<![CDATA[Not My Boys - The Blog]]>

<![CDATA[Not My Boys - The Blog]]>Mon, 16 Mar 2026 09:57:49 -0400Weebly<![CDATA[An Ode to Ms. Betty]]>Sun, 15 Mar 2026 20:50:55 GMThttp://www.notmyboys.com/the-blog/an-ode-to-ms-betty

“Life is not fair.”

This was one of my late mother’s favorite sayings, no doubt designed to help her children manage the inevitable low points in an hour/day/week/month/year. But today 48 year old me finds it applicable to the passing of one of the most roundly adored citizens of Greenville, the irreproachable, irreplaceable, iridescent Betty Farr.

Betty Farr lived a dynamic life with more titles than a library:
Christian.
Daughter.
Sister.
Wife.
Mother.
Grandmother (“Bebe”).
Great Grandmother.
Matriarch.
Sweetheart.
Friend.
Neighbor.
Entrepreneur.
Teacher.
Executive.
Storyteller.
Philanthropist.
Chair.
Hall of Famer.
Honoree.
Recipient.
Inspirer.
Bulldog.
Honey Day Sponsor.
Legend.

But also important are the titles that Betty Farr did not have.

Enemy.
Gossip.
Braggart.
Climber.
Adversary.
Conniver.
Charlatan.
Partisan.

She leaned into - insisted on - congeniality when vanity seems ever on the march. She implored generations of children that “if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all” - and she meant it.

Ms. Betty lived a life that the rest of us can barely conceive of, much less execute. It was as if kindness was her life force, with happiness coursing through her veins.

Think about it:

When is the last time you made someone feel the way Ms. Betty made you feel?

Her mere presence brightened my day to the point that I began to think of her as part of my own family. I was so in awe of her that I have asked for her autograph on multiple occasions.

In fact, raise your hand if you think you had a “special” relationship with her.

(2,000+ hands go up, from kings and queens to those eating pork and beans, and everyone in between).

And you did…just like literally thousands of other people. And that is after she POURED in to her actual flesh and blood, whom she always prioritized. I loved our Christmas Eve visit each year when she would show me what she had planned for her family, which by 2025 wrapped all the way around the downstairs, from the Herschel Walker picture to the Johnny Carson picture (IFKYK).

That is what happens when a person spends nearly a century, across four generations, tirelessly thinking of others before herself. She hosted community performances of Easter, Halloween, and Christmas in her residence and at venues as diverse as elementary schools and nursing homes for more than SIXTY YEARS. Her last one was December 7, 2025. It was a packed house and she still had her fastball, telling mesmerizing stories and leading gleeful songs, 92 years young. I cannot begin to tell you how happy it makes me that my children were there that day to help as Frosty and Santa (they aged out of watching, just as their father had aged out of watching in the 1980s). I also cannot begin to tell you how sorrow overtook me when the terrible news of her passing reached me on Thursday morning, tears streaming down my cheeks as I tried to process the day I truly never expected to come. Frankly, I don’t think any of us did. I mean look at her on Honey Day 2018, looking like a doggone twenty-something. She was invincible.

My mom was a Cheves and the families go back to a time when the current Greenville was just a twinkle in the eye. The friendship has continued for decades and I am glad to say that I learned barbecue from Judd and Betty Farr, and the first time I ever did a whole hog was with their help. Each one, teach one. Greenville has changed mightily since her birth in 1933, but Betty Farr never did.

It is true - life is not fair. Because if life was fair then Betty Farr would have lived on this Earth forever, entertaining and inspiring generations for time immemorial. It is not to be, and we are left to accept that she is now with Jesus and our community is diminished now that Ms. Betty has passed. What can last for eternity, however, is for each of us to honor her legacy by making a better effort to follow her timeless example.

When is the last time you made someone feel the way Ms. Betty made you feel?

Betty Farr died on March 12, 2026.

Filed/RS

]]><![CDATA[Race To The Tree]]>Sat, 30 Dec 2023 03:07:56 GMThttp://www.notmyboys.com/the-blog/december-29th-2023

Christmas is a special day for many of us. Before we were reduced to one post per year because (insert your favorite excuse here), we wrote about Christmas activities such as lights and The Polar Express, and of course the tree itself.

While the whole day and even the day before are meaningful, magic happens for children and parents alike on Christmas morning. The anticipation has built for days and weeks and it is time to find out if Santa came to our house.

In the Sherard house as in yours, the children get up earlier than normal as the excitement reaches a fever pitch. There is only one rule - nobody goes downstairs until both Mom and Dad are awake. This allows Mom to be ready to see the joy that all of her hard work has created and Dad - well, Dad takes out his phone and after checking to see how his fantasy football team did last night (I’m leading in the semifinals of the playoffs with a 54% chance to win!!!) the video camera gets ready for action - poised to capture the Race to the Tree.

Let’s break it down.

Here is the frame by frame analysis of the 2023 Race to the Tree. Still image first, description under it. The full video is at the end of the post.

0:00
Ann Fisher and Goodman have both taken up their positions, one stair from the top. Nineteen steps and a right turn between each of them and a clear shot to the den.

They sit side by side, waiting patiently (they are listening!!!) with backsides planted on the wood. They enjoy the confidence of knowing they have been good this year and reward awaits.

That being said, this is serious business.

Goodman is in the away whites, while Ann Fisher represents the home colors; both seek to curry favor with their Christmas-themed pajamas.

At the post:
Ann Fisher - age 8, crafty and experienced, -170 money line
Goodman - age 6, wily and fearless, +150 money line

Ann Fisher has turned back to Dad to look for the green light, all smiles, hoping sight over sound will give her an edge out of the blocks. Quite uncharacteristically for the older sibling she has one leg out of position and if not quickly corrected that will surely result in a poor start. This thing could be over before it starts.

Goodman looks straight ahead, focused on getting down the stairs and wondering how many army-related toys he will get from St. Nick.

Pay dirt awaits.

0:03
Ann Fisher has corrected her earlier error and her body is now streamlined with eyes down range and hands cocked and ready to rocket her forward.

Goodman has slipped his power hand around a baluster, leaned forward, and every so slightly lifted his bottom off the step.

Books have been written about bird dogs with less poise than these two.

These are children that are ready to attack.

0:04
And they're off! Well . . . she's off.

Slightly jumping the verbal command (“do y’all think Santa came?”), Ann Fisher is up and moving first.

Stunned at his sister’s willingness to get a head start, Goodman has turned to look at her rather than moving forward. This is a little boy that has more to learn about being a younger sibling.

0:05 (frame 1)
Ann Fisher is on Step Three (only 17 more to go!).

Goodman has not moved from Step One. Video review from headquarters notes he still has a grip on the spindle below the bannister, which could be important later.

Will this be a blowout the likes has not been seen since Brandt trying to catch up to me on videos about The Trophy?

0:05 (frame 2)
Ann Fisher is almost to Step Four, opening up a commanding lead.

Goodman finally has it in gear but he is clearly in a tight spot, barely lifted off Step One.

0:05 (frame 3)
In the first controversial frame, Goodman cannot be seen. Not great camera work by Dad, though in his defense he had a long day delivering presents and drinking bourbon on Christmas Eve. Christmas morning came early and the kids were moving fast.

Ann Fisher has landed Step Four and is heading to Five.

It is a question for the ages as to what Goodman might have been doing in this frame.

0:06 (frame 1)
Ann Fisher has reached Step Five and is heading to Six.

Goodman is at least a full step behind and decides to use his left arm to help him catch up. You can clearly see it begin to swing into action in this frame. We have reached the part of the race where Goodman realizes he is losing and needs to do something, indisputable video evidence be damned.

0:06 (frame 2)
Ann Fisher is being impeded by Goodman’s left arm. Usually the back judge would flag this as a spot foul and require a re-set, but this is the championship round of sibling competition and it would be a shame to decide it on a small infraction. And, she is bigger. Dad keeps the flag in his pants - he will let this play out.

0:06 (frame 3)
In a veteran move by a big sis, Ann Fisher extends her right arm to the bannister. She has effectively countered Goodman’s arm strategy. More importantly, with her left hand on the wall, she now controls the entire staircase and can keep everything behind her. This is what success looks like.

Plus, Ann Fisher has paired bare feet with polished oak, the equivalent of fresh tires providing excellent grip on a racetrack. Goodman chose sock feat - an understandable decision for Christmas Eve sleep but a real risk to traction on the wood floors.

Suffice it to say, Goodman is in real trouble.

In-game analytics have Ann Fisher with a race-high 79% chance of winning the Race to the Tree. Vegas closes the betting window.

0:07
Several seconds in and Goodman is a full step behind. Ann Fisher has him fully blocked and is operating from the centerline of the stairs. But it is not over until it’s over, as Goodman is catching up.

What the sock feet lack in traction they make up for in lack of friction. Less friction, more speed.

0:09
As they break out of the dimly lit upstairs and into the full light of the downstairs, Goodman creates his own luck by putting his left hand on Ann Fisher’s shoulder - along with his entire body weight. He pulls her right hand free from the bannister! But she is already on Step Thirteen with only seven to go. Goodman still must make up ground, and quickly, but he had to have this.

0:10 (frame 1)
With reckless abandon, Goodman has finally caught up to the same step with only four to go, though he is still slightly behind. Importantly, he has forced Ann Fisher to the wall side - the second break he needed.

Ann Fisher still working the extended arm as a blocking maneuver and Goodman still pulling down on her shoulder in a race to presents . . . just as Jesus taught.

0:10 (frame 2)
Hairpin corner in sight and they are nose to nose, with maximum hand-fighting engaged. But what is Goodman doing? Why is he leaning away from the turn?

0:10 (frame 3)
In what will be spoken of only in hushed tones, if at all, around these parts for many years, Goodman unleashes a brilliant one-two: push Ann Fisher towards the wall while at the same time throwing himself towards the outside of the turn while taking strong hold of the bannister - he is going for the swing-around!

0:11 (frame 1)
They have both skipped the final step but Goodman is using his deep knowledge of little boy risk-taking to whip himself around the post. Like an F1 driver diving down into the corner, he has cut off his competition and clearly pulled ahead.

0:11 (frame 2)
All four kid feet off the ground. Just what Dad and Mom were hoping for - a Christmas morning trip to the emergency room!

Goodman is landing while Ann Fisher is launching. Her chance of winning has dropped considerably and her only chance is to catch him in a drag race down the backstretch, I mean, foyer.

0:11 (frame 3)
Just like that, Goodman is now out to a huge lead.

Without the bannister to swing on, Ann Fisher has lost momentum in her turn while Goodman sped up. Physics!

0:11 (frame 4)
It’s over.

0:12
Goodman is completely out of the frame, and the rout is on.. This is a boy that is ready to see some G.I. Joe action figures.

Ann Fisher is now at least five steps behind but happy and smiling.

0:16
Dad has lost sight of both children, with only a slightly askew rug indicating their previous presence just seconds ago.

I wonder if they have found my surprise.

0:24
Dad’s revenge! The den doors are bolted closed! I have made them wait for us to catch up!

0:26
Err, maybe not. But we are back to siblings on equal footing . . . at least until presents are counted.

Merry Christmas!

Filed/RS

Full video:

]]><![CDATA[The Fan]]>Thu, 24 Nov 2022 23:50:16 GMThttp://www.notmyboys.com/the-blog/the-fan

Now that the turkey has been consumed, it’s time to turn our attention to rivalry week. All across this great land, college football teams will take the field against the school they deem inferior to all other schools. College football is in our blood. The definitely less than 10 readers who have been with us since the beginning will recall Reid’s posts, “The Valley” and “The Trophy” about our specific rivalry, and Brandt’s posts, “I Love” and “I Love Continued.” And on "I'll hang up and listen" and on "The Preseason Top 25, hold the complaints"

The rivalry just hits different. While each rival game has its unique history and flair, the fans that fill each stadium share many similarities. Let Not My Boys guide you through the different types of college fans you may encounter in your section this weekend.

The Romo
This fan was on the roster of a high school football team. Whether they actually played or not does not matter because just being on the team has given them the wisdom to know the perfect play call for every situation. It is understandable that having this wisdom would make it hard not to share, so that is exactly what the Romo does. The Romo screams what should happen before every play. “Second and short, take the deep shot here!” and “The wheel route is open!” (actually the wheel route probably is open) are words you are likely to hear repeatedly from the Romo.

The Monday Morning QB
MM QB is a close relative to The Romo and quite possibly is the same person. MM QB feels the need to analyze every play after it happens in real time. “Gotta block him!” they scream after a surprise corner blitz gets home. The MM QB lives in a world where every play should be a TD and anything that falls short of that was a horrible call. They have a great affinity for running the ball when you pass, passing the ball when you run, the backup QB, the tight end, and firing either coordinator. When the first play of the game only gains 3 yards, expect to hear, “What are we doing?!!?” “Did we practice this week?!!?” You do NOT want to be next to the MM QB on a three and out. Also, don’t be alarmed when the MM QB threatens to take the life of the OC in the 2nd quarter if he calls another WR screen on third and long.

The Cheerleader
They are the leader of your section. They present in a variety of ways and at various times.

The Get-Up Cheerleader will demand that the entire stadium stand up the moment the defense takes the field. The month is September, the opposing team has a direction in their name, the temperature is hell, the score is 45-0, the Get-Up Cheerleader does not care. He is standing, waving his arms up, looking around at the stadium in disgust when no one is standing up. During the week he heads up your HOA.

The IED (Improvised Explosive Device) Cheerleader is one you need to be aware of, especially if you are sitting close. They love to lead the section in cheers. The actual cheerleaders lead the stadium in cheers during the game, but the IED Cheerleader takes it upon themselves to take over during down times in the game when you would never expect a cheer to start. For example, you are staring at the jumbotron watching a play that is under review, when all the sudden IED Cheerleader explodes, screaming at the top of their lungs “C-L-E-M in cadence count….”

The Pre-Game Cheerleader is so fired up walking into the game that they cannot help themselves from repeatedly starting your team’s cheer. Sometimes this can be fun for a time or two. However, it does not matter if Vegas has your team tipped to lose by several scores and you are completely surrounded by opposing fans 600 miles from your house in 38 degree weather, this guy feels like the result depends on whether you will loudly scream “GAME…COCKS” with seven other people while walking into the game with your 11-year-old. Spot them early and stay clear.

The Frequent Flier
If you could get sky miles for the number of times you left your seat to go under the stands, this fan would have platinum status. The Frequent Flier only wants to leave during peak action in the game. 3rd and 2 with the game on the line, the Frequent Flier does not care. When they want Dippin Dots, they want Dippin Dots. It never fails that the Frequent Flier must be participating in a Guiness Book World Record attempt for how many concession items one can carry in one trip. If you are not sure whether you have a Frequent Flier on your row, it is not a bad idea to pack a poncho because there is a good chance you could go home with nacho cheese or coke on you.

The Babysitter
This fan has brought a child under age 3 to the game. The rookie fans will panic when they see the Babysitter next to them, but have no fear because shortly after kickoff you will have open seats next to you. The Babysitter thinks going to the game with their small child will be fun, until they realize they would have an easier time holding a greased watermelon than their child who drank 47 juice boxes at the tailgate and needs a diaper change before the kick.

The Dinosaur
As more and more college stadiums allow alcohol sales this fan is coming closer to extinction, but they deserve to be honored nonetheless. They walk with a limp, carrying the largest souvenir cup drink possible, stirring the contents with a finger. Yes, the Dinosaur is the fan with more mini-bottles in their boots than an airplane beverage cart. You don’t have to be a paleontologist to figure out where a Dinosaur has been in the stadium; just go to any bathroom stall and you will see their mini bottle footprints.

The Larry Munson
Like the Dinosaur, this fan is becoming a relic but still serves an important purpose. This fan is listening to the radio broadcast of the game in the stands. In their heyday, they could be spotted with headphones and a walkman, or if rich, headphones with built-in radio. Today, they are harder to spot. You will think this fan does not exist, then an injury will occur and everyone will be on their phone trying to get an update, but the cell service is nonexistent. All of the sudden you hear a 70-year-old fan scream, “High Ankle Sprain, not expected to return.” This is the Larry Munson. They will also update you on any record about to be broken. “8 needs 26 more yards to become 27th in all-time rushing yards on the third Saturday of October.”

The Zebra Hunter
This fan has a true hatred for the officials. They will become triggered on the first “missed” holding call against their team. It will quickly escalate on each “missed” pass interference call when a pass for their team is not completed and will reach Code Red level on the first “the previous play is under review for targeting.” (“It’s ruining the game!!!!!!” they will scream.) The Zebra Hunter has obviously been told by their therapist not to hold in feelings, so they yell at the official from 7 miles away as if they are having a one-on-one conversation. The Zebra Hunter appears not to understand the officials cannot actually hear them. The yelling will start innocently enough, “Are you blind?!?” “The Fix is in!!!!” “We have to beat two teams today!!!” and then will quickly move to taking the Lord’s name in vain before each comment and using profanity that would make Ice Cube blush. Don’t panic when they can’t speak, with face turning red and veins bulging. You are thinking they are having an aneurysm but this is simply priming the body to scream “F you” and fire the double birds. Their true storm the capital moment will occur when your head coach lays into the official after a missed call.

The Hostage
Victim of kidnapping is the only plausible explanation for why these fans are at the game. They are a bizarre type of fan that does not show the normal distressed signs of a kidnapped person yet you know they are not here of their own free will. These fans have been forced to come to the game and have zero interest in football. You can instead find them scrolling their phone, reading a book, knitting, solving countless sudoku games and a variety of other random acts.

The Gilligan
This fan will be wearing the gear of a team not playing in the game. Some of these Gilligans are worth rescuing and some are not. Any fan at a college game in NFL gear you can save. There is a good chance this is their first college game and the Dinosaur that brought them is about to sprinkle holy water labeled as Fireball on their head and cleanse them of their NFL sins. The Gilligans that arrive in a rival’s gear or gear of a team that just beat your team a couple weeks earlier deserve whatever happens to them.

The StubHub
The StubHub is easy to spot. They will arrive at your section just after kickoff when the section is full. After tripping over half the row, they arrive at what they think are their seats only to find someone sitting in them. Looking annoyed, they immediately pull out their phone or printed piece of paper and say, “I got 27 and 29.” The person in the seat quickly responds, “No you don’t.” The person in the seat can reply so confidently because it always happens to a person who has been sitting in the same seats since 1963. The best is that not only will the old timer tell the StubHub they are wrong, everyone within shouting distance will too. “Let me see your tickets . . . You’re in Section P, this is UP!” The StubHub will then trip over half the row again making the walk of shame to the nearest usher to help them find their seats.

The POW
This is the away team fan in your home section. They could not get tickets in the away team section or didn’t want to have the worst seats in the stadium and now they are in your section. There are two types of POWs.

The Death Wish figures they are never making it out alive so they come in guns blazing. Full team gear, talking trash, loud, standing up when their team is on defense which makes them the only people standing up in the section. The thing about the Death Wish is that if their team actually wins the game it can create a euphoria that is seldom reached.

The Wrong Turn hopes to remain hidden. They are in neutral colors, usually in pairs. The only thing that gives them away is the hard to see fist bump with their buddy when their team scores.

The Scoreboard
The Scoreboard provides scores from other games happening around the country. This fan is never telling the person next to them. They are always screaming to another fan two rows away. “Georgia’s down 3 in the 4th quarter!” (Warning: The IED Cheerleader could detonate here.) This is followed by everyone repeating the score to the people next them like they were the only ones who heard it. Also this was the correct score 17 minutes ago and Georgia has since scored two touchdowns to cover.

The Jersey
Google “Ohio State Male Fan + any age.”

The White Claw
This fan is the drunk of the section. They can harm you in two ways. The loud one could want to fight at any point in the game, normally with the quiet dad who looks unassuming but finally snaps and clocks White Claw. You can also be violated by the quiet White Claw. The quiet White Claw is going to puke on you any minute. If you recognize this you may want to use your poncho you brought to protect against the Frequent Flier.

The Do You Know Who I Am
This fan is a fairly recent variant. It was not that long ago that basically all fans had the same experience. In more recent years, schools have attempted to make game day even more profitable and thus introduced exclusive areas to the main concourse. No doubt you will see someone who thinks they should be allowed into one of these areas despite not having the requisite lanyard.

The Gretchen Wilson
You will remember “Here for the Party” as quite the summer banger in 2004. The Gretchen Wilson is dressed like they are going directly from the game to the club, almost always choosing considerably less clothes than are needed for the weather, the tighter the better. Just like the team, sometimes even the 5 stars don’t pan out and you will be left wondering if there is a mirror in the Gretchen Wilson’s house. Not really a surprise that Homewrecker was also on that album.

The Chicken Little
No matter how well the game is going, the Chicken Little cannot resist openly worrying about a change of fortune. Avoid.

The Road Tripper
The Road Tripper is a pretty big fan. They own a lot of team gear and often pick a road game at a “fun destination” to go to each year. These are the fans in a wedge of a road stadium corner that the broadcast cuts to when the game is close. The Road Tripper posts on social media to make sure everyone knows they are loyal fans, writing things like “game didn’t turn out like we wanted but we had a magical time in Tampa!” after a blowout bowl loss.

The Superfan
The Superfan chooses their vehicle in team colors, names their child after the star player, and casual fans think they are bonkers. Do not expect the Superfan to acknowledge their team does any wrong. There is a less than 10% chance the Superfan actually has a degree from the school.

The Corporate
This fan is wearing a blazer because “business.”

The Lifer
The Lifer is the fan that many aspire to be. Consecutive home game attendance streak? Check. A bunch of road games and bowl games with the same traveling party? Check. Could have educated multiple college graduates with the amounts donated to the booster club? Check. Remembered the university in their estate plan? Check. Has a dozen booster club stickers on the window, planned in advance to only show the year? Check. The Lifer has seen it all. The Lifer knows that wins are great, losses not so much, but what really matters is the experience.

The Student
Since the Motorola StarTAC was the hot cell phone when we were in school, we do not feel qualified to discuss today’s student fan. Just know there are students at the game and they are intoxicated.

The Two-Timer
This fan went to a small liberal arts college, but grew up a fan of the big football school. They attend all the big school games and you have no idea they did not go to the big school until both schools play each other and they show up in the big school colors on the shirt and with the small school logo on their hat. When the small school goes up 3-0 on a first drive field goal the Two-Timer instantly forgets their fandom of the big football school.

The Recruitnik
Do you know the name of all the high school sophomores attending the game this weekend? Do you know what “flip season” means? Do you know who is wavering in their verbal, per the lunch lady at their high school? The Recruitnik does.

The Trebek
This fan knows all the information. Not just the records mind you, but the high school attended by your third string safety.

Want to insult this fan? Consult the roster in the program.

The High-Fiver
We all enjoy celebrating our team with our people. Big first down gets a “yes!” Turnover or TD could get a high five. The issue becomes where does the hand slapping stop? The High-Fiver makes it their business to attempt to high-five everyone in a three row area.

Now you know. Enjoy yourself at the ballgame.

Filed/BG and RS

]]><![CDATA[The Life and Times of Dusty Roads]]>Wed, 08 Jun 2022 01:24:38 GMThttp://www.notmyboys.com/the-blog/the-life-and-times-of-dusty-roads

It is always tough to write about the loss of a loved one, and this will be no exception. I am sorry that my first blog post in more than two years has to begin so somber, but when I looked at the Caller ID on my phone on a recent Thursday and saw “Northeast Georgia,” I knew the person on the other end of the line was going to tell me the news that the end had come. Even when you know they will be in a better place, able to run free again after spending the last six months barely venturing out into the sunlight, it does not make it any easier. Of course, as you might have guessed, I’m talking about the sale of our recreational vehicle, Dusty Roads.

It is what we wanted, and having someone named Myles facilitate the sale helped ease the pain we knew we would feel once the sale was complete. So, it is with this blog post I remember the life and times of Dusty Roads.

The Beginning
The summer of 2020 was unique for everyone. The pandemic was in full swing and it was affecting how families spent their time together. No, we didn't spend more time outdoors hiking; no, we didn’t visit one of the many beautiful lakes within a 45-minute drive; no, we didn’t plant a garden; no, we didn’t do home projects. Instead, we drove five miles up Interstate 85 to kill time at Bob Ledford’s Adventure Motorhomes. You see, we had been bitten the summer before by the RV bug when we rented one to travel to Oklahoma for a family reunion. You can read about RV basics we learned on that trip here. So, what started out as “just looking” talk soon morphed into “our kids are in middle school, this is the perfect time to go on adventures, how can we not buy a mobile home on wheels? it would be a disservice to our family” talk. Then, after spending approximately 4,357 hours watching YouTube videos on various RVs, we settled on the perfect vessel for family fun, the Winnebago Sunstar 29ve.

The Name

Hard times are when a man has worked at a job for 30 years - 30 years - and they give him a watch, kick him in the butt, and say, 'Hey, a computer took your place, daddy.' That's hard times!

We quickly realized that there is no way we could set out exploring this great country in a vehicle without a name. We settled on the name Dusty Roads. On the surface it seems to explain itself. It’s an RV, it travels on roads to campsites that can be dusty, but oh is it so much deeper.

As stated earlier, the world was fighting through a pandemic and I began to think – What person really knew hard times? And then it hit me, Dusty Rhodes knew hard times. For those of you who don’t know who Dusty Rhodes is, well I am sorry. He was a professional wrestler who touched the lives of many. Our souls became connected one fateful day in the 1980’s when I was able to touch his shoulder as he entered a match at the Greenville Memorial Auditorium, aka The Big Brown Box. He would be our guiding star on the road; afterall, he was the “American Dream.” What speaks more to the American Dream than throwing some wheels on a cardboard box, stuffing it full of modern amenities, then parking it in the woods and calling it camping? Don’t beat yourself up if you can’t think of anything, because there's nothing more dreamy.

The Memories
I've wined and dined with kings and queens, and I've slept in the alley eating pork and beans.

First Trip: Table Rock State Park
In the RV world when you buy a new rig, that first trip is called the shakedown trip. It is one you like to keep close to home to test all the systems and see which ones don’t work. For a brand new RV owner, it is also a nervous time because you have no clue what you are doing and you just want to get to your campsite with the least amount of attention drawn to yourself. That is precisely why I booked a pull-thru site. This would take away the issue of having to back the RV into the site and seemed like it would make us the least noticeable arriving. Little did I know that this pull-thru site required you to first drive through the entire small loop which might as well have been a magnet to pull everyone out of their RVs to watch. Next, I did not realize that our site was elevated and perched directly facing another camper who might as well have popped some popcorn to watch the show we were about to provide. Long story short, the site wasn’t level and I thought it would be a great idea to try these plastic leveling blocks that I had watched a YouTube video about. First attempt backing up onto them resulted in me spinning the wheels in the dirt and gravel then gunning directly over the blocks while Clay screamed “That’s too far!!!!!!!!!!!” The second attempt, while I successfully got the tires on the blocks, embarrassingly failed when one of the blocks cracked, making a noise so loud only a sonic boom would have rocked the campground more. We eventually got level and survived our one night shakedown trip without any major RV issues.

Theme Parks Visited: Dollywood; Disney World
At Dollywood you must stay off site, but Disney has its own campground known as Fort Wilderness. It is just like all Disney’s other on-site properties: very well maintained, clean and infinitely more expensive than any place you would stay off site. Fort Wilderness is a lot like Sea Pines on Hilton Head, with wonderful bike trails meandering through pine forests, only this resort is full of campers and not Ohioans.

Parking Lots Slept In: Cracker Barrel (Mount Vernon, IL); Walmart Supercenter (Nebraska City, NE) You haven’t lived until you pull into a Cracker Barrel around midnight and fall asleep to the buzz of a major interstate. Don’t worry about setting an alarm clock, the street sweeper that cleans the parking lot at 4am will take care of that.

Bodies of Water Camped On: Lake Hartwell; a small drainage ditch in Pigeon Forge; Yellowstone River; Colter Bay on Jackson Lake

Water shoes. I scoffed at the idea that I would need water shoes on our trip out west when Clay asked me months before if I wanted her to add a pair for me to the Amazon order she was placing for herself and the kids. That decision backfired at Colter Bay on Jackson Lake in Grand Teton National Park. A little backstory: I had promised Jack two days before we arrived at Colter Bay that I would swim with him there. He wanted to stop and swim when we were knocking out destinations in Yellowstone. I said, “We are not stopping. We will be staying on a lake the next two nights, and I will swim with you then.” Well, Day 1 at Colter Bay had passed and I had not gotten in the water. Now it was around 6pm on Day 2. I thought Jack had forgotten my promise and even if he did remember, there is no way he would want to swim this evening. You see, a cold front had come through that day and the temperature was around 60 degrees (coincidently about the same temp as the water) and it had just finished raining.

Dad, do you want to go swimming?
Jack, are you crazy, it’s freezing.
Dad, but you…..

I had to live up to my word no matter how bad I did not want to get in that water. If you are not familiar with Colter Bay, the beach area is all rock, not all small pebbles either, more of a combo of small and large river rocks. Here enters the time where some sort of swim shoe or sandal would have been helpful. Instead, I entered the ice water painstakingly slowly, as each step felt like a shard of glass jamming into my foot and with the fear that the next step would cause my ankle to twist in ways only reserved for GI Joe figures. If you are having trouble visualizing this, let me help. Picture a tall, skinny, pale man taking slow steps into the water while with each step his body was moving as if he had just been hit with a cattle prod. Finally, I reached a depth where I could dive under and when I came up and regained consciousness from the shock of the water temperature to see the smile on Jack’s face as he jumped up and down cheering me on was priceless. The cold water quickly turned to exhilarating water and Jack and I enjoyed a swim with the Tetons as our background. What started out as a big inconvenience turned out to be one of the more magical memories of our trip for me.

Closest Time to Causing an Interstate Pileup
Thankfully this was a time when only I was in the RV, or the life and times of Dusty blog post would have been written a year earlier because the PTSD Clay would have experienced moving forward would have been too much to overcome. The scene was Interstate 85 on a Friday morning rush hour. I was traveling to have some safety steering features installed on the RV on the other side of Atlanta. The traffic was moving, but all 27 lanes were tight. (Before we proceed any further, if you have never ridden upfront in a gas RV, it is loud. The engine sits right in between the two seats, so combined with the noise of everything in the rear of the RV rattling and the radio volume on 87 to hear over everything, it is loud.) I’m in the middle lane gripping the wheel like I’m driving in a green-white-checkered finish at Talladega when I hear a faint honking sound on my right side. I think to myself, “I wonder what nutcase is doing that.” It wasn’t until about honk 73 did I catch something moving in my peripheral vision. I look over and see a guy in a landscape truck waving his hat and honking the horn. Must be a fellow Winnebago connoisseur, so I give him the polite head nod to confirm, yes we are fellow RV family members. But he is not stopping and now I can see he is screaming something and pointing toward the rear of the RV. I immediately think I got a tire going down, so I scream “tire!?!!!” Must not be that I think, he’s still screaming and pointing. I quickly realize he is screaming “Door Open!!!!!!!!!” I look in the side mirror to see a storage compartment door is opening and closing as I drive.

My mind is racing. How am I going to get over? What if a table flies out? There will be a pileup!!! And then it happened, when what can only be described as what Moses must have seen at the Red Sea. I am not sure if it was the hand of God or Jimmy Carter off his boulevard, but the outer two lanes parted and many went up an exit ramp and I was able to maneuver over to the shoulder. Once the tachycardia subsided, I stepped out and secured the door and averted what was sure to be a newschopper worthy story.

Tailgating
Spending fall Saturdays in Clemson has been something our family has done together since our kids could breathe. We love where we tailgate and we had decided when we got Dusty that we would rather park where we have always parked and not try to get an RV spot in a different area of campus. Two of our parking spots had always been angled parking, but in the summer before the season we learned that those spots had been changed to parallel spots along a sidewalk. I began to think, since we have two spots next to each other I bet Dusty could fit there. After Clay read every word ever written on Clemson parking guidelines, we determined that there was nothing in print that said we could not do this. Remember, Clemson has designated RV parking and where we park is only cars. But many of these cars have tailgating trailers that take up lots of space, so Dusty would have to be ok.

We were excited to tell the kids we were going to take Dusty to some games. We thought they would love the idea. Wrong. I believe my teenage daughter said things like, “Why can’t we be normal!” “You can’t even park that thing there!” “I will not be seen in that RV.” Full confession, we weren’t so sold on the idea either. Dusty would stick out like a sore thumb, and Clay had the fear that we would get to the parking area and be turned away by the police checking the parking passes.

The Treaty of Versailles, I mean the compromise with our daughter, was reached before the first game we decided to attend in Dusty. The parking attendant's reaction was still an unknown. I remember pulling out of our drive and Clay and I both looking at each other like “what are we doing?” Nevertheless, we marched on. As we got closer, Clay had talked herself into the reality that we were going to be arrested and serve life sentences with Dusty only having limited visitation rights.

The moment of truth had arrived. As we approached, the parking lot officer was still in her car because we had to get there so early. Oh, I forgot to mention that we had to arrive earlier than everyone and not take the chance I would have to parallel park Dusty. So we were arriving Clark Griswold early. The look on the officer's face could only be described as one of total bewilderment. I just pointed at the two passes, never slowing below 10 mph and Clay grinned from ear to ear and waved like she was the grand marshall of a Christmas Parade. We made it to our spot unscathed.

We had a great season tailgating in Dusty We enjoyed every conservation starting,
-“Is that your RV?"
-“Yes”
-“I didn’t know you could park that here.”

As if you needed this confirmation, Dusty was undefeated.

The Milestones

Campgrounds Camped: Table Rock State Park (SC), Bear Den Family Campground (Spruce Pine, NC); Twin Lakes (SC), Creekside RV Park (Pigeon Forge, TN), Savannah (GA) KOA Holiday, Fort Wilderness Resort & Campground (FL), On-Ur-Wa RV Park (Onawa, IA), Badlands/White River KOA (Interior, SD), Nomad Dispersed Camping (Wall, SD), Mount Rushmore KOA Resort at Palmer Gulch (Hill City, SD), Billings KOA Holiday (MT) the World’s First KOA, Yellowstone RV Park (Gardiner, MT), Canyon Campground (Canyon Village, YNP), Colter Bay RV Park (GTNP), Gros Ventre Campground (GTNP)

Favorite Camping Views: Dispersed Camping overlooking the Badlands (SD); Gros Ventre Campground (GTNP) with a view of the Cathedral Group

Notable Parks, Monuments and Sites Visited: Table Rock State Park (SC), Pisgah National Forest (NC), Blue Ridge Parkway (NC), Great Smoky Mountains (TN), Badlands National Park (SD), Dignity of Earth and Sky Statue (Chamberlain, SD), Mount Rushmore National Monument (SD), Crazy Horse Monument (SD), Custer (SD) State Park, Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument (MT), Yellowstone National Park (MT/WY), Grand Teton National Park (WY), University of Wyoming Cowboy Stadium (Laramie, WY), Death Valley (Clemson, SC)

Places That Felt Infinitely More Appropriate To Visit in an RV: World Famous Corn Palace, Bush’s Baked Beans Headquarters, Prairie Dog Feeding, Bucee’s, Arthur Bryant’s BBQ, Wall Drug

One RV Ironman Completed: Jackson, WY to Nebraska City, NE to Greenville, SC in 32 hours 10 minutes, which required sleeping for a couple hours in a Walmart parking lot.

Bugs Obliterated: 4,393,596,782,412

The End
Whether Dusty took us across the country or 30 minutes from home, all the locations had one thing in common: they provided an escape from our everyday reality. Well eventually that everyday reality, combined with the reality that last minute trips are difficult due to overwhelming campground demand, we came to the realization that we are not going to be able to take many big road trips over the next couple of years. You see, Dusty, like any RV, is meant to cruise the open roads. Lack of use is not kind to recreational vehicles, and Dusty deserved better than to sit in a warehouse full of boats, cars, and other Dusty wannabes. It did not hurt that the RV market is still hot, and within a couple weeks of listing Dusty a new home was found.

Dusty may be gone, but our RV bug hasn’t gone anywhere. The amazing memories we created in Dusty will be enough to fuel our desire to return to the open road one day in the future. Be on the lookout for Dusty’s Comeback Tour 2030, the same year I do another blog post.

Filed/BG

]]><![CDATA[The Pilgrimage]]>Sun, 21 Mar 2021 18:42:55 GMThttp://www.notmyboys.com/the-blog/the-pilgrimage

For years, people of faith have journeyed from their homes to special places in the world. Jerusalem. Mecca. Camino de Santiago. Brunson Crossroads. Wait, Brunson Crossroads?

In South Carolina barbecue is a faith. And Brunson Crossroads is the home of Scott’s, a legend in the whole hog denomination.

Don’t get me wrong. There are many many great que joints near (Smoking Pig, Henry’s, Bobby’s), soon to be near (Home Team, Lewis) and far (McCabe’s, Brown’s, Sweatman’s) which provide satisfying barbecue and are worthy of your time; some even command a road trip. But a pilgrimage is different from a call ahead order while out running errands. A pilgrim strikes out to a far off place where the sole purpose in going is the search for expanded knowledge, with the journey being just as important as the destination. Nowhere else in South Carolina delivers that experience and opportunity for personal growth like a trek to Scott’s.

We have all suffered due to COVID-19, some more than others (and yes, we know our readers have suffered too as this is the first post in more than a year). The coronavirus ravaged our daily routines, and obliterated any opportunities to reach beyond what is directly in front of us. Now that the vaccines are taking hold and warmer weather has returned, it is time to consider reconnecting with your adventurous side with a pilgrimage to Scott’s.

Let’s get this out of the way first. You will hear people talk about Scott’s in Hemingway. Same place. Feel like a local by knowing that Hemingway is just the closest incorporated place and landmark of any size. Not much further away is Johnsonville (Hemingway and Johnsonville are just 4 miles apart and referred to locally as the Twin Cities, though they are in different counties). But I am getting ahead of myself.

Take the off-ramp from the infernal interstate and its focus on points A and B and nothing in the middle. Driving towards Brunson Crossroads you will quickly find yourself traversing the type of country that is often ignored and is increasingly unknown: rural America. Two lane blacktop, ditches on each side, with sandy roads branching off to the right and left and quickly disappearing into forest. Pick-up trucks and metal jon boats galore. Tractors on the road. Swamps. AME churches. Historical markers. Shuttered factories. Cotton fields. Collapsed tobacco barns. Volunteer fire departments. Used car lots in front yards. Roadside family plots with all manner of headstones. There is the mundane (litter, and gobs of it) and the unusual (a house shaped like an igloo). Most of all, for the pilgrim there is the ability to spend considerable uninterrupted time with your thoughts as you effortlessly drive at 60 mph for long stretches of traffic-free state roads, with the anticipation building.

As you come into Johnsonville, look left as you cross the Lynches River at the old Witherspoon’s Ferry location. This is the site where Francis Marion accepted command of the Williamsburg Militia in 1780, becoming the genesis of the Swamp Fox’s immortality. Johnsonville bills itself as the “Outpost to the Coast” (I give this about a 3 out of 5 on the small town slogan scale) and is also home to The Skinning Shed (presently selling catfish for $4/lb as well as frog legs, rabbit, and other true country fare; I once brought a wild hog I killed here for processing and told the lady I wanted the tenderloin and she looked at me like I was crazy). Towns like Johnsonville and Hemingway once served as the backbone of this region. As times have changed, there are many empty storefronts. Commerce is dominated by local convenience stores with names like “Betty’s Quick Stop” and “OM Mini Mart”, off brand grocers and motels, regional banks with names like “Anderson Brothers”, a prodigious scrap yard; there are a few familiar small town sights sprinkled in like multiple chain auto stores and a McDonald’s. And, of course, there are churches. One had a letter board out front that read “I want to be like Saul and be on the road to De-Mask-us” and I laughed out loud. Touché Rev., touché. There are even barbecue restaurants within just a couple of miles from Scott’s that appeared to be doing good business based on the parking lots on a Saturday afternoon.

Finally, past several beat up mobile homes and about the ugliest abandoned government building you can imagine, the crossroad comes into view and there it is: an old store sitting on the corner, at least 50 years young. Just 1.1 miles down the road to the left is the Tupperware plant, the only place in the US where the plastic to go containers are made and distributed (it’s a shame they don’t have a cooperative agreement with Scott’s as there are plenty of to go orders that would benefit).

Out front and across the road cars are parked somewhat haphazardly and one is always coming or going, usually backing up precariously into the road; on a busy day it can be a challenge to get your spot. True to form given the nature of the destination, you are just as likely to spot a late model Volvo SUV with out of state plates as you are to spot an older local sedan, as the commonality is the faith in the journey’s end. E pluribus unum.

Once you are on foot and standing in front, you realize it is like you have stepped into a time warp. The smoke smell is immediate, with the hint of cooked meat. The physical structure is really just a shell, and honestly a recent paint job made it lose some of its old time appeal, as did the removal of the ancient Scott’s Variety Store sign with its missing letters (full disclosure: I used an old picture I took for this post so you could see how it used to look). There is a relatively new pit house immediately to the right of the store; several fires scorched previous iterations.

Scott’s does whole hog barbecue, smoked over wood in concrete pits for hours on end, having started the practice in 1972. The hogs are cut down the belly, cleaned, and split open; they are cooked belly down first and then flipped one time towards the end. Their pits can accommodate about 20 hogs at a time, cooked over embers burned down from hardwood, itself split freshly out back before going into the burn barrel to create the natural charcoal. Strays hang around hoping for a hand-out and the remnants of old cooking gear is strewn about; again, this is the country, where land is plentiful and neighbors are not close.

Taking stock of the front, you see reminders that this used to be a true country store: concrete islands with overhead lights where the gas pumps were, bars on the windows, soda machine, sign reading “no drugs or loafers allowed”; in the summer, there are often watermelons in a box for sale in one of the several battered old grocery buggies sitting under the awning. There is a laminated menu tacked up along with the program from the homegoing ceremony for patriarch Roosevelt “Rosie” Scott, passed just three months ago. And of course there is the Scott’s B.B.Q. sign, changed some over the years. As more well-earned attention has come, there are even markers from government entities proclaiming the bona fides (although, criminally, one official Williamsburg County marker on site shows the 4 South Carolina sauce regions map and references a map copyright to “amazingribs.com”; I saw that map in my textbook in Professor Kovacik’s class at Carolina in 1998, and his book was published in 1987 - well before Al Gore invented the internet. You can read a 1993 article in the Spartanburg Herald-Journal about Professor Kovacik’s map here: https://www.goupstate.com/article/NC/19930712/News/605195568/SJ).

As you approach the entrance, you are reminded of (or, perhaps, learned of) the fact that Scott’s is. not. a. barbecue. restaurant. You are not there to eat and definitely not to be waited on; you are there to pick up. In fact the first time I journeyed to Scott’s about 15 years ago there was not a table inside. Today there is but one table, and the permit taped to the door by the fire marshal reinforces this with its occupancy limit: 3.

Once inside, look at the walls. While some famous proprietors steer away from politics (with one very notable exception in West Columbia), that is not the case at Scott’s. There is a poster of Congressman Jim Clyburn speaking with President Obama (“Jim has the President’s ear and we must have their backs!!!”), and photos of the family with Senators Sanders and Clinton.

There are also two great signs:

Credit is “Dead”
Funeral “Non” Sat.
Place County Jail
Burial in “Hell”
Rev. “Devil” in Charge
-The Manager
* * *
You must have “shirt”, “shoes”, and “no drop down pants” or you will be asked to leave!

I can only imagine the circumstances that led to these two signs, but they have been hanging for years. There are also numerous hometown touches, like photos of high school athletes and festivals.

The whole experience is both cutting edge and old-timey, refined yet achingly simple. And, because it is barbecue, it transcends race and class amongst the patrons.

Finally you reach the end of the line - the counter where you will give your order. The pork is the star, and there was a time when Scott’s sold nothing else but pig (in addition to barbecue, ribs and skins). Now there are a couple of sides (beans, cole slaw, potato salad), but I have never given a thought to ordering them. Or the chicken, although I would guess it is strong to quite strong. The skins are worth it, the fried variety coming in a stuffed baggie for $3 at the counter or even better you can ask for fresh cracklin to be put in with your pork if they have any left.

I believe - strongly - in expectation management, but are you ever in for a treat if you make it to Scott’s. While the journey is important, the destination wins the day with remarkable strands of smoke-kissed, spicy, tender, flavorful, timeless, simple yet complex, wood-fired goodness. Much has been written about this pork, and I have nothing to add except it is on time and you will not be disappointed.

Barbecue comes by the pound ($12.84 per) and includes a cup of their famous “atomic” sauce (we are in the Pee Dee so this is obviously of the vinegar and pepper variety; the hogs were sauced while cooking and you really don’t need extra sauce unless you really want to spice it up). You can buy a whole cooked hog for $600 and a gallon of sauce for $25 if you are feeling flush. You can also buy a bag of white bread by the sliced loaf as well as bottled drinks. Bring greenbacks though, as credit cards are not accepted. But you knew that already.

Scott’s is open on Wednesday through Saturday. It’s 213 miles from Greenville to Hemingway. What are you waiting for?

Filed/RS

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