Nashville International Airport

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Friday morning. Wee hours trek in the darkness to Newark, for boarding of an on-time flight to NashvilleThe tiny plane has no overhead space suited for even the smallest roll-on bag, and so everything is gate-checked. For which they do not charge me, so I’m all right with that. 

I sleep as much as the discomfort of air travel will permit, trying to put myself in a position to be drive-ready and travel-perky at the other end. Because everything was gate-checked, virtually the entire flight must wait on the ramp for bags. Mine is far into the later half to be removed, but I am in no hurry at present. I make the requisite stops post-flight, and in short order am second in line at the Budget counter. I proceed to wait 30+ minutes to even begin the process, while 15 more people line up. I’m not in the most terrible hurry, but still… people have reservations with pickup times; in much the same way this should help ensure the correct number of cars on site, shouldn’t it also ensure proper staffing?

But in short order I have possession of my rental car and my GPS in place and programmed (though initially it is very confused as to my location which is only fair since, after all, I am a bit befuddled initially by the time zone change).

And so my journey truly begins.

I turn on the radio, expecting country music. This is, after all, Nashville. So I am surprised when Katie Perry comes on, making a Friday night disaster and subsequent hangover sound so troublingly perky. I try all the pre-sets, but none of them is country. They could, in fact, be any pop channel back home.  Not that I listen to country music (excepting cross-overs, of course) but still, I expected Brad or Carrie or Keith or Taylor more than Katie. In any case, I find something suited to another 2 hours in the car (or as long as reception holds out), and start the adventure.

I am, by this point, desperate for a cup of coffee, but I don’t want to try to negotiate Nashville for it. I’ll be back here on Monday, anyway. Instead, I get myself as far as Route 65, southbound toward Huntsville Alabama, before I start looking for exits. Brentwood, TN is the first city along my route, and I smile a little as I pick an exit that direction to find myself a cup of coffee and a little breakfast.

When I walk in, an old Dolly Parton song is just ending and I think for a moment that – old though it may be – at least I’ve hit signs of the country, after all.   But the next song on is Olivia Newton-John singing It Gets Me Nowhere, which is followed by some other, ever less-countryish tune of the same era. Still, the sentiment of the song, juxtaposed with where I am, gives me a private-joke internal chuckle. I hum along with songs of my childhood as I settle in to enjoy breakfast in a brand new locale.  And a new locale is always a good thing, in my book.

About aka gringita
Flotsam generator. Amateur photographer. Avid traveler. Christ follower.

4 Responses to Southbound

  1. Poor Route 65…the forgotten younger brother of its more glamourous sibling, immortalized forever in song and film and always waiting for somebody, anybody to get their kicks there.


  2. Pingback: Huntsville arrival « aka Gringita

  3. Pingback: Chattanooga and environs (includes photos) « aka Gringita

  4. Pingback: Onward and … northward « aka Gringita

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