Most adventures begin with a hero pondering life or in an epic clash with some antagonist. There are a few that begin with a hero at rest in a tranquil environment experiencing life as it should be only to be interrupted by a damsel in distress or an offer he can’t refuse. Clive Cussler was wickedly good at those types of setups. But this adventure didn’t start that way. It started with a nagging feeling that I should get some RV maintenance done and was followed by a loud “BANG” like a shotgun blast at 65 miles per hour on US 27.
We pulled off the lonely stretch of the highway to see what had taken place only to find one of the four camper tires completely destroyed itself, another was losing air and a third in bad shape and likely to go any time. The fourth was okay since it had been replaced on a previous “adventure”. Triage time. We got to work on the one that was in pieces and had to be replaced right now. Fortunately, I had the tools (many thanks to a dear friend and travel companion who encouraged me to buy the impact driver!) and the rig was undamaged by the explosion. About the time we finished getting the spare on and finished using the last of the battery power in our compressor to put some air in the tire that was losing air, along came a local kid to check on us. It turned out he was a nice young bull rider whose stepfather worked at a local tire store (the ONLY local tire store) in a small town named Edison, Georgia. The shop just happened to have tires in stock that fit us and was twelve miles away. So off we limped on three and a half tires at 45 mph. They were great people who got us fixed up at a reasonable price. It’s nice to know they still exist. Hats off to small town American tire stores! That’s twice now. The first night was remarkably tranquil after exercise in making sure I was proficient with our tools and the good people of Edison, Ga.
Setting off at a reasonable hour the next day fully caffeinated and expecting anything, the drive to the airfield in Rome, Georgia was tedious but not perilous. We arrived to wind our way in through back gates, met a hostess who gave us our packets and directions and urged us “Not to run over Perry because he has to make me dinner”. We met the jovial Perry up the hill and just inside the grassy airfield gates (he was never in any danger of being run over I assure you). He directed us down the hill and backed in to our spot within 125 yards of the bluff overlooking the whole places and the best seat in the house.
The event we had journeyed to and driven so far out of our way for was Wings Over North Georgia. An annual airshow that was supposed to feature none other than the Blue Angels. However, the Naval Aviators are considered “necessary” workers during a government shutdown as part of the fleet, apparently they aren’t as The Blue Angels and the act was canceled as part of the airshow. As disappointing as that was, there was plenty else going on. Getting sixty RVs of all shapes and sizes onto and around a modest sized airfield was a show itself. Volunteers guided us in and stuffed us side by side on a “first come, first served” basis (also who bought tickets first). Because of my wife’s excellent planning and organization, we found ourselves planted on prime real estate. Friday was practice day and couldn’t have been more stunning. Wispy clouds drifted across the otherwise crisp blue sky. Close parked neighbors dragged chairs to the top of the bluff with their favorite beverage and a liberal dose of sunscreen as aircraft began to arrive.
There on the airfield nestled in closely and up on the bluff parked in our chairs and on blankets. Children played, music wafted over speakers people chatted and a funny thing happened…no one wanted to miss any of the practice action, so few were staring at their phones and ignoring the world. People were actually talking to each other. We met fantastic people. A structural engineer about to retire, a corporate security guy who used to build model airplanes like me when we were kids and eagerly stood by with his camera. Parents whose children were playing with helicopter spinners from all walks of life all ooooh and ahhhing with eyes on the sky. The show on the ground was almost as delightful as the one in the sky.
Sun set and the show didn’t stop, it just changed. Aircraft flew in the setting sun, fireworks blasted and the drone show was breathtaking. Finally, we all packed it in and headed back to our rigs. Most of us tired. Some sunburned and all wondering what in the world this would have been like with the addition of the Blue Angels.
As great as time as we were having there was bound to be a twist and Saturday morning brought it. Weather. The weather report was forecasting rain Saturday night/Sunday morning. Given how soft the airfield was when bone dry, we decided that we should mid afternoon pull out and head for a campground to the south. The idea of being caught in a muddy quagmire with an 11,000 plus pound fifth wheel behind us was not appealing.
Adventures are not always what we expect. Sometimes we roll along expecting to change tire when we get back in town and fate has us meeting great people at Edison Tire. Sometimes we expect to be standing atop our camper taking pictures of the airshow and instead we are sitting next to a group of new-best-friends admiring the show together for hours and sharing stories. You expect to stay for one period and instead stay for another. While resting up at the next camp group I met a supremely talented wildlife photographer and his wife two campsites away who were gracious and shared knowledge and hospitality. Adventure is not a novel but it is unpredictable and savory.
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On Beyond Blue 