Weekend marathon

The weekend was crazy. I went up to Manchester, Tennesse for a week of BBQ. I was a judge at the Smokin on the Square BBQ contest. It was the usual bit of craziness....32 teams competed. Plus we had a huge lightning storm pop up that forced all of the cook teams to abandon their smokers and head inside at the urging of the police due to lightning and a tornado a few miles down the road. But it passed without too much damage, and it was back to cooking. The town also had a nice community festival that was a lot of fun.....arts and crafts, music, parade, fireworks, etc....

So it was time to come back home from Tennessee and thought I would make a trip over to visit all the relatives at the family campsite on the way back. I called my parent's home the night before and that morning without any results, so I knew that they were there...and even if not, there is always a bunch of relatives up there on the weekend. (this is family owned property that everyone goes to as a weekend retreat) So I detour across the twisty mountain roads to arrive at the campsite and not a soul is there. Nobody. My mom and dad have been looking for property to buy to eventually build a cabin on, to retire in. So I figured that they might not be at the campsite, but somebody would be there. Nope.

As it turned out, my folks found a piece of grassy bottomland (a little less than 5 acres) in a valley way up in north Georgia, about 2 miles from the North Carolina line and decided to put a bid in on it. So they left to go home about 10:15 that morning. I arrived about 11:00. A distant cousin of mine's husband died, and all of the other relatives who regularly camp up there decided to go to the funeral. So I ended up scribbling a note and leaving it on my folk's camper.

Then I decided to drive up the hill to see in my aunt was in her cabin. It has been a few years since I was last there. And that one time was the only time that I ever had been to it, so getting there was a bit sketchy. I took a wrong turn and got a bit lost.....ran off the road in the ditch when trying to back down a narrow driveway....got back on the right road.....and eventually found the cabin. Nobody home.

So I gave up, drove to Cartersville, visited with my grandma, uncle, and aunt for a bit. Then started home to Macon. I-75 came to a snail's pace around Marietta, then I made it through downtown, and thought I had it made. Then somewhere around the airport, I read on one of those DOT electric signs above the interstate a message that said, "ACCIDENT 2 MILES SOUTH OF HUDSON BRIDGE EXIT, SOUTHBOUND I-75, ALL 3 LANES BLOCKED"

Great! So I figured it best to try my luck going to Griffin on the US Highways. Good idea. Then I came to Barnesville. Now there is a highway that goes from Barnesville over to Forsyth.....and that is what I wanted to take. Except that apparently the population of Barnesville must be illiterate, because they didn't bother putting up any signs pointing the way to Forsyth. So I come to this sign saying Roberta is up ahead. Rather than go that far, I decide to strike off east, figuring that I would eventually pop out somewhere that I would recognize.

200 cows, a cornfield, 3 stray dogs that chased my truck, and 3,492 potholes later, somehow came out at the town square in Forsyth. The remainder of the trip from there home was uneventful. I ended up home about 7:15pm.

So it took me just over 4 hours to drive up there, and I spent almost 11 coming back...less 2 at grandma's house.