The Hazards of Running with the Dukes

There’s nothing like a close encounter of the General Lee kind to remind you of the importance of temporary car insurance. I found this out the hard way one day in 1982 when I took a wrong turn onto a Georgia country road. I had flown from my home in New Hampshire down to Atlanta to research an article on the Civil War that I had contracted to write for a major national news magazine. The subject interested me well enough and, since my travel expenses were being taken care of by the magazine, I figured it would be a good opportunity to become a little more acquainted with the South and its culture, something with which, growing up in the Northeast, I had had little contact. I had heard that everybody was polite down there and I was looking forward to experiencing Southern hospitality firsthand.

When I got off the plane and made my way to the car rental counter, I got my first taste of the genial South. The young lady behind the counter greeted me with a big smile, pulled up my reservation and, as she handed me the keys to the Buick Regal I had reserved she asked me, “Y’all want temporary insurance with that?”

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She was young and pretty, her smile was as sweet as pecan pie, and the magazine was picking up the tab. I glanced at her name tag so I could add a little southern gentleman to my response. “Why not, Brenda”

There was no GPS in those days so I relied on directions from Brenda to get me to my hotel. After a good night’s sleep filled with dreams of bootleggers and battlegrounds, I headed down to the lobby, picked up a map from the stand next to the front desk and headed over to the diner across the street to find out what all the fuss was about something called biscuits and grits.

A half hour later, with my stomach full and my veins no doubt clogged with cholesterol, I rolled into the rent-a-car and went in search of history. Forty-five minutes later, after following the map through many miles of beautiful Georgia countryside that had by now thankfully recovered from Sherman’s thoroughly ungentlemanly encroachment, I reached an unmarked fork in the road that wasn’t to be found anywhere on my map. Ever the adventurous one, I flipped a coin and, when it came up heads, I took the right fork. Twenty minute later, after trying to find my way back to that fateful fork, I was reconsidering my faith in the power of chance. I was thoroughly lost.

After driving around in circles for a while, I stopped to gather my wits about me, desperately trying to banish random images of the movie “Deliverance” from my hyperactive imagination. Sitting in the car, despairing of ever finding my way out of this mess, I heard something in the distance that sounded like sirens. I seemed to be out of options so I executed what must have been a twelve point turn on the narrow rain-rutted road until I was pointed in the right direction. I set off down the road towards the sirens, hoping to chase an ambulance back to the main road, but as I rounded a corner I was met by an orange blur headed straight for me. I veered sharply to the right and drove straight into a ditch as three cop cars sped by in pursuit of the car I had narrowly missed.

I was counting my lucky stars and inventorying body parts when I heard someone shout, “Cut!”

One glance at my rear view mirror and suddenly everything fell into place. Standing in the middle of the road was a red-faced man surrounded by a camera crew. I realized that the orange blur that had nearly clobbered me was none other than the General Lee, the car the Duke boys drove around in “The Dukes of Hazard”. I had just broken up a TV car chase. That director looked none too pleased but I knew I had a story I could milk for free drinks for years to come.

Eventually, I got the car pulled out of the ditch and, despite the inconvenience I had caused, I was able to secure a couple of autographs while I waited. The director was a Civil War nut so we had plenty to talk about while the crew set up another take of the shot I had ruined. I’m happy to say that I finished the article and returned home both a little more relaxed and grateful that I had let a smiling Southern belle talk me into getting temporary insurance.

Grits are now a regular part of my diet, but I still don’t know what they are.

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