yyt

When there is no line to cross how do you know you are in the south? Out east I cross the Mason Dixon line and lo and behold, I am in great great great grandad’s land but travelling south from Peasants Pissoir I was sure when I had entered the land of myth, nostalgia and loss. I wouldn’t know exactly when the Civil War became the War of Northern Aggression.

The contemporary stereotypes hit before I was anywhere close. Entering Indiana which in my opinion is a limbo state – no one really wants it – I ran into “In god we trust” number plates. Of course god is from the states if he is not an actual Hoosier. Ah Christian jihadists… the NPR channels were overwhelmed by the god channels

Crossing the Ohio – quite impressive – into Kentucky could be the line and I would guess that as the attendant at the Speedway gasbar just outside of town was Missy but Louisville looked better and more modern than Milwaukee – even Indianapolis made Milwaukee look like reconstruction had left it behind. In Kentucky I could drive listening to NPR the entire state.

There was more of a problem with what time zone I was in. without knowing it I had entered the Eastern Time Zone someplace in Indiana - I am now sure that the state exists so that Ohio has someone to make fun of – and I only realised that when I saw a sign saying that I was entering the Central Time Zone.

The drive was great Indiana while painful went by quickly, Kentucky with its hills and architecture and interstates that curve was a driving pleasure. Nashville – would have put on some John Hiatt if the Saturn had anything more than a wireless – now I knew that I was south, proof of that was the NHL Team that all southern cities where ice is only found in drinks of any repute have. Gave up NPR for country music, the biggest traffic tail back since Chicago and Waffle Houses competing with Walmarts. Along the trip strained to see the usual – Louisville Slugger Field, The Tennessee Titans home and anticipated the climb to the domain stopping at a Stuckey’s on the way