Lucky and I weren’t jazzed leaving our friends on the creek, but it was a good, dry, sunny day for driving and they were only going to have eyes for the Alabama-Mississippi State game so we decided that at some point we were going to have to go so it might as well be today. Lucky perked up just leaving NYC, and he got a bunch of energy back in Nashville, but the guy really came back to life on Cypress Creek in Florence, Alabama. He stopped limping, played in leaves, and yesterday he splashed in the creek, chewed on a submerged log and even got his belly wet. He was happier there than I’d seen him in awhile, and so in addition to being the birthplace of some of the funkiest, most unique music ever, The Shoals will always be known (to me) as the place where Lucky got his groove back. I’m not exactly retracing the steps I made two years ago, but pretty close, so I decided that tonight I’d stop in Hot Springs, Arkansas, a town I stopped in briefly on my way east. I’d hoped to have a chance to come back here, so it would have been silly to pass it up. Unfortunately the motel I stayed at last time is closed hopefully just for the season, though it looks a few boards shy of permanently closed. I found another dog-friendly place right downtown for the cheap, slow-season rate of $65/night. It’s a historic hotel with a baby grand in the lobby, though DJ Jazzy Something is playing in the bar and based on the balloons it looks like a kid’s birthday party. The hall on my floor smells exactly like swisher sweets, but we have a balcony and access to some really amazing mineral and thermal water. There’s a $55 bath and massage special, and since tomorrow is supposed to be rainy and snowy I might just take myself a personal day. I knew my top priority upon arrival would be taking Lucky for a walk, so I stopped en route for a fried catfish dinner togo. I actually thought about having friend catfish for lunch but I was forced to opt for almond butter from the jar because every roadside restaurant between Florence and Memphis (northern Mississippi, for those not in the know) was closed. I wondered if Saturday is a religious day in that part of the bible belt, but didn’t think so, and then I realized that the restaurants were most likely closed due to the South’s second religion: football. Once on the interstate I stopped at a family-style restaurant at a truck stop and I would have sat at the lunch counter but it was for professional drivers only. (Is that a way of weeding out the females?) I bought the worst cup of coffee of my life in there. I finally found an open catfish joint right off I-40. There was only one customer in there, but that didn’t stop me from ordering a three-piece (plus a bonus piece!) dinner. They were out of hushpuppy batter, so I got fries and was offered a free piece of pie or salad bar trip to make up for the inconvenience. I wanted neither, so the sweet girl hooked me up with a jug of sweet tea that seriously increased the strength in my right arm until I got halfway through it. I got my ticket and went to pay in the gas station next door which rents movies and sells everything from thermal underwear to fly swatters. It also offers such conveniences as coin-op laundry machines, a dish-washing station and penny slot machines. As you can see in one of the below pictures they’re having some trouble in the rest room, though there was one clean, operable toilet. My meal was cooked to order, so I had a chance to look around the place, which “is” a smoking facility and which does not allow anyone under the age of 21 inside. That’s clever. They also have a sign that says they reserve the right to refuse service to anyone at any time posted to a piece of lattice and paper towels and ashtrays on the tables. I’m so glad I actually enjoy and am not turned off by a divey place, because that catfish tasted like it was fried in butter.
Posted on: Sun, 16 Nov 2014 03:13:09 +0000
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