Stolen Hogs, Star Crossed Lovers, and Phi Slamma Jamma

The winner and I buckle into The Big Yellow Truck and head west on I-64. As we haul ourselves up Afton Mountain the sun rises in my sideview mirror. Fog rises from the valley. Things are just starting to wake up in the Shenandoah and that includes me. I am still slightly sleep and Diet Pepsi deprived. Six hours isn't much rest to start a grand adventure on. The Big Yellow Truck is sleepy too. It complains about the grade.
"I think I can, I think I can" it groans.
"Of course you can, of course you can" I tell it.

The Winner fiddles with the satellite radio as we cross into the Washington National Forest in West VA. Voila! She has it working. We travel up, up, up into Hatfield and McCoy country singing Broadway show tunes. I had promised her "Take me home country roads." Instead she got the score from "Mame."

The Big Yellow Truck climbs higher and higher. The clouds reach down and touch us from time to time. The Winner reads the guide book outloud. We learn that the Hatfields and McCoys had disagreements about stolen hogs and teen dating. They would have been right at home on the Jerry Springer show.

Mid morning has us pulling into Tammarak. I know this place well because it is my midpoint when I travel to Ohio. Tammarak showcases the artists of West VA, including regional musicians, writers, filmmakers, sculptors and design artists. I could wander in there forever and I usually come close to doing that. Meals are catered by The Greenbrier. I never get back on the road hungry and this time is no exception. I pick up a couple of postcards for the 1st and 2nd place runner ups and post them at Tammarak. Two hours pass before I'm back on the road. From there The Big Yellow Truck crosses rivers and gorges and rides past the brilliant gold dome of the state capital building in Charleston.

Broadway show tunes are put aside for the comedy channel. Laughter makes the miles roll by painlessly. Even The Big Yellow Truck chuckles.
"Chuck, chuck, chuck..." it says. I look at the speedometer. 75. Not bad for a top heavy box truck. I back it down a little. The Big Yellow Truck has to take me a very long way. There's no need to ride it too hard.

West VA gives way to Kentucky and we take time to visit the Kentucky Horse Farm in Lexington. Lexington is hot. Too hot. But the heat doesn't take away from the beauty of the place. It is spectacular. I stop for a moment to savor the coolness inside The American Saddlebred Museum and I unexpectedly find myself among friends. The name of a man I admire glints at me from a bronze plaque in the entry way. I smile at the memory of summer days spent on an Iowa horse farm. I walk through the museum and find that a long list of champions come from Keswick, VA., the town I just left. I move back out into the July heat. Even though it is late afternoon the sun is blinding. I look down a moment to let my eyes adjust to the brilliance when another name catches my eye, this one imprinted into a brick at my feet. Phi Slamma Jamma. He's another Iowan that I am fond of in an equine sort of way. I am not part of the horsey set but no one would believe that if they had stopped to talk with me in those moments.

The afternoon begins to fade to early evening. I have smooched on horses and barn cats and it is time to head to Louisville. I realize as I am walking back to The Big Yellow Truck that the horses have pedigrees finer than mine. The barn cat and I, however, are equals.

An hour and a half later I am in Louisville. The Winner and I quickly wash the barn and road grime off and head into town. We find ourselves an English Pub. Irish would have been better, but the bartender does not disappoint me. He pours a decent pint. Being adventurous women we order the deep fried pickles. There really isn't much risk in this. We like pickles. We like fried food. And yes, we liked breaded deep fried pickles.

The day is nearly done. The Big Yellow Truck is hitched up outside our hotel window. It takes up four parking spaces along the curb. I find myself growing fond of this truck. In the moonlight you can almost mistake it for a luxury motor coach.

Slainte-
Next posting will come from Kansas City.