Page 27 - RidingOnSummer

The Luckiest

Honky in Georgia

We can’t ride the American South at the moment, so The Bear
remembers when we could.
© J Peter “The Bear” Thoeming #675

t was 1980 and I was on the last lap of my RTW ride, I pushed my way through the swinging doors and the most
through the US. I had been using a little book that listed amazing thing happened.
what seemed like all the campgrounds in America, and I
Ihad learned to rely on it. But when I arrived at the address Everything stopped.
which my book assured me was the one and only campground
in Atlanta, Georgia, I found a building site instead. Lacking a Conversation and even the piano were silenced as if on a secret
backstop that was within my budget, I decided to splurge. I signal. People even stopped with their drinks halfway to their
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found a telephone booth and rang the YMCA.
to me – all of those eyes were in black faces. I looked back
Yes, they had a room and it wasn’t even too expensive. The and my common sense kicked in with a vengeance. Suddenly
bloke on the phone gave me directions, and before long I rolled I remembered the street scene. Everyone had been black out
up in front of an impressive building downtown. The clerk saw there, too. I can remember thinking “if I run, they’ll catch me”.
the travel-stained XL250 and suggested that I bring it inside
and park it in a corridor “where I can see it”. Now some people Fortunately for me, the layout of the place was such that
might have pricked up their ears at that, but that’s exactly what the bar itself ran along the side of the room to my left, and
had been happening to me all over Asia, so I didn’t twig. a bartender was standing quite close to me. I looked at him,
my eyes just as wide as his, and said the only thing that came
A quick shower – it had been a hot, dry, dusty day – and a fresh to my mind, continuing my line of thought from before I had
t-shirt (I only had one pair of pants) and I was ready for dinner. opened the swinging door to this…situation. I said, “Can I get a
The streets around the Y looked like some kind of culinary beer?”
paradise to me with every kind of Southern cuisine available
for what seemed to me like very reasonable prices. I wandered The bartender looked at me with wrinkled brow and replied,
DURXQG DQG ¿QDOO\ VHWWOHG RQ D SODFH WKDW FODLPHG WR R໤HU WKH “Where you from?”--“Australia,” I said. Conversation started up
best fried chicken in the world. I have since seen that claim again, the piano player resumed his work and the bartender
UHSHDWHG D IHZ GR]HQ WLPHV E\ GL໤HUHQW UHVWDXUDQWV DQG VWUHHW turned away to draw me a beer. All around me, people took
stalls in the South, and you know what? They’ve always been deep drafts from their glasses as if relieved of a serious worry.
right. 2QH YHU\ ODUJH FOHDUO\ YHU\ ¿W DQG FDVXDOO\ ZHOO GUHVVHG SDWURQ
came over and said, “Hey, Aussie, you from Sydney?” I agreed
So it was this time, and I lingered over my meal and made
a few notes in my little book, including one about the last that yes, I was and he grinned. “That is one great town,” he
campsite in Atlanta being turned into a high-rise. Outside day added, and proceeded to reminisce about ‘Reesches’ beer and
turned to dusk and dusk turned to night before I paid and the Sydney girls. Especially the Sydney girls. He was a Marine,
headed back in the direction of the YMCA. and had visited Sydney on R&R from Vietnam. So had several
of his buddies who gathered round and regaled me with stories
Had I been American, I might have noticed something about of barbecues and beach parties… and girls. Especially girls. My
the other people in the street. But I was, and am, Australian heartfelt thanks to the Sydney girls of the ‘60s.
so it never occurred to me that my face was the only white
one to be seen. I suppose even if I had noticed it, it would not I still had not been allowed to buy a beer by midnight but had
have bothered me. Oblivious of what in retrospect I seem to downed more than I can remember, courtesy of my Marine
remember were some curious looks, I made my way down the friends. I said, “Fellas, I have to ride tomorrow. I better get
street. back to the YMCA.”
“Okay,” said one of my newfound best friends. “But you ain’t
Before long I noticed a Western-themed bar to one side. It had
those swinging half doors, like the ones the good guy always goin’ by yourself.” So four of them, each about a foot taller than
stumbles out of backwards when the bad guy treacherously hits me, surrounded me and walked me back to the Y. As we left the
him, before recovering and throwing said bad guy across the bar, I heard someone behind me say:
table with the card game going on, inside. There was some very “There goes the luckiest honky in Georgia.”
passable piano playing coming through that door, and a relaxed
hubbub of conversation. Not surprisingly, there are no photos of this escapade.

RIDING ON 27