Kentucky

Pulled into Etown aka Elizabethtown, KY about 10am this morning. Three different people had told me how beautiful Kentucky was.

I gotta tell you, in my limited sample size, I think Arkansas kicks its ass.

The ride over was great and we really benefitted from the advice from the front desk clerk who told us of impending delays and detours surrounding construction about 20 miles outside of Memphis, TN.

It was smooth sailing, and no police were visible until we hit Memphis.

The detour we were warned about was causing 2–3-hour delays and we were shocked to see that the detour took you into the bowels of the inner city, through stop signs, stoplights, cones, machinery, I mean, I could see where you would just crawl along as the city woke up and the masses headed for their cheese.

But we were through in no time at 5am.

We still have some Kentucky left as we continue north to Covington, and then on to Cincinnati, so maybe I have yet to see the best parts.

I had a good friend of mine who was from Owensboro, KY. His name was Larry, and we were both Air Force brats, living on RAF Upper Heyford Air Force Base in England.

One day Larry and I met out in the woods that surrounded the military base and he revealed he had stolen a full bottle of Jim Beam from his parents’ liquor cabinet. I opened the gym bag I brought with me to show the six-pack of 7-up and the full bottle of Beefeater’s Gin.

You guessed it.

I think we invented a new cocktail that fine summer day in the Midlands of Jolly Old. Equal parts whiskey, gin, and 7-up knocked us completely out. I went on to drink for another 50 years before the ravages of that deadly disease diabetes cost me my lower left leg. In all that time, I have never been as sick as I was that day when I woke up.

I am not big on bourbon. Karen will pour a few fingers of single-malt, or a dash of bourbon every so often, but I am not big on the “bite.”

I am a blended whiskey guy. I think it stems from when I was living with my father in my senior year of high school, he and I would go drinking. We had a pint of VO each and of course, a beer to wash it down with.

I did not have many stories with my Dad and they are each precious and dear to my spirit.

Hindsight being 20-20, I can see that in trying to befriend me, Pops kind of gave a hint of romance to this kind of behaviour, so I tended to embrace it.

I would surely pay for it later.

DUI’s, fines, jail-time, humiliation, money (LOTS of money), and ultimately, loss of limb, were all the results of the “romantic” life I led.

Not funny.

Nor romantic.

One woman changed the planet.

Madd.org.

Stay well.