The Rain, The Rain - The Road Show
Rain followed us up the coast yesterday or we followed the rain up the coast yesterday, the jury is still out. In any case more rain forecast for today as we tour Savannah. We're feeling distinctly soggy. I think there might be some sort of fungus growing in the dank, dimly lit portions of my body.My cunningly conceived plans called for us to leave Orlando at precisely 9:00am which, assuming an average speed of 65 miles per hour, normal traffic patterns for this time of year, and no adverse weather, should place us near the community of Brunswick, Georgia at exactly 12:25pm, the optimum time for consumption of pulled pork barbeque, as established by the ground breaking study, Barbeque Eating Habits Among the Inhabitants of Southeastern Georgia, 2003, University of Georgia (Go Bulldogs!). We failed for a variety of reasons, for all of which I place the blame squarely on Mary's shoulders.
First she made me check the drawers, closets and fridge in the room again before we left. This yielded a total of 3 socks, a shoe, a camera, four sodas, a half bag of potato chips which we didn't buy so it was left by the previous DVC members but waste not, want not, a fleece jacket and a power cord to a laptop. Then an incredibly dedicated bellhop also checked all the drawers, closets, and the fridge, yielding one additional sock and the other shoe. And a $10 tip.
By the time we had repacked everything and had it placed in the car and then sat in the car waiting for the GPS to acquire the satellites, and waiting, and waiting, we didn't actually get on the road till 9:40. My carefully constructed plans went further into the hole when Mary decided after a couple of hours that she needed a bathroom break, refused my offer of an empty Coke bottle, and specified that the next stop had to contain actual porcelain facilities and that a convenient bush can in no way be construed as adequate personal relief facilities, no matter how often someone used them back when they were in college.
We also had to stop at one of the ubiquitous Indian River Fruit and Remarkably Hideous Souvenir Stands. The had both bathroom facilities as well as an assortment of fireworks, fruit, and various dried reptilians.
While I got the gas, washed the windows, vacuumed up the potato chip debris and sterilized the bathroom before Mary used it, dear wife checked out the gift shop offerings. It wasn't what was offered for sale as much as the people who were doing the shopping and what they were buying that intrigued her. One family seemed to be quite enamored of a mummified baby alligator, but they were only willing to purchase it if the proprietor confirmed that the gator was real and not a fake. Why this was important, will to my dying day, be a matter of intense and almost certainly unsatisfied inquiry.
We also apparently missed out on the free samples that all the billboards offered, though Mary figured out that the big bins full of oranges next to the gas pumps, were probably the promised freebies. We didn't realize that until some thirty of forty minutes down the road, though. It's probable that we didn't notice the lack of the samples because Mary was puzzling over the deal offered at the stand. Specifically they wanted her to buy three bags of snacks for the low, low price of $20.00. Since each bag retailed for $6.95 this means that the 'deal' meant one would save the princely sum of 4.25% over the normal purchase price. The clerk was a little confused why someone would pass up a deal like that, though maybe most people would be able to find a way to eat three large bags of chocolate coated peanuts.
The highlight of this portion of our road trip was the stop at the Georgia Pig (or GA Pig - the spelling seems to vary). This was a recommendation that we got from Roadfood, a book and website by the highly esteemed food authors Michael and Jane Stern, that we highly recommend. The Pig is, of course, a barbeque place. We were concerned that the place might be mythical because our GPS receiver resolutely declined to give us directions to it or even confirm that it existed. But we got off the indicated highway exit to find the shack and initially concluded that the place must have closed or burned down or moved. Only after we turned around and were on our way back to the highway on-ramp did we manage to spy out the place, back behind some pines and oaks thickly draped with Spanish moss. The place itself looks perfect, a shack (though it doesn't have the requisite screen doors - Mary's got a theory that the very best BBQ is produced only in places with screen doors), with a front porch and tables outside for the al fresco dining experience. Inside, the place is rather dimly lit which isn't helped by the fact that there is a visible mist of smoke throughout. Don't go in unless you're willing to smell like oak smoke for the rest of the day - it permeates your clothes, hair, skin, and possibly some internal organs. We ate deeply of the smoky chopped pork, the smoky sausage, and the slightly less smoky coleslaw. And it was good. If we ever find ourselves driving between Orlando and Savannah again or in the state of Georgia or anywhere near the Deep South we'll make it a point to drop in.
By the time we had repacked everything and had it placed in the car and then sat in the car waiting for the GPS to acquire the satellites, and waiting, and waiting, we didn't actually get on the road till 9:40. My carefully constructed plans went further into the hole when Mary decided after a couple of hours that she needed a bathroom break, refused my offer of an empty Coke bottle, and specified that the next stop had to contain actual porcelain facilities and that a convenient bush can in no way be construed as adequate personal relief facilities, no matter how often someone used them back when they were in college.
We also had to stop at one of the ubiquitous Indian River Fruit and Remarkably Hideous Souvenir Stands. The had both bathroom facilities as well as an assortment of fireworks, fruit, and various dried reptilians.
While I got the gas, washed the windows, vacuumed up the potato chip debris and sterilized the bathroom before Mary used it, dear wife checked out the gift shop offerings. It wasn't what was offered for sale as much as the people who were doing the shopping and what they were buying that intrigued her. One family seemed to be quite enamored of a mummified baby alligator, but they were only willing to purchase it if the proprietor confirmed that the gator was real and not a fake. Why this was important, will to my dying day, be a matter of intense and almost certainly unsatisfied inquiry.
We also apparently missed out on the free samples that all the billboards offered, though Mary figured out that the big bins full of oranges next to the gas pumps, were probably the promised freebies. We didn't realize that until some thirty of forty minutes down the road, though. It's probable that we didn't notice the lack of the samples because Mary was puzzling over the deal offered at the stand. Specifically they wanted her to buy three bags of snacks for the low, low price of $20.00. Since each bag retailed for $6.95 this means that the 'deal' meant one would save the princely sum of 4.25% over the normal purchase price. The clerk was a little confused why someone would pass up a deal like that, though maybe most people would be able to find a way to eat three large bags of chocolate coated peanuts.
The highlight of this portion of our road trip was the stop at the Georgia Pig (or GA Pig - the spelling seems to vary). This was a recommendation that we got from Roadfood, a book and website by the highly esteemed food authors Michael and Jane Stern, that we highly recommend. The Pig is, of course, a barbeque place. We were concerned that the place might be mythical because our GPS receiver resolutely declined to give us directions to it or even confirm that it existed. But we got off the indicated highway exit to find the shack and initially concluded that the place must have closed or burned down or moved. Only after we turned around and were on our way back to the highway on-ramp did we manage to spy out the place, back behind some pines and oaks thickly draped with Spanish moss. The place itself looks perfect, a shack (though it doesn't have the requisite screen doors - Mary's got a theory that the very best BBQ is produced only in places with screen doors), with a front porch and tables outside for the al fresco dining experience. Inside, the place is rather dimly lit which isn't helped by the fact that there is a visible mist of smoke throughout. Don't go in unless you're willing to smell like oak smoke for the rest of the day - it permeates your clothes, hair, skin, and possibly some internal organs. We ate deeply of the smoky chopped pork, the smoky sausage, and the slightly less smoky coleslaw. And it was good. If we ever find ourselves driving between Orlando and Savannah again or in the state of Georgia or anywhere near the Deep South we'll make it a point to drop in.
