October 21 '06 |
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Volume 542 |
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Trace Trips
Enjoying A Route To Nashville
On consecutive weekends, Barbara and I
recently traveled the Natchez Trace from Tupelo, MS to Nashville, TN. Our
first trip enabled us to visit our friend, John Carter, shortly before his
death, and the second trip was to attend John's funeral. The fall foliage
had not fully peaked, but the farther north we drove, the more colorful were
the hues of autumn.
A lot of folks avoid traveling the Trace because of the reduced speed limit.
Sure, the limit is 50 miles per hour, but anybody who regularly travels the
Trace will affirm my observation that as long as one keeps his or her speed
under sixty, most park rangers will not issue a moving violation to the
over-the-limit motorist.
Because, we knew our trip would take us through the lunch hour and because
we don't know which towns near the Trace have restaurants catering to Trace
travelers, we opted to pack a picnic lunch to enjoy at one of the many roadside
stops on the Trace.
Barbara and I have less aversion to picnicking than do our two children.
Rayanne remembers the years of hers and Jason's youth when we took Grandma
Carter with us to visit my older brother in Minnesota. Mom always packed
plenty of food for sandwiches and snacks. We'd start looking at the map,
searching for the roadside park we'd be closest to at lunchtime.
"We'd see a sign for a McDonalds," Rayanne recalls. "But, Daddy wouldn't
stop. Our mouths would be watering; we were so envious of other kids whose
parents would buy them a hamburger for lunch."
I find consolation in knowing I helped my children develop memories of our
family vacations. I'd bet they wouldn't remember anything along the way,
or where we stopped to eat, if I had given in to their pleas for fast food.
On our first trip, Barbara and I stopped for lunch at Lower Glenrock and
except for a handful of motorcyclists we had the place to ourselves. Our
lunch consisted of shaved ham sandwiches and pimento cheese sandwiches halved
and split between us with a scattering of potato chips. Barbara also packed
a bag of apple slices for us to enjoy along with individual containers of
caramel dip. I remember thinking our picnic food was probably better than
any food for miles around, and I was sure the ambiance was better than anything
short of the Peabody in Memphis.
We should probably get out more on weekends, as we were somewhat amazed to
see so many motorbikes and cyclists taking advantage of the mild October
weather and the relative solitude of the Natchez Trace. From Tishomingo State
Park to Nashville, we counted sixty bikers on Saturday and seventy on Sunday.
We didn't count cyclists, but there appeared to be almost as many cyclists
as bikers. On our next trip to Nashville, we counted 122 bikers. That day
bikers outnumbered cyclists by ten to one.
Barbara and I took frequent rest breaks to coincide with points of interest.
In Tennessee, at Water Valley Overlook, we stopped for a scenic site we had
not previously visited and walked a nature trail near a small waterfall.
I tried to imagine how the forest must have looked back when the Trace was
an Indian trail. Except for the paved pathway, I could easily envision myself
with a small party of Indians moving along the ridges beside the waterfall.
The final few miles of the Trace that ends at Pasquo, about fifteen miles
from downtown Nashville, are extremely curvy. Safety dictates a forty-mph
speed limit, and while it's slower than I care to drive, I'm able to enjoy
the scenery.
A portion of this stretch of the Trace contains a uniquely
constructed bridge connecting hills on either side of Highway 96. It's called
the Double Arch Bridge. To see it and drive across it is reason enough for
making a trip to Nashville via the Trace. The Bridge is more than a quarter-mile
long and rises 155 feet above the highway below it. The palms of my hands
get sweaty just thinking about it even now. The photo of the bridge is used
by permission. My thanks of appreciation go to Jim and Lynnette at
TheFunTimesGuide.com.
We had hoped to photograph a ground-up view of the double arch bridge on
our return trip from Nashville via Franklin, TN, and Hwy 96. Poor highway
markings through Franklin thwarted our plans. Rather than backtracking, we
elected to drive south to Columbia and then west to connect with the Trace.
Since weve probably not made our final trip to Nashville, perhaps
well have better success next time.
Returning to Pontotoc, we exited the Trace near Tishomingo and stopped by
to see our family in Belmont, and visited our granddaughters, Merilese and
Katherine, and our daughter and son-in-law, Rayanne and Anson, respectively.
Granddaughter Anna and Grand-dog Zoey were also there.
Electrical
Issues PCs, Router And TV
A few weeks ago, lightning stuck a tree in my neighbor's yard, rupturing
a gas line near the base of the tree, and a fire ensued. The sight of fire
trucks and firemen scampering about brought some excitement to the neighborhood
for a couple of hours. At the time, I counted myself fortunate that no damage
was done to our humble abode. I later discovered some minor damage to a few
of my electrical connections.
I believe the first hint that our house had been affected was the sudden
appearance of a couple of purple spots on our television screen. The spots
are about the size of my hand and are at the extremities of a diagonal line
extending from the upper left corner to the lower right corner of the picture
tube. Our TV has a 27-inch screen, so the hand-sized spots are not that much
of a distraction, except that depending on the background color, the purple
spots change colors as the background changes. Yes, a new TV would be nice,
but I'm holding off to see if that's something Santa leaves on Christmas
Eve.
A few days after discovering the TV had been affected by the storm, I discovered
a problem with the computers in our computer room. Neither of them could
access the Internet, which seemed strange, because the wireless portion of
our router worked fine. Jason's PC at his house connects to the Internet
via a wireless link, as does my business laptop whenever I'm using it at
home. The two computers in the computer room are "hard-wired" to the router
via CAT5 network cables.
As best I can determine, lightning zapped the router, knocking out the ports
that connect to the PCs in the computer room and frying one of the boards
inside one computer. Both computers continue to function, except neither
can connect to the Internet. I am able to bypass the router and hook one
of the computer-room PCs directly to the DSL connection and access the Internet,
but doing so prevents any other household PCs from accessing the Internet.
There's a lot about lightning that I don't understand, and I won't attempt
to explain how some of my electrical connections were adversely affected
by the lightning strike at my neighbor's, but Cecil Fauver recently shared
with me that he saw the lightning bolt that ruptured the gas line.
"It was raining like crazy," Cecil recalled. "You know, we didn't get hardly
any rain in August and September. I decided I would get my car out of the
carport, drive around the neighborhood, and let the rain wash off the dust.
I had driven a hundred yards or so towards your subdivision when I saw the
biggest bolt of lightning I'd ever seen. It scared the fire out of me. I
turned myself around and went back home. In a few minutes, fire trucks were
screaming by my house."
I suppose it's possible my PC connections and the TV weren't directly affected
by the lightning strike, but if not, then it's safe to assume they had the
fire scared out of them.
Bodock Beau Amen
Pharoah
Most readers can sympathize with the plight of a congregation listening to
a long-winded preacher, and those who are growing old will appreciate the
humorous aspect of aging.
Moses In The Congregation
A visiting minister was very long-winded. Worse, every time he would make
a good point during his sermon and a member of the congregation responded
with "Amen" or "That's right, preacher" he would get wound up even more and
launch into another lengthy discourse.
Finally, the local preacher started responding to every few sentences with
"Amen, Pharaoh!"
The guest minister wasn't sure what that meant, but after several more "Amen,
Pharaohs" he finally concluded his very lengthy sermon.
After the service concluded and the congregation had left, the visiting minister
turned to the local preacher and asked, "What exactly did you mean when you
said "Amen, Pharaoh?"
He replied, "I was telling you to let my people go!"
Shared by Carl Wayne Hardeman.
On Getting Older
Reporters interviewing a 104-year-old woman: "And what do you think is the
best thing about being 104?" the reporter asked. She simply replied, "No
peer pressure."
The nice thing about being senile is you can hide your own Easter eggs.
I've sure gotten old! I've had two bypass surgeries, a hip replacement, new
knees, fought prostate cancer and diabetes. I'm half blind, can't hear anything
quieter than a jet engine, take 40 different medications that make me dizzy,
winded, and subject to blackouts, have bouts with dementia. Have poor
circulation; hardly feel my hands and feet anymore. I can't remember if I'm
85 or 92 and I've lost all my friends, but, thank God, I still have my driver's
license.
I feel like my body has gotten totally out of shape, so I got my Doctors
permission to join a fitness club and start exercising. I decided to take
an aerobics class for seniors. I bent, twisted, gyrated, jumped up and down,
and perspired for an hour. But, by the time I got my leotards on, the class
was over.
An elderly woman decided to prepare her will and told her preacher she had
two final requests. First, she wanted to be cremated, and second, she wanted
her ashes scattered over Wal-Mart.
"Wal-Mart?" the preacher exclaimed. "Why Wal-Mart?"
"Then I'll be sure my daughters visit me twice a week"
My memory's not as sharp as it used to be. Also, my memory's not as sharp
as it used to be.
Know how to prevent sagging? Just eat till the wrinkles fill out.
It's scary when you start making the same noises as your coffeemaker.
These days about half the stuff in my shopping cart says, "For fast relief."
Remember: You dont stop laughing because you grow old, You grow old
because you stop laughing.
Now, I think youre supposed to share this with 5 or 6, maybe 10 others
Oh heck, give it to a bunch of your friends if you can remember who they
are!
Shared by Ken Gaillard.
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