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

Leg 1 to 1.5: Dayton to Shepherdsville

There needs to be something said for Southern hospitality, because it is not just an expression. Our first official pit stop after passing through Cincinnati was at a small town off a long stretch of I-65 South. Weary from travel and running on nothing but a 24 oz. coffee, we hopped off an exit in search of a hot meal.



The first stop, at the recommendation of co-pilot Marc, was a liquor store, aptly called Turnpike Liquors. Kentucky is apparently known for its low prices, so we decided it would be a good time to stock up for the night ahead.



This is where Southern hospitality comes in to play. Normally, when you walk into a liquor store at 10:00am, you get judgmental stares from the workers and are subsequently handed a brochure for the nearest AA meeting. In Shepherdsville, walking into a liquor store in the morning seemed about as common as wearing full camo to a Waffle House (more on this later).

Before the door could close, a bubbly brunette behind the counter greeted us with a jovial, “You all look like you could use some help!” Obviously, with Marc in his Fossil shades and I in my Shark Week t-shirt, stood out from the usual crowd. We perused through aisles of booze, eventually settling on a $10 bottle of 100-proof corn whiskey. Speaking of whiskey, never before have I seen such a vast selection. Single barrel, corn, malt, bonded – it was everywhere. We grabbed a bottle, picked up a case of beer, and walked to the counter.



As Marc conversed with Southern Belle #1, I kindly introduced myself to Southern Gentleman #1. Upon placing my case on the counter, he smiled and said, in a heavy Southern draw, “That oughta get ya through lunch, what’re you gonna do after that?” I loved the guy.

Having satisfied our thirst, we sought to find the dingiest, most backwoods breakfast Kentucky had to offer. Unfortunately, Shepherdsville was not exactly known for its culinary prowess, and we were a little pressed for time, so we instead settled on a Waffle House just up the road.

If I was in Pittsburgh, and I walked into a Waffle House, and an elderly gentleman turned from his breakfast and said, “How are you?” I might think he was schizophrenic. In the South, it was just a fine example of Southern hospitality.

We sat and ate arguably the best Waffle House breakfast of our lives, while I listened to two waitresses gab about the Weight Watchers point system (surprisingly, hot dogs are only 2 points).

I ordered a personal favorite, country ham, coupled with a pair of dippy eggs, hash browns (smothered, covered, peppered) and a gravy-smothered biscuit. Marc packed down an all-star combo of eggs, bacon, cream biscuits, and hash browns (smothered, covered, chunked). A word on country ham: sensational. Country ham is salt-cured, making each bite a flaky, salty, chewy piece of amazing. Pair this with a butter-soaked biscuit, and you have a breakfast calorie-laden enough to carry you through any day. I don’t care if it’s a chain, I will say it here: the farther south you go, the better Waffle House gets.

The South is a different place from the North, and in many ways, it’s a good thing. Sure, you might see someone wearing full camo to breakfast, but seeing two strangers strike up a conversation about, well, nothing, is a sight to behold, atleast for two Northerners. Say what you want about the South, but I appreciate it when a 65 yr. old can take a genuine interest in the travels of two idiots from Pittsburgh.

And how about Southern expressions? How many times have you asked someone how they are doing, and they reply with a smile and say, “vertical and breathing?” That’s cooler than, well…forget it. I’ll just stop at the next gas station and hear a comparison a thousand times better than anything I could dream up.

My hope is that one day, someone from Shepherdsville will read this. It may never happen, but if it does, let me say this: I tip my hat to you Shepherdsvillian.

Vertical and breathing,

CPS