It started as a backup.

My plan this past spring was to get a summer internship with
Southwest Airlines, an internship I had nearly gotten last fall but
did not because I lacked the necessary credits. This summer,
however, now that I did have those credits, I was a shoo-in.
Nevertheless, I sent out my resume and application to Army Aviation
and Missile Command (AMCOM), so that in the unlikely event I did
not get the Southwest internship, I wouldn’t have to go back and
work at a golf course all summer.

I did not get the Southwest internship.

And so it was on a crisp mid-May Ohio morning that I woke to
make my trip down to Huntsville, Ala., the headquarters for AMCOM.
My friend Brian got the same internship and had flown in the
previous night from Chicago to drive down with me. My car was
packed to the brim, both the trunk and backseat filled to capacity
with clothes, food, snacks and other amenities that we decided
could not possibly be found in Alabama. As far as we were
concerned, we were driving deep into the heart of a foreign land,
where people talk differently and act differently and where pig’s
feet are a meal. We had no idea what we were getting into.

For those who have never driven through Ohio, it’s not pretty.
Granted, it doesn’t have the soul-numbing, flat desolation that
Illinois possesses, but at times it comes close. Also, driving
there is a pesky proposition because of the Ohio State Highway
Patrol. Not only are they everywhere–they have the most state
highway patrolmen of any state–they are also sneaky. So most Ohio
drivers don’t like speeding, and the patrolmen make themselves a
general nuisance for people whose only goal is to go as fast as
possible, like myself.

In Kentucky, I did not fear the law. From my extensive research
of Kentucky police forces through the show The Dukes of Hazard, I
figured the worst that could happen was that I’d get into a
high-speed, backwoods pursuit, which would invariably end in the
patrol car running into either a chicken coop or a haystack, thus
letting me get away. Hell, that sounds like fun: anyway, it was in
Kentucky that I finally had to get off the highway to get gas and
food.

In my native Ohio, at almost every highway exit fast food joints
and major gas stations abound; not so in Kentucky, as I soon
realized.

I pulled off into the small town of Bonnieville, Kentucky, which
is actually about a mile down a country road away from the highway.
From what Brian and I could tell, the metropolitan area of
Bonnieville consists of an old gas station, a country restaurant
and a run-down motel. Basically, we had stumbled upon the setting
of every horror movie, and we were the young punk kids who were
just passing through town.

While I was filling my tank at the old gas station, a grizzled
old man appeared out of the woods wearing a faded John Deere hat, a
white t-shirt that matched his muddy beard and what I hoped were
pants.

Gingerly, he walked up to the gas station and strolled into the
service station. He didn’t seem to mind that he was walking in
puddles and over jagged rocks on bare feet; in fact, he looked used
to it. Not a minute later, another local resident, this one
bare-chested, walked into the same service station. Apparently, the
“No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service” policy is rather lax in this part
of the country. After getting the gas, Brian and I had a quick
lunch at the country restaurant, and got out of town before any
zombie ax murderers could prey on us.

People who say that the world is becoming overcrowded have never
been to Kentucky or Tennessee, where vast stretches of untamed
wilderness stretch as far as the eye can see. I welcomed this
sight; driving through the agricultural wastelands of Ohio had worn
me down.

What’s more, if I had to drive through any state in the nation,
it would be Tennessee. The speed limit is 70 mph, the people often
drive faster than this and Tennessee drivers are firm believers in
keeping in the right lane except to pass on the left. It truly is a
beautiful thing.

At long last we entered Alabama and then Huntsville. If
Tennessee drivers are the best I’ve seen, Huntsville drivers are by
far the worst.

You see, fair reader, people who live this far in the Bible Belt
live very righteous and humble lives, and therefore do not fear
death. This is quite apparent in their driving skills. I nearly
died about five times that night, and I hardly went more than a few
blocks from my apartment. This was surely a sign of things to
come…

To be continued…

Drew Ewing is a junior studying aerospace
engineering.