We are going back to Alabama tonight, just a for a little joy ride up old highway 231, one of my personal favorite highways. I rank it right up there with U.S. 19 along the west side of Florida. In fact, 231 is just a good swimming hole away from taking the top spot. Driving 231 into Alabama makes me feel all southern in an irrational way. The South is the hot sun glaring off the cotton fields, the patient pace of traffic rolling less than 80 mph, and seeing the green signs for holy ground like Selma and question mark towns like Rehobeth. Sometimes I stop at the outlet mall in Red Level, just to browse the racks of Carhartts and contemplate a switch to full-time overalls.
Overalls, all the time and nothing but, now that’s an aspiration.