Obie Trice is the best rapper alive.

Wayne might be tied with him, but he's becoming so postmodern it's kinda hard to tell.

Now where was I? Oh right, the South: Spring break was a nine-day road trip from Atlanta to Chicago. How can that take nine days, you say, O imaginary reader who serves as a rhetorical device? Why, you go by way of North Carolina, Kentucky, and New Orleans.

Day 1:
I arrived Wednesday shortly after 11:00 PM. Zach (The Car Owner), Jason (The Pikey), Boz (The Comic Relief), and Jen (The Questionably Intrepid), are waiting at the airport. We drive north. Atlanta, I hardly knew ye.

Day 2:
We visit Ty Cobb's grave in booming Royston. A forty is puored. There is a reading from the book of Cobb ("You are driving me to Reno tonight", Cobb told his new biographer).

Later, we see Tallulah Gorge, largest conyon east of the Mississippi. There are waterfalls, gorgeous views, moonpies, and extravagant numbers of stairs. At the gorge floor, we venture into restricted areas, and sun ourselves up on the rocks of the river crossing. The crossing consists entirely of large, half-submerged rocks. Naturally, I venture halfway across, agile as a mountain goat. Before I can embarass myslef on the truly difficult portion, Jen falls in the river. She is recovered swiftly, but this necessitates a hasty retreat to the car (did I mention the stairs?).

Day2, Part2:
We attempt to drive the scenic Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina. This is harder than finding a 500-mile-long tourist attraction sounds. Eventually, we find an entrance, a visitor's center, and an abrupt closure of the road. Due to possible avalanches, we are told. Not to be deterred, we set out the opposite direction along the parkway, and are rewarded with a series of spectacular vistas.

It was shortly thereafter this that we nearly died.

As we approached the first tunnel of the Parkway, a sign indicated "Turn Lights On". Zach, driving, felt confident the lights were on. As we entered the tunnel in high spirits, we turned up the music and began accelerating, we realized rapidly that 1) the lights were not on, 2) the tunnel had no lights of its own, 3) the tunnel was curving. Zach managed to break and swerve, barely crossing the midline of the road (this was clear from the skid marks). After this he turned the headlights on. Then we headed into a bright white light.

Four tunnels later, we discovered that this part of the Parkway also dead-ended, fortunately at another marvelous overlook. As we stood gazing at the setting sun, there descended from the mountain a bearded man with flowing hair, with a companion. And yea, verily, he showed us the true path (to the ridgeline). He called himself Fiddle Dave, and invited us to his concert in Asheville.

After declaring Fiddle Dave our new savior, kicking USGS property, and identifying the sight of a midget killing, we head for Kentucky, listening to World War Z all the way. This is all the more compellign since we abandon the main highway in favor of Carolina backroads, which show an incredible favor for switchbacks. On arrival in Lexington, we discover all rooms are occupied as a result of a high school basketball tournament. We drive another 20 minutes, find a room in Georgetown, and collapse exhausted.

TO BE CONTINUED (AND POSSIBLY EDITED)...