I like my whiskey old and my women young.

We stopped at a rest area to watch the sunrise but it was too cold not to wrap my arms around him. I jumped off the picnic table a couple of times to work off the energy stored up from the traffic and self induced cramped leg space. We watched as the day slipped behind the mountains and the night rose above the city. Tennessee had been blessed with rolling hills and aging red barns anchored by tin silos and grazing cows. Everywhere we passed on the way to Lynchburg looked like a page out of a calendar. Old pick up trucks from the greatest generation rested in pastures and farm equipment that relied on horses dotted the front yards of brick houses. - You take your two fingers of whiskey in one hand like so... your glass of water in the other. You drink the whiskey and throw out the water. Cause ya'll don't need that shit.- We had been to the motherland and seen the spring from which all good things come. There was a pipe that BJ pointed out to me- it read "Spring Water" and led from the cave to the distillary signaling the beginning of the journey- the trek that ended with three ice cubes, splash of diet coke, a plastic cup, and our lips. This was Tennessee and it was beautiful.