Date: Sun, 18 Jan 1998 04:57:49 -0700 From: Charlie Ford <cford@altamaha.net> To: type2@bigkitty.azaccess.com Subject: Riding Around, The Art and the Pleasure I guess pretty much over the past year I have been out "riding around" in one way or another. A trip around the country being sort of the ultimate example of the practice. Over the past few days spent in Hazlehurst, Georgia, my hometown. I have come to realize that it is as much a part of my hereditary makeup as is my hair, my eyes, or even my skin color. Although I wouldn't grade it very high on the gene scale of course. Since being back here after the end of my journey around America, I have seen many folks that share this need to get out and wander. Not many of them did it on the scale I did it, but they are doing it all the same. When I was a kid growing up in this small south Georgia town, I would every Sunday afternoon go riding around with my Grandfather. He was one of the best at practicing this art of doing nothing while behind the wheel. Now back then gas was a lot cheaper than it is now. During the gas shortage (yeah right!) of the 70's folks could only get it when you found it. You had to sit in long lines of other cars wanting to ride around at the same time you did. Many times by the time you had sat there and waited your turn at the pump, the price had changed or they, the station had ran out of their allotted ration of the go juice. Two days after I had arrived here, I felt the extreme urge to go out and see my town. Come to think of it, even prior to that day, I sat on the front porch at my Grandmothers house, in one of her old rockers, and I found myself waving at the folks practicing the art of "riding around", and coming past my house at the slow steady pace of a pro "ride-arounder". Everyone here does it with style. It's ingrained in our make-up. Now mind you, I would not throw them the hearty VW type2 wave, but instead the holding up a finger relaxed howdy type wave. You have to have scales of importance when it comes to vehicles I think. My highest being that of German technology of the air-cooled nature. On the day I remounted the Pilots Chair of the Mothership, and went out to practice the God given art of local adventure searching or "riding around", I was anxious too say the least. What would my trip edify to me in the nature of journey. Would I see an old friend, or would I just scope out how well folks were keeping there yards. The mystery....the mystery. First I went through the gears of the Mothership and hummed up to about 45. I slid her back to third and slowed to 35 after she warmed a bit. The power plant hummed with the same sense of adventure I had heard so many times over the past year. Too her it doesn't matter whether it's 55 or 35, she is there for my pleasure. I drove up to main street which is now a one block split two way one block wide. It used to be a two lane running right through the center of town. As teenagers we called it the strip. I miss the muscle car era. I eased on across the railroad tracks and turned to the right. There sits an old railroad depot house just to the right immediately after the turn. facing the railroad tracks are the Hazlehurst Auto Parts and Mills Men's Store. Both have been here since I can remember. Another person that is out riding around comes by and gives a half hearted relaxed wave as he passes. I think it odd that someone waves at my bus. Around here it is still seen as a symbol of hippie-dom. At the next block I take a left. This street is called Cromartie I believe, and it runs down by the elementary school, that was once a middle school, and before that, in the 50's, the high school. the place has not changed a bit except for the size of the children on the playground on the days when school is in session. I miss recess. I continue on, the journey growing deeper and more exciting with every turn of the crankshaft. I ease straight across highway 341 that runs directly through Hazlehurst and goes off to Baxley, another small town 16 miles away. we used to kick there butts in football, basketball, and every thing else we played them in. I miss high school football games. I drove over toward the old swimming pool. It is all covered up now with dirt. They made a little community park out of it. Not much too it, just some shrubs, a swing, and a basketball court. I imagine the sounds when I used to walk or ride my bike over here to swim to cool the hot south Georgia summers. I remember puberty and one girl that wore bikinis and me and my friends would stand in the middle of the pool and talk about that body. She is probably 50 and sagging now. Fifteen kids, two dogs, and a drunk husband, probably one of my buddies from the pool. I drove by Ken Drawdy's house, and where tom Dolittle used to live. I saw the butcher market, the Piggly Wiggly grocery store (my first employer) and the water tower behind the police station. It is still the tallest thing in town and probably will be for some time. I drove over and stopped at the Dairy Queen and bought me a large cone dipped in chocolate. On special Sunday afternoon ride arounds Grandaddy would treat us to a "cone of cream" as he called it. I savored it's taste as I drove through the part of town that the black folks live in. It is still the south, things don't change fast down here. I turned onto the Pat Dixon Road where the two newer schools are located. They are still red brick, tall windows, and large lawns that stay green year round. The south is good for the color green, with the pines and all. I pulled back into my Grandmothers drive, stopped the bus, and walked onto the porch and sat down in the same chair I had sat in the day before while waving at the "ride arounders". I started the same thing again, waving at whoever passed, usually they waved back. One of these days the Mothership, Gus, and myself are going to have to go out to the Brooker woods and ride around. That was my grandfathers old home place and he knew every inch of those woods. At least I believe he did. I appreciate him more and more each time I go riding around. Don't forget to go riding around when you can. Take the family, buy everybody an ice cream. It is good for the soul, the memory, and the planning for tomorrow. It is an American tradition, and not one to be taken lightly. You get to see folks, wave at folks, and think about where you once were as a person. Things change, but you gotta always remind yourself from whence you came. Today there was a VW bus riding around Hazlehurst, Georgia, and the fellow wanderers saw it as a good thing. That pleased me. Thanks for tolerating the ramblings, Charlie Ford "79" Transporter, dressed for the road The Mothership The"Turning 40 Nostalgic VW Service Tour, and Search for the Beginning of Wind". http://www.slurpee.net/~keen/charlie/charlie.html "Wider still and wider.....shall thy bounds be set" ------------------------------------------------------------------------- To leave the list, send an UNSUBSCRIBE message to TYPE2-REQUEST@TYPE2.COM -------------------------------------------------------------------------