So here's the deal -- on Saturday the sixth, i.e. two days ago, the fiancee (Beth) and I drove up to Nashville. For a couple of reasons, actually, needing to get out of Huntsville and into somewhere with some actual, y'know, culture and stuff, wanting a simple change of scenery, wanting some time together. Et cetera. But mainly so I could pick up some really kickass beer that, due to bullshit post-Prohibition laws, are simply not available here in Alabama.
(Psst: Free Beer!)
We had a really nice time up in Nashville, even though I only had about two pints' worth of beer the whole time and Beth had a small glass of Lindemann's Framboise at the Beer Sellar, but on the way back we ran into some pretty heavy traffic. By which I mean that two lanes of southbound Nashville traffic (this was around mile marker 61 on I-65, if anyone cares) were backed up bumper-to-bumper for about three or four miles. Took us about forty-five minutes to get out of it.
Now, being a fairly intelligent and sophisticated guy (ha!), I tend to assume that when I'm on an interstate that's backed up for miles on a Saturday night, that we're seeing a current wreck (or possibly the longitudinal wave caused by the aftereffects of a wreck, amounting to the same thing over short time scales). So when I'm sitting in the car wishing that I wasn't stuck in traffic, at least I take heart in the fact that I'm not the unlucky son of a bitch who actually got into the accident, and whenever I'm with Beth, I can always be thankful that we're both safe and, y'know, still breathing and all.
So what happens when we get through the traffic and start seeing over the hill to the end of the jam? While there are several flashing police lights visible in the darkness, they're not exactly helping out with a wreck. Oh, no, they're simply directing traffic....
...towards the Williamson County Fair.
I mean, I understand that there's a certain segment of the population that really likes the sort of old-fashioned pleasures that can be found at a fair, like cotton candy and tilt-a-whirls and voluntary inbreeding, but we're talking about a county fair that's less than twenty miles from one of the most cosmopolitan and entertaining cities in the southeast. And is the country music capital of the world, if you'd rather drown some tears in your beers.
I just don't get it. Were they selling crack at the Williamson county fair? Was there some giant orgy about to take place that Beth and I missed? Or is a county fair really just that great of a draw? If anyone knows, please shoot me an email, because I'm honestly curious what would draw that kind of crowd at that hour on a Saturday night.