Obviously Bertha decided to suck it up yesterday and not leave me stranded. My first stop was a truck repair shop where I tried desperately not to worry about getting taken advantage of -- and after waiting an hour and a half for the head mechanic to return I was informed that they don't work on motorhomes. Argh.

I decided to try to limp my way to my next destination, a small town about 100 miles away called Lafayette. Now say that in your head. Have you got the pronunciation right? Because I was calling it Lah-fay-yet. I should have been pronouncing it lu-FAY-it, or if I was a true native: lu-Fet.

Anyway, I aimed in the direction of lu-Fet and started off. No huge clonking sounds, but the occassional weirdness was heard. My dad called several times posing as AAA, his final suggestion that perhaps I'd gotten bad gas. I stopped at a W/M and purchased the required fixative, then stopped at the gas station and tried not to flinch as I pumped in the required premium gasoline. I only drove about a half hour after that remedy, so I'm not sure whether things are resolved yet -- I'll take Bertha in for a check-up here in the next couple days.

I'm in lu-Fet to visit some friends of my parents. They pastored the church in Germany that my parents <and I guess I as well> attended for a couple years. Although they haven't seen me since I was about three, they welcomed me with open arms and have already overwhelmed me with southern hospitality, though I've only been here about 24 hours.

Last night I attended the prayer meeting at the church where they pastor. The building is on the National Registry, built sometime in the 1800's though I can't remember the specific info. It was another example of something that I've been enjoying throughout my visit to the south -- beautiful houses of worship. I guess I feel I've suffered a bit being raised in the practicality of the northwest with its neverending heritage of churches meeting in gyms. :p

I always thought if I could find a church that met outdoors in a forest, I'd attend it in a heartbeat, but I'm finding these southern churches to be a pretty good alternative. At County Line last night they even had the original benches -- straight-backed hard wood to make good and sure you don't nod off. ;)

Maybe it was because I just finished that Lincoln book, but when someone last night mentioned the War Between the States I was a little jarred. I know from exhaustive, in-depth research into southern culture <repeat viewings of Steel Magnolias and Sweet Home Alabama> that the Civil War means something different in this part of the country, but it was a unique experience hearing someone reference the war that way so off-handedly.

Besides the Civil War, we also talked about pronunciation a bit and I heard a marvelous joke. The person telling it said it happened around here, but whether that was a set-up to the joke or it really is a true story I don't know. A guy walked into the bank and asked for Mr. Frizzle. The clerk said we don't have a Mr. Frizzle, but we have a Mr. Fri-zell. The man said go tell Mr. Fri-zell that his father Mr. Frizzle is waiting for him.

Ba dum bum. Remember that the subject line said bad jokes so you were warned. ;)

This morning as I sat eating grits, my host placed a call to see whether I could get on the local radio or tv stations. A few minutes and a few assurances that I was 'good people' later, I had my first tv interview scheduled. I'll be on a local station about 8:15 Sunday morning, eastern time. It seems I've stumbled across that unfortunate area I read about a few months ago -- the one the federal government chose to rather haphazardly split into different time zones -- so they have to clarify which time zone they're referring to.

Anyhow, I'll make my television debut, then pop over to the radio station for an interview, then hopefully buzz back and make it to church at County Line to hear the southern gospel choir rock out.