Day 37: Brent to Prattville

All right, Alabama, WTF? ?Yesterday you send idiot drivers and homicidal dogs to do me in . . .?on top?of kick-my-ass hills, heat, and wind in my face.

You start today?with a quarter mile, 10% grade hill.


At the end of that hill, you threw?this one?at me.


I called your bluff on that one, though. ?I went another way and avoided that sumbitch?all together.

Which didn’t stop you from putting about 20 of these in my path. ?(That’s a car on the road in the distance. ?Just to give you an idea of the scale / size of the hill.)


3/4 mile long, 8% to 9% grade. ?Holy hernia, Batman.

You finished up the day with?two more quarter mile, 10% grade hills.

And while you didn’t try to run me over today, you did send another pack of critters after me. ?Led by this vicious beast:


I will eat your face!

Stuff I saw:

A smoking sign!

The heat from the sun was obviously warming up the much cooler condensation on the sign. ?Thought that was the coolest — and most localized — fog I’ve seen!

I’ve been riding on US 82 since Hamburg, AR. ?This sign caught me by surprise:


It was the first rest area I’d seen advertised on the whole of US 82. ?(I kind of liked the little radio / weather sign at the bottom!)

I set about getting a mental image of what a rest area would look like in Deep Boonies, Alabama.

My grandmother, Mama Hazel, lived her entire life in Crenshaw County, Alabama. ?She had no indoor plumbing. ?Ever. ?(She died in 1978, not exactly pre-historic times.)? She used a “chamber pot” when it was cold and an outhouse when it wasn’t. ?I would have not been surprised had the rest area looked like this:

outhouse lrg 2 holer and 1 holer-sized

Instead, I was greeted with:


Truly, one of the nicest rest areas I’ve ever been to. Well done, Alabama!

Couple of signs literally across the street from one another got my attention:


How did an entire forest manage to piss off enough people that they put it on a shooting range? ?How do you shoot a forest if you can’t see it for the trees?


Umm,?who?exactly is coming home? ?The dead? ?Isn’t that a show on AMC?


In the middle of this area:


was this nice looking place:


Frankly, I wouldn’t have taken a picture of it?except?for a side-road entrance sign:


As in . . .?Johnny? ?I can’t find anything in Google. ?Go ahead, type “CASH HOME ALABAMA” and see how many offers you’ll get to buy your house.

Speaking of Google . . .

Hey,?Google Maps: ?You missed a zillion opportunities to send me down roads that looked like this:


You’ve done it before. ?What stopped you today?

I’ve seen these every few feet on the side of the road ever since I was about mid-way through Mississippi:


They’re ant hills. ?Fire ants. ?”Pissants” as we call ’em down south. ?Kick one of those hills and then run, else they’ll bite the shit out of you.

Yeah yeah yeah. ?I know, I know. ?Everyone’s seen an ant hill. ?But the first one I saw reminded me of a Little Johnny joke. ?I can’t get it out of my head, so, dammit, I’m gonna tell it here and hopefully exorcise that joke from my head:


Little Johnny was sitting outside on the steps leading into the church. ?The preacher heard Johnny every few moments say loudly, “These goddamned?worthless?pissants!” ?And then Johnny’d smack some of ’em dead.

This went on for some time. ?Finally, the preacher came out and asked Johnny, “What’s up, John?”

“Oh, preacher, I’m just smacking these goddamned worthless pissants!”

“Now, Johnny,” ignoring taking God’s name in vain,”God doesn’t make anything that doesn’t have a purpose. ?Even those lowly ants. ?I bet you can’t think of three things that don’t have a purpose.”

Johnny thought for a second, then said, “Yeah I can. ?Dick on a priest, tits on a nun,” he smacked the ants, ” . . . and these goddamned worthless pissants!”

I took my time pedaling today. ?It’s not a race. ?It’s a ride. ?I did some looking around:

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Montgomery on the horizon:


Haven’t eaten at Chipotle since I left Ohio in August! ?Manna!