I packed up all my gear and hit the road again, Atlanta bound. I don’t feel I’ve missed much in terms of scenery pushing through these boring states quickly, save for some downtown areas that looked rather interesting and modern. Once in Atlanta, making my way towards Athens, I found myself in bumper to bumper traffic on the interstate. I’d argue it’s worse than Los Angeles, compounded by the fact that lane splitting isn’t legal in Georgia. Moreover, I was running out of gas. Worried about time, I didn’t want to get off the highway unless I was certain there’d be a gas station right off the exit, a certainty that never revealed itself. In the course of fighting my way through that mess I found myself riding next to a guy on a scooter. Traffic was so slow I was able to have a full conversation with him while we rode on the highway. He’d vaguely heard of Iron Butt, I’d asked him where there’d be a gas station and if he’d be interested in signing my witness form. “It’d be an honor,” he said. He was a funny character. Not quite to Athens, the gas station sat at Dacula, GA. I checked the distance on google maps on my phone to make sure it’d get me over the 1500. Once assured, he signed my paperwork and went off. My contact and good friend in Athens came and signed the paperwork at the gas station shortly after as well, and we made our way to his place in Athens.
It was nice to catch up with an old friend I hadn’t seen in years. A bottle and some good stories later, I knocked out, getting my first good night’s sleep in a good while.