There won’t be too much action today, as, contrary to the threats, lofty promises and general air of “We’ll do what we want/when we want” that permeates every kilobyte on this weblog, we’re staying put in a moldy hotel room, just north of Louisville, on the Indiana side. The project load has gotten the better of us, and, only a couple days into this leg, we are forced to pull off and get down to business. This is how we do it.

With that said, our only mission for the day today is to, “Get a bunch of rounds sent off to waiting clients.” That and eat healthy, get enough sleep, learn a new Richmond Fontaine song or two, and hell, maybe grab PJ for a whiskey on the rocks somewhere, late in the night.

We’ll detail yesterday for ya, in trade…

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Bloomington was exactly what we expected: A small, comfy college town crawling with students, the streets lined with college town joints. Iowa City, Madison, Oxford, Ann Arbor all come to mind. I grabbed a couple record’s at TD’s, picked up some guitar strings at Roadworthy guitar and amp, thought about the Coug some and hit the road south.

The Hoosier Forest. Or, “Indiana Hill Country.” We climbed gently as we head south, and the blamy spring day suddenly got gray and ornery, and then the rain came down. A hard rain. Smelled good.

196. “Indiana hill country.”
197. “Rain on the scarecrow.”

Flying down highway 37, I pulled off in Mitchell to pay some respects at the Gus Grissom monument. Some guts. Sitting atop that bomb, ready to make space history, with a big Indiana smile on his face. An American hero.

198. “Mitchell, Indiana: Home of Gus Grissom.”
199. “Interstellar bravado.”

On way out of town I pulled into the Trading Post, possibly to be outfitted in some Western duds. I was enthusiastically greeted by a couple dames with twangy accents and big smiles. After some perusing, we got to talking about cowboys out West, just exactly what I’m doing on the road and their big night out dancing in a neighboring town. They were even nice enough to let me pound my name into my belt. Thank you, gals.

200. “The Trading Post.”
201. “Jane and Linda: All smiles.”
202. “Stamped: AARON JAMES DRAPLIN - NORTH AMERICA.”
203. “Untitled. Just because.”

Fellas, the next time you roll through Mitchell, be sure to stop into the Trading Post to meet Linda and Jane. Bring yer dancing shoes. They’ll be sure to show ya a good time.

South again, and into the hills, into a little town called Paoli. The old stomping grounds of a young, shredding, amped Ryan Coulter. Not to be fucked with, then, or now. I found the famous Paoli Peaks and stood there looking at the 200 or so feet of elevation, smiling. I’m no stranger to the hometown ski resort experience. Wouldn’t trade it for nothing. Some peaks, indeed.

204. “Ready to catch some air.”
205. “Those peaks we spoke of.”

Back down into the lowlands I crept, shooting towards Louisville on a beautiful, quiet Highway 150.

Friends, family, colleagues and enemies: This is why we drive…

206. “The answer we were looking for.”

Chambersburg, man, Chambersburg. I’m flying along, and all the sudden I roll up to this old downtown and come across quite possibly Southern Indiana’s greatest wealth of oldtimer signs. Breathtaking.

207. “So much to check out.”
208. “Looking up.”
209. “To whoever keeps the place up: “Thanks.”

I stood there in that road, scratching the thin spot on the head, in complete awe. There must been 200 signs in all states of beauty and decay. Floored. So America. “Ain’t that America…”

I didn’t want to leave. I pulled away feeling real good, thinking about an era long ago.

210. “We intend to.”
211. “One last one, before calling it a day.”

Hammered all the way to Louisville, pulling off before I crossed the river, to lock down accommodations on the Indiana side. Fayetteville? Something like that. I loaded in and got down to business. With Hoss just across the river I felt the tug of brotherhood calling, but got real mean and got a mountain of stuff done, quietly.

Ryno is coming down from Minne on Sunday, so, I gotta be freed up for pretty much all next week. We’ve got a couple days together, all three of us, with a good set of wheels, some scratch and all sorts of adventures around us. Knoxville? Appalachia? PIttsburgh? Horse Cave? Doesn’t matter. The Hoss, Hoss and Hoss Spring Tour.