Leg 4 to 5: Birmingham to Abingdon aka "No You Can Not Sit in the Back of the Cop Car"

I awoke, head pounding, to see a coffee next to my bed. Thank God. I shotgunned my Starbucks and set sail for our destination: Abingdon, Va. Our thought process on picking this place is explained in the next post. Let's just say it was not because of the large number of attractions in Abingdon.

We waved goodbye to the last big city of the trip and exited for the interstate. Now, there are two roads out of Birmingham: I-20 East and I-59 North. I don't know if you're familiar with the layout of our country, but Virginia is actually north of Alabama, not east.



Two hours into I-20 East, Marc once again had a navigator-seat epiphany. We were lost. We needed to get to I-59 North or risk ending up in Atlanta. A quick peak of the map, and a stop at a local gas station pointed us to 77 North, a connecting road heading straight north. To be fair, Marc picked the absolute perfect place to find out we were lost. The next exit from our current one was the junction for 77 North, meaning a quick detour through an Alabama back road was next on our agenda. "Just when I think you can't get any dumber, you go and do something like this...AND TOTALLY REDEEM YOURSELF."



77 North is a long, bumpy road with scenic views and condemning billboards. We drove over our fair share of bridges and stared longingly at endless stretches of still water. We even passed through Rainbow, Al. before finally reaching our destination. It was, as per usual, a pleasant departure from the norm. Marc took tons of pictures while fighting off the nausea induced by his pork rinds (which actually have less calories than a bag of Doritos).



Lunch was next. We stopped at Collinsville, a random departure from the highway, to try and find a lake and hopefully a spot to eat some country cooking. Collinsville was a town where they may have filmed "The Crazies." The only two things in the one-horse town were a Mexican grocery store and a kaboose. Marc made one of the few astute observations in his lifetime by pointing out that we had little chance of finding a lake if we were headed uphill. Elementary, my dear Watson. We never did find that damn lake.




Before hooking up with the highway, we stopped at a small eatery called Smokin' Joes. We opened the door and heard the screech of a record needle. You'd think it was the first time two Pittsburghers on a road trip stopped in there...err...nevermind.

I ordered a cafeteria tray full of sweet country goodness, and Marc took his chances with a barbeque sandwich. Rule of thumb: if you see this written in the bathroom:


"This is a real s*** hole. And your a real bastard"

You can be sure it's going to be a good meal. For something like 4 pieces of eight, I ordered a country-fried steak, fried okra, fried squash, a baked potato, and two pieces of cornbread. If it was possible to fry an entire baked potato, they would have done it. The okra (probably one of the first times I had ever eaten okra) was soft and had a taste similar to fried zucchini. The country fried steak was drowning in white gravy, and although it wasn't the best I had ever eaten, I could safely say that it was fried in the country. The biggest disappointment was the corn bread, which I half-expected to change my life. Instead, I got a dry piece of salty bread. Bummer. Luckily, Marc's sandwich made up for this. The beef was tender, and the sauce had enough bite to startle my taste buds for the ride ahead. Before we left, we got a picture with arguably the two most intimidating men I had ever laid eyes on (despite the appearance, they could not have been nicer).




The final stretch of road from Alabama, through Tennessee, and into Virginia was fairly mundane. Tennessee, based on my observations from the interstate, is known for two things: fireworks and having the most unoriginal city names of all time. This was the first time in the trip that I felt like the destination was more welcome than the journey. I wish I could say stopped to go skeet shooting with Santa Claus, but sometimes it is what it is.




Our Virginia sign pic leaves something to be desired, (no) thanks to a slow trigger finger. We passed through Bristol, hoping that the racetrack somehow intersected with 81 North, but were disappointed. As we passed through the outskirts of the outskirts of Bristol, we noticed the small sign for our destination: Abingdon, Va.




Wait, that's not the Puerto Rican flag,

CPS

Leg 3.5 to 4: Biloxi to Birmingham aka Barbeque and Huge Slot Machines

We took one final look at the ocean and headed - for the first time in 4 days - to the North. A small connecting road put us back on the interstate and led us to our sixth state of the trip – Alabama. The ride would assuredly be filled with Forrest Gump quotes.




No more than 20 minutes in to our ride and before we even reached Alabama, Captain Marc exclaimed with a raucous exclamation, “NO WAY! IT CAN’T BE.” Half asleep and still half drunk from such a good breakfast, I inquired as to the source of his jubilation. A roadside sign advertised “The Shed BBQ.” For those who do not watch The Travel Channel, “The Shed BBQ” was featured as a backwoods rest stop with live music and damn good barbeque. Built entirely out of spare parts by a redheaded, bearded young adult, you might mistake it for a shanty were it not for the captivating smell of smoky, slow-roasted meat.



The building looks somewhat like the raft built by Tom Hanks in Cast Away. Tin panels covered the roof, and spare two-by-fours made up the foundation. The sign displaying the upcoming bands was donated from a (likely) local middle school. Despite it’s ragtag design, “The Shed BBQ” is an amazing estate. There are several bars, a live music stage, an outdoor fire pit, and enough seats to house three football teams. I’ve never regretted eating breakfast more. I would have loved nothing more than to eat there, but I was so full that it would have not ended well; instead, we chatted with the owner and several of the servers, all of whom were glad to have an outsider but disappointed not to have a customer.





To check out any of the six "The Shed BBQ" locations, visit www.theshedbbq.com, or follow "The Shed BBQ - A Family Food Drinkery" on Facebook. We visited the original location in Gulfport, but there may be one by you...check it out and let us know if the meat tastes as good as it smells.

After a quick refuel across the street, we hopped back on the interstate and continued on our way. We eventually made it to Alabama and hopped off at a rest stop to snap a few pictures. The first sign we saw welcomed us to Alabama. The second sign we saw was this:




After passing through miles and miles without seeing so much as a McDonald’s, we happened upon an Indian Casino/Resort called “Wind Creek.” We were somewhat bored and hadn’t stopped in like 13 minutes, so we again pulled over and decided to check it out.



My eyes grew wide as we approached the oasis of fun. Marc kept a close eye on me, fearing I would disappear for four hours and return with a broken kneecap and no clothes. Unfortunately (see also: fortunately), there were no table games at this particular casino, so I instead had to satisfy my thirst for fun (see also: gambling problem) with slots. I sat down amongst the elder, blank-faced gamblers and watched as a blinking colossus sucked down my dollar bill with no intention of returning it. I chose literally the largest slot machine in the casino, hit the button, and watched as BAR-BAR-BAR came up. I now had five dollars. The woman next to me glared in jealousy as I cashed out and walked to the next row. Once again, I threw a dollar in, hit a line, and realized a 1200% return in just two minutes. Suck it Madoff.

If you ever find yourself in Atmore, AL with nothing to do...you'll find a big slot machine with guaranteed (almost) winnings at the Wind Creek. www.windcreekcasino.com

With a few bucks more in gas money, we scooted over to the interstate and restarted on our journey. We actually managed to make it more than 20 minutes this time without something shiny detracting us from our final destination.



Eventually though, hunger got the best of us, and we stopped at a Whataburger. Whataburger, as described by Marc, serves burgers that taste like a Whopper with a McDonald’s bun. It’s topped with jalapenos and grilled onions, and it’s good. It’s damn good. We sat and ate our burgers, toppings spilling all over the place, while we eavesdropped on a conversation between what I gathered to be a pep talk from a district manager to an employee considering a management position. Before leaving, we stopped to tell him that this was our first Whataburger, and it wouldn’t be our last. He was pleased.




The final stretch after Whataburger took about an hour, and I chatted with my way-too-far-away girlfriend while Marc put on his game face and drove straight to Birmingham. After a long day of far too many rest stops, we checked in to our extended stay hotel (complete with a full kitchen and a couch for just $45, and how!) and cashed in on some well-earned rest.

Still chasing triple 7’s,

CPS