Respect the Yellow Line

I live in the Land of Curves and motor cycle people actually make trips to our neck of the woods to ride them. I've been told there are 39 curves in 13 miles back in these parts. I pondered that statement awhile and asked myself, "Ken ye site me jes one straight piece, I ask ye?" I'm trying to learn Appalachian. I love it here, but my yankeeness sticks out, can't seem to help it after all these years, still.

Anyways, coming around the curves back in these parts a body doesn't expect cross traffic. Doesn't happen. But, its Labor Day weekend, and the fun is in full progress. We have customers up at the best flea market. The place was packed and I found a tight little spot to park my Geo. Nobody shows you where to park, you just try to be sure they can still get around you.Then lock the doors and don't look back.

Well, the "hardware" man was very nice and I bought some pipes today, mostly the transitional pieces needed to get the thing married to the stove, through the window and headed skyward. I also found the stove "handle"  thingy you lift the lids off the stove top so you can feed it. That little lever cost  $5, well worth it.

So, traffic being what it was, even on the back roads, I'd meet cars and trucks, motorcycles and what more, just crossing the line every which way. Luckily I learn quickly and stayed well over to the edge in my lane. All is well. I take the path of the rabbit, maybe the fox, or even the wolf. But, by god I know I ain't the grizzly bear on the road, able to take on all comers and top of the food chain. I keep to my side and pay attention. Otherwise, how can I go find my stove pipes, spend money at Dairy Queen, and pick apples from a wonderful local grower?

Live, let live. If you wanna die, do it on your own time.

Whew, felt good to get that off my chest.