We were making good time until we hit a traffic jam in Nashville. An overhead sign warned of a partial blockage for the entrance ramp to the next expressway on our route. Ken flipped on the CB to hear what the truckers had to say about it. Soon a strong southern voice rose above the electronic babble to report that a bale of hay had fallen off a truck and was blocking one lane. OK - we could live with that. But then he added that $%^^&**)) hay had been laying there blocking the road for the last seven weeks and he was sick and tired of the delays it caused. Now that was hard to believe. A chorus of #$%^^&* clogged the airwaves. Truckers have a hard time stringing a few words together without profanity. As we inched along tempers grew hotter and we hoped the truckers next to us weren't the ones that sounded ready to leap out of their vehicles and beat someone to a pulp. We inched along moving to the left when the truckers said that was the lane to be in. All of a sudden the traffic ahead began to move and we were rolling once again. We never did see that bale of hay or any other reason for that half hour delay. But since that was the worst thing that happened all day, no complaints from us.
It would have been nice to get a bit farther south, but Atlanta is less than an hour ahead. We would have gotten there during rush hour. Atlanta has traffic that rivals our own in metro Chicago. The last thing they need is another RV on the road during rush hour. Everyone from the north funnels through here on the way to Florida. We'll tackle that city tomorrow - hopefully without bales of hay in our way.