would really make me lose the plot. I rang the customer service line and was greeted with the stock standard recorded message asking me which of the seven thousand options I would like to choose. Things began to go wrong when there was not a 'push a number' option. I was simply asked to say yes or no into the phone. Easy enough you say? The problem was that the machine simply did not understand that 'Yis' means 'Yes', I was warned that my call could be recorded for training purposes. I suspect there is an Avis call centre class somewhere now listening to me try and fake an American accent and then just turn the line blue and hang up. I eventually found a more user friendly number locally that sorted me out. I had the car for another fifteen hours. I had delayed the emotional goodbye just a little bit. Who says I am scared of commitment?
My little American sat nav girlfriend then took me on a great little drive through the backroads of North Carolina. They were highways in name, but would struggle to be B roads in the UK. The country side was a mix of farming and stands of Pines all the way up through the state. The houses were a random mix of dolls houses that were identical and scattered about in little groups and mobile homes where the wheels had been replaced by bricks. Strangely enough someone had the bright idea to replace the underside of the cars with wheels instead of bricks down here. It will never catch on in Tennessee.
There were a couple of photo opportunities that I would love to have grabbed but was not quite brave enough. The first was as I passed the 'Eastern North Carolina Coon Hunting Association' headquarters. I thought they had phased that out down here? The second was a picture perfect hick country American town called 'Black Jack'. I started to slow down to park up and reel off a couple of shots, when I noticed the gentleman standing in the street with a cowboy hat and an overcoat on. He scowled at me as I cruised the car by gently. This was clearly not the town to be taking photos in, I figured I could always stop at the next one and carried on.
I wound my way slowly inland and towards the inevitable monotony of the Interstate Highway. In this case it was the picturesque and scenic I-95. I pulled onto the on ramp and got up to speed and settled into a trance like state of boredom for the next three hours. I guess it is quite similar to watching two Ben Affleck films one after the other. For the entire trip, I have been warey of upsetting the Police. I had visions of being pulled over just because of my Georgia plates and being told that I wasn't welcome here and that the copper doesn't like my sort. Fortunately, I stayed close enough to the speed limit for it not to be a problem.
I gave myself a little cheer and a high five as I crossed the state line into Virginia and hoped nobody was watching. Immediately, I noticed a couple of things. Everybody started driving a lot closer to the speed limit and the place smelled a lot more like Pine than anywhere else. It was very much like a nice big clean toilet bowl. It soon became apparent why we were sticking more religiously (Baptist I should think) to the limit. There were signs at fairly frequent intervals down the I-95 warning any would be speeders that aircraft were used to check on cars speeds. This seemed like a good idea initially but then I began to wonder just how they were going to pull you over and give you the ticket. It all seemed like a bit too much effort for a couple of tickets. But what do I know?
As with yesterday, I tuned into the local country music station and did actually recognise a couple of songs and artists. I think the lyric of the day had to be 'I had a BBQ stain on my white shirt, she was killing me with her mini skirt', simply beautiful! My musical interlude was then interrupted by what sounded like the noise you used to get on dial up internet. I think the Australians still have this. What followed was a weather warning from the National Met Office. There were extreme Thunder Storms in the region. It sounded to me like Stephen Hawkins giving me a list of places in the state that I had no idea where they were. The storms were heading North East at thirty five miles an hour and I was being advised to get to a central downstairs room and not to go outside. My Ford Focus was big but I am not sure I had too many options at this stage but to carry on. I am not sure how a New Zealander parked up on the edge of the highway cowering in the back seat would look to the Police. Besides, it was dark where I was, but there was no sign of a storm. I was moving North East at over seventy miles an hour, it had no chance of catching me.
Three hundred miles, two CDs, more Country and Western karaoke and ninety eight McDonalds passed later, I arrived in Fredericksburg. It is fifty miles south of Washington but I figured I could not do a road trip in the US and not spend the night in a Hotel next to the Highway. So here I am parked up in the Homewood Suites for the night before dropping the car off tomorrow morning. I asked for a central room with no windows on the ground floor upon checking in but they did not have anything suitable. I am not sure she got the joke so was clearly not a follower of the National Met Office or Stephen Hawkins.
Eight hundred miles in two days. Time for a sleep and for someone else to do the driving after tomorrow morning.
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