Tales from the Saddle or How I got to Nashville without my Guitar.

This here is a tale of how we's gittin' to where all we's goin'.  So sit a spell an' I'll catch y'all up to our present day tribulations. 

Well, we broke camp up there in Canadia on a day ya could squeeze ice cream straight from a cow's teat.  We'd bin' sittin' a spell or two weeks at Sherkston Shores waitin' to jump that there border at just the right time.   Had no trouble at all with them ther' border marshalls. 

So the trail was treatin' us right, all the way to a fine place called Cross Creek Campground, that's near Columbus O-hi-O if''n ya didn't know.  It's a good place to stay with nice folk and all the comforts you'd be 'specting from the proprietor.

We sat a night there jus' cause, and next day we lit out for the fine state of Kentucky not knowin' where we'd be hole'd up for the night.  So we pulled off the trail to water the horses a spotted a sign for General Butler State Park just 2.6 miles offa the trail we was on. (hwy.71\S)  Now I'll tell ya, I have no way of knowin' what kind'a man the General was but he's got a mighty purtty campin' park.  We decided to make camp here for two whole nights, so's not to get them saddle sores and such.  Sorry I was all out of flash powder so I didn't git no pict-o-graphs, but I promise to next time I'm through these here parts. 

So now we rode on down ta the KOA in Nashville and here we sit for a time, seein' what is to be seen.  We'll stay outta trouble with the local sheriff  and take in some fiddlers and yodellers before setting out for yonder plains.  I'll weave another tale as long as we don't run in ta more trouble than a rattlesnake in a sleepin' sack.

Dusty from the road,
Scott