In true vagabond style, we left the comforts of the Brewster’s home, and all of the delicious meals that came with it, without having a destination in mind. The sun began to set as we meandered through the hills of northern Georgia, and we started looking for a temporary home for the night. We pulled over on the side of the road to examine a map and look for a road “off the beaten path” where we thought we could get away with squatting for a short time. We hadn’t been stopped for 3 minutes before red and blue flashing lights pulled into my rear view mirror. I was sure I had been caught before I had ever even broken the law, just my luck. Instead we met a real live Gomer Pyle. With an accent so thick I only really understood half of what he said, he gave us directions to a quaint little spot beside a creek that he said would be ok for an overnight stay. Unfortunately, as he sent us off into the dark, neither Cels nor I could remember anything past the first turn. His instructions literally told us to go to the top of a hill and turn past the closed food bank. Bare in mind we were in Georgia HILL COUNTRY so this meant we had to distinguish between all of the tattered shacks on the road that without an exaggeration undulated like a sin chart. (nerdy math reference?? Perhaps!)
After about 10 hill tops and countless buildings we were both about ready to give up. And then out of nowhere, Gomer himself appeared, and proceeded to lead us, our own police escort, to a secluded creek side abode. And perhaps best of all was the appearance of a break in the trees big enough to turn “The Moment” around, meaning I didn’t have to back out the 4-5 miles of narrow winding cliff hugging forest service road. Sigh.
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