CSI: Cherry Log
Oddly enough, about ten minutes after we picked up the rental car, one of my colleagues was driving and slipped around a line of traffic to get to the turn lane. There was an officer at the side of the road and he waved for us to pull over. This is it, I thought. We're headed to a Georgia gulag for sure.
"This is not a passing lane," said the officer, preparing to sick a pack of police dogs on us.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know that."
There was a long moment of silence.
"I'll let you off with a warning this time."
It's a damn good thing I had used the restroom at the rental car place.
Reality proved a little different from my fears. People were friendly and polite. No one shot at us.
I only have one complaint. Every time a Georgia native spoke to me, I kept thinking to myself, "You're in America now. Speak English!"
In the few days we were there, we slept very little, drank whenever we weren't sleeping, watched some baseball, and whined about the middle management in our company. The fact that we also qualify as middle management didn't seem to faze us.
At the "package store" (i.e. place to purchase our liquor), we loaded up. I saw some Landshark Lager and considered it, but eventually went with an extra pale ale from an Atlanta brewery, Sweet Water. It was a good, hoppy beer. If any of you have had the Wingwalker pale ale, it was a little like that. Most of the others bought wine. How crass.
Oh yes, one other complaint. The cabin we used was in Blue Ridge, just north of Cherry Log. We went out to eat at about 7 or 7:30 one night, and every damn place was closed. If any of you live in Georgia, could you write a note to your state legislator about that?
Plus, the five of us had two full days with a semi-legend in our field. Priceless. (Well, not exactly. I can tell you precisely how much I spent.)