By Al Gibson,

Clinton County News Editor

A close friend and colleague, the late Jerry Gibson, annually referred to the U.S. 127 Corridor Sale as “The World’s Largest Rearrangement of Junk” . . .

Hard to believe that another year has come and gone, and between the heavy rains and near daily storms that have plagued our area this summer, it’s time already to pen this year’s account of what has come to be known at the Clinton County News office as “the Never Ending Story”, our annual 127 Yard Sale trek.

Even harder to believe, as I did a finger count just prior to starting this article, that now for the seventh consecutive year, that opening paragraph that gives my old friend Jerry Gibson credit for his description of the event he absolutely despised, has gotten us off and running again on the account of our latest 127 adventure.

As I’ve noted before, since I recounted our very first 127 trek the year after that initial 2008 overnight run, this annual account has grown in popularity with our readers and has easily passed the 2001 Gus the Gator saga in comments and questions (I did, however field another request just this past spring from a reader wondering if I might still have a spare copy of the Gus article).

My first account of that 2008 trip was initially intended to be a one-time, humorous account of a trip that I made with my wife and long-time newspaper business partner Janie, but when the comments from readers began coming in with unbelievable numbers of approval and appreciation, I landed on the tradition of continuing the annual saga for your enjoyment . . . at least as long as the trip continues (more on that later).

The sights, sounds, tastes – especially those Shoney’s tastes – and of course the people watching, Janie making new friends with folks at virtually every stop along the way, have all become part of the adventure of our annual trip along the route of at least a portion of what is famously known as “The World’s Longest Yard Sale.”

Also now a custom with this annual Yard Sale musing, we first have to take a quick look back at some of the history of this now seven-year long tradition of trips with a brief run-down of the previous six entries – five of which were surprisingly enjoyable considering it involves an old married couple sleeping in the back of a SUV, with only one failure back in 2009.

So, how did this adventure first get started, where has it led us, and what have we learned, including the added account from the 2014 article (2013 trip)?

Looking back at how this all got started

Briefly, to remind the faithful readers of these “127 installments”, as well as to offer up an explanation to those of you who are new to these 127 rambling chronicles – just how did all of this nonsense get started?

Here is the annual repeat of the origin and the summary of the trips that led up to our latest 127 Trekking adventure.

It happened way back in 2007, as a fluke and a slip of the tongue during a Friday afternoon visit to a few 127 Sale booths.

Annually, Janie and I took an afternoon jaunt during the 127 Sale, heading only a few miles – either north toward the Clinton/Russell County line and back home, or sometimes in the opposite direction to the state line at Static. Hardly ever did we venture more than 10 miles.

It was during the Friday afternoon run toward Tennessee back in 2007 that I made the statement that would come back to haunt me – or as it has actually turned out – to be a blessing in disguise . . .

During that weak moment in 2007, I had noted that if she wanted, we could take an extended trip down the 127 Corridor the next year (in 2008), staying a couple of nights, sleeping in the truck, and seeing just how much of this 127 Sale we could take in during a two day period.

Feeling pretty certain that as the year went by, the memory of that statement would slip out of her mind, it became evident as that first weekend of August approached, that I would have no such luck.

She was actually still talking about the pending trip, gathering items that would be needed for a two-night truck camp, and making notes of what needed to be stockpiled as the weekend approached.

2008 – the first run

That inaugural trip proved to be more than either of us had expected as we traveled completely across the state of Tennessee, through Chattanooga and across the boundary into Georgia (just to say we had) before turning around and heading back to the great Commonwealth of Kentucky (Home Sweet Home).

Back to back stays in the small, family owned and obviously struggling RV park known as the Ballyhoo Campground brought even more lessons, including the most important one – coffee pots are allowed at RV parks – a host of meals at Shoney’s and even a few treasures bought along the way.

2009 – let’s go north

Then there was the follow-up trip that came in 2009 – Trekking II, a venture that even Janie couldn’t believe that I had agreed to – a run through Kentucky toward the northern part of the 127 Sale – hopefully reaching the state line at Ohio in the same fashion as that first trip had produced.

With the family dog in tow – Oscar the Wonder Dawg – a patient and well tempered Boxer – we headed north for what would eventually become the worse experience we have had in several years – and still remains the single biggest failure of our Trekking 127 experiences.

The venture north quickly gave up evidence that with the exception of Clinton County, our home state of Kentucky, simply hadn’t embraced the 127 Sale concept with the enthusiasm that our neighboring state to the south had.

Sure, there were some good gatherings of booths – and even a few large concentrations that we referred to as “epicenters” of 127 offerings – but the spacing in between could last for miles and miles of empty highways.

Then there was the failed campground visit in 2009 that saw us leave the first choice which was jam-packed, and eventually pull into a make-shift space at the Pioneer Playhouse campground, just inches from the highway.

It was during that Saturday of the 2009 Trek that Janie uttered the now famous words that have been repeated to her over and over again by you loyal readers, the day she “tapped-out” at the Frankfort Shoney’s (by the way, if you are ever in our capitol city, that’s one of the nicest Shoney’s in the franchise).

“This sucks – I want to go home – let’s just go home” which brought to an end our trip north, and nearly brought the entire venture to a sour closing.

2010 – let’s try it again – and go south

But at my urging, we once again headed out another year for Trek III, this time showing that as adults – we had learned from our mistakes – would once again head south, leaving our now two Boxers at home, and likely would just make it a single overnight and back home trip.

That decision proved after all, to be a good move, and when the books were closed on that second trip south, we both agreed it was a good experience – good enough that likely we could plan on continuing our annual 127 trip.

As with any of the trips, there were positive highlights in that 2010 experience – didn’t get trapped by a herd of women at the Shoney’s salad bar, but we did get to eat there three times in two days.

Some good stops along the way had yielded some nice finds – nothing big, a new hat and sun shades for me, along with a couple of new Halloween yard decorations, and for Janie, what else – some jewelry, some glassware and a few Christmas yard items.

Oh yeah – it was during that 2010 run that Janie acquired the trash bag full of “unloved” stuffed animals for her nieces – as well as the big, green stuffed frog that I chose to name “10” (the sum of adding 1+2+7) and placed on the dashboard of the Ford Excursion not only for the entire trip, but leaving him in place for the rest of the year as well.

The frog still rides on the dash of my truck daily – ready now for his second outing on a 127 run.

A good night at what we had proclaimed as our “127 Home away from Home” – the still struggling Ballyhoo Campground – and an uneventful return trip home to a couple of lonely but glad to see us dogs and the 2010 trip was in the books.

2011 – back to Tennessee and a new overnight home

Although we had decided that the 2011 trip would again be into Tennessee, Janie got 2011 off to her own start with a Tahoe full of girlfriends and a Thursday trip north and back, reaching the Russell County epicenter that was in fact one of the bright spots of our failed trip north in 2009.

Myself, I got the 127 weekend off as I always do, a stop at the Mountain View Park on Friday and a stop at home at the Papineau center in the Snow Community – always a successful stop if for no other reason than the chance to grab up some of Hunter Shearer’s Bar-B-Que chicken.

A quick chat with the guy under the white tent and a good laugh from the price tag on the “real” fire hydrant along with my first purchase of the weekend, a large, metal sign of a boxing glove holding a beer bottle, a third stop at Hunter’s for some (more) chicken, and my head-start is over and it’s time for the real trip to Tennessee to commence.

Although the “epicenters” were pretty much in the same locations as they had always been, it was noticeable during the 2011 trip that crowds were beginning to look smaller than the previous years, but stops at familiar places such as the Forbus General Store, the Jamestown headquarters stretch, Jordan Motel and of course the Clarkrange Park still proved to be good stops with lots of good stuff and crowds of slow walking people.

It was during that 2011 trip however that we encountered our first major disappointment when we discovered that our favorite overnight spot – the Ballyhoo Campground – had not survived for another season and was now closed, forcing us into the Cumberland Mountain State Park Campground for the night.

A Saturday run into Crossville, after of course a couple of meals at my favorite restaurant, Shoney’s, then it was on south for several more stops before some heavy rains made a stop in Pikeville impossible.

One more meal at Shoney’s on the way back through Crossville with a new tin Halloween pumpkin yard decoration, a box full of candlewick dishes and the lesson that banana boxes only meant “someone else’s junk” and that 2011 trip came to another successful ending.

2012 – Another run south and a night on Baked Bean Lane

With an agreed upon trip south for the weekend, Janie and I again head toward Crossville on Friday, after a normal start on Thursday perusing some of the local offerings in Clinton County.

After spending some time admiring a table in the Snow epicenter that was piled full of women’s panties for the bargain price of $1 each, I leave for Tennessee with Janie in the big blue Excursion, without any accompanying pets except for “10”, the big green stuffed frog that has served as a year-around Yard Sale mascot, riding on the dash with his sunglasses in place.

It was a pretty good run, with nothing being especially noteworthy to our now successful routine headed through Crossville and into Pikeville, Tennessee,

A few bargains here and a proud grouping of Halloween yard decoration purchases in Crossville were the highlight of my 2012 trip along the 127 route,.

Most noteworthy was my new found friendship at the favorite Halloween shopping stop at the first Crossville epicenter, where I encountered what I first thought to be a vendor with a huge booger hanging from his nose, only to discover on closer examination that it was a metal decoration.

Having ventured once into the tattoo parlor, I’m still certain that the nose piercing salon won’t be on my bucket list.

With our favorite overnight stopping spot – the Ballyhoo Campground – still closed down, we find yet another new overnight home, this one much nicer than last year’s Cumberland Mountain State Park stay, and we decide that barring a Ballyhoo resurrection, the Bean Pot Campground and our Baked Bean Lane camping location will likely be a fixture on future trips.

A classic run to Pikeville, Tennessee and home, the 2012 trek was yet another successful trip, with the possible exception that the venture involved only two and not the customary three stops at the Crossville Shoney’s

2013 – A good year for mermaids and porta potties

Heading back into Tennessee – of course – our sixth Trek of treasure hunting gets underway in Clinton County a day or two early, and starts with a few treasure finds but the most memorable experience of the local trekking came with the spotting of Lucas Pennington.

A chainsaw artist who was on hand in the Snow epicenter area, Pennington worked in front of a constantly changing crowd, carving people, animals and objects and transforming hunks of wood into works of art.

“That bear was in that log,” he explains, pointing across the road to the subject on a trailer that stands nearly 11 feet tall. “I just had to cut everything off that don’t look like a bear – I’m a take it off kind of artist.”

Although we begin to notice the number of individual sales are dwindling somewhat from previous years along our route through Jamestown, Crossville and into Pikeville, there is still plenty of opportunities to pull off and look for treasures.

It was during this 2013 trip that Janie made the observation of just what a wonderful invention the Porta-Potty was, especially at events such as the 127 Sale.

“See, it’s the simple things in life that keeps me happy,” she explains.

Making the trip a huge success, however, was knowing that the Ballyhoo Campground had been sold to new owners and was once again open for business.

Home again, home again in Pullthrough Camp Spot #34

And of course there were those three great stops at Shoney’s Restaurant to refuel ourselves.

A few treasures include – guess what – yep, some jewelry for Janie, a metal hanging birdbath that was coupled with a cast iron hummingbird and a couple of cast iron pots that were used for planting.

Myself, I captured on one of the best finds of the entire run, a cast iron naked mermaid and of course a couple of Halloween decorations to add to my vast collection used during the best holiday of the year.

Trek VII – of course it’s south again

With all of that history now refreshed, it’s time to once again sit back, take a deep breath and pour yourself a nice cold drink – like that bottomless glass of Shoney’s Ice Tea – and settle in for yet another chapter of The Never Ending Story – Trekking the World’s Longest Yard Sale.

Knowing that things along the route were beginning to look more and more familiar – people and items, I briefly thought about once again suggesting another trip north just to see if things were any better than it had been in 2009.

That thought rolled around inside my head for less than a couple of seconds as I remember what a miserable experience that had been, and without even mentioning it out loud once, I quickly came to my senses and began mentally preparing my thoughts for a trip across the Kentucky – Tennessee state line.

As is always the case, no 127 Yard Sale can ever be complete without a few stops at select sale spots right here at home in Clinton County.

Among those usual spots are of course the two “epicenters”, the set-up of booths and offerings at the Mountain View Recreation Park, and the collection of vendors at the Snow Community near the intersection of U.S. 127 and Ky. 90.

Getting an early start every year, a handful of vendors are normally set up at the Snow epicenter as early as the weekend before the traditional “first full weekend” of August that officially is noted as being the start of the now nearly 700 mile long event that stretches from Addison, Michigan to Gadsden, Alabama.

Always keeping a watchful eye on the progress of the vendors setting up early in the Snow Community, I’ve managed for the past several years to refrain from making that early stop – anything prior to a couple of days before the official Thursday kick-off date.

So it was as I drove home from work on this Tuesday, I couldn’t help myself any longer and found myself pulling the Big Blue Ford Excursion to the side of the road to check out the offerings under the large white tent that has been a staple of the Snow epicenter since nearly the beginning of the 127 Yard Sale.

A quick text home to Janie to tell her why I would be late on this day resulted in a quick reply on the smart phone – “without me?” – and ignoring the desire to reply, I was out of the truck and on my first trekking visit of 2014.

Making my first pass through the large white tent that was filled with Yard Sale stuff – treasures to some, junk to others – I ran into another familiar face from past 127 sales, Jerley Lee, who is usually operating a booth for her church, selling from a nearby location inside the former Albany Ford building.

Now being leased by C&W Marine, she explained that without the available floor space, there would be no selling on her part this year.

“We tried to get them to sub-lease it to us, but we didn’t get far,” she said, stopping the conversation to answer a call on her cell phone.

Getting back to our conversation, she told about a couple she had encountered in the area who were from England and were pulling a rental trailer that was already nearly full of items, including a mass amount of blue Mason jars with zinc lids.

Explaining further, she said they told her that the previous year they bought about 3,000 jars and shipped them back to England, filling and re-renting a trunk three times before the sale closed.

“You meet a lot of interesting people out here,” Lee said as she continued to look over the collection of dishes being offered under the white tent. “That’s what I like.”

Friday morning – time for Trek VI packing with a later than usual start

With the arrival of Friday morning and time to get things together for the start of our long weekend trip, I’m already feeling a little bit of “truck lag” before even getting started, having returned on Thursday night after an overnight trip to Louisville with my two sons and an enjoyable but long day of watching professional golf at Valhalla County Club with the PGA Tournament.

Janie is off to work for at least a half-day and I’m at home charged with getting everything packed and loaded for the trip into Tennessee that should get underway at about 12:00 noon.

Having usually packed the Excursion for the 127 run at least by Thursday afternoon after work, I’m running a little behind but with the day off from work on Friday, I’m pretty confident that my now nearly perfected skills of making the list and checking it twice won’t take long before I’m ready to embark on the trip.

Quickly moving the rolled up mattress that is used only once a year for this trip out of the barn rafters and into the truck, I next grab the pile of sheets, pillows and blankets that Janie stacked up near the back door, and with those items loaded, I move toward barn shelves.

Sure enough, a quick scan of the storage box marked “127 Stuff” that resides in the barn behind the Gibson home, and I quickly find the note I left inside following the end of the 2013 trip.

Need a little jar of coffee and a big jug of CoffeeMate so Janie can make that “coffee gravy” she’s so fond of – just coffee straight up and strong for me.

With one last quick scan to determine that everything else we need, clothes, snacks, water and a few Cokes in the cooler, I’m off to town to grab the coffee and re-fuel the truck.

“You all going again this year,?” the attendant at Albany Full Service asks as he watches the diesel pump numbers roll over while he fills the Excursion. He then added … “Not me, I don’t need any more junk.”

Still with plenty of time before the planned 12:00 noon departure from our Snow Community home, I head down 127 and make a planned stop at the Mountain View Recreation Park to take in a look or two at some of the offerings being sold at Clinton County’s other epicenter of 127 Sale vendors.

It’s there that I strike up a conversation with Mary Bishop who is sitting under a tent peddling her unique hand-painted gourds that line the tables under her tent.

“I do this so I won’t have to take crazy pills,” she explains with a laugh, further offering that she has sold to customers from everywhere, but has seen a lot of repeat customers during the years she’s been selling gourds.

One couple from Michigan bought a “Santa” gourd about six years ago and came back this year hoping to purchase a “Mrs. Santa” to go with him, but found themselves out of luck.

“I didn’t have one for ‘Gordy’ so they bought a snowman until I can get a Mrs. Claus for them next year,” Bishop explained.

Next stop was at the location where the fellow had been selling so-called indestructible dog pillows for the past few years, and again he repeated his same sales pitch that he had never seen a dog that could tear up one of his pillows.

A quick look at the shredded remains of on my cell phone photo of the pillow I had purchased from him last year, and he changed his tune quickly.

That so-called indestructible dog pillow only survived one night in it’s battle with our newest female boxer Belle, the hi-strung girl that takes her frustrations of being left alone out on whatever is within her reach.

After answering his question as to what kind of dog I had, his only reply was “well, then you don’t have a coon dog” and off in the other direction he headed, apparently not interested in any further attempts at customer service or making good on past claims.

Not caring to press the issue and knowing that a replacement indestructible pillow would just make for another disappointment, I chuckled out loud and headed on down the aisle, eventually, giving up on finding anything I couldn’t live without and settling back in the truck and headed for the house to make final preparations.

Moving through the Snow Community epicenter, I somehow couldn’t resist the urge for one final stop to see what might be new, and of course a chance to grab up some of Hunter Shearer’s now-famous bar-b-que chicken, of course with beans and a generous helping of swamp cabbage.

Along the way, I ran into J.T. Hardin who is hawking a nice selection of wooden bowls he and his wife’s father and grandfather craft, all out of buckeye wood.

“You need that big one,” Lisa Hardin says as she points to one of the largest bowls on the table.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” I reply as I make my way past their collection, all the while thinking what a nice addition one of these handcrafted bowls would make to my outdoor kitchen, but deciding to pass anyway, then and on to Hunter’s booth, a location that is easy to find – just follow the big plume of smoke until you see the huge stuffed pig sitting on the side of the road.

Arriving at the order desk at Hunter’s corner and I quickly recognize my neighbor from just down the road, Juliann Mullins taking orders while in the background, Hunter Shearer is busy trying to tame a nearly out of control fire blaring out from his custom mobile cooking pit.

I give Juliann my order for a chicken breast plate with beans and swamp cabbage, and while she’s getting that ready, I give Hunter a shout-out, which prompts him to put his shovel down and make his way over to the order desk.

As Juliann hands me my goodies, Hunter hands over another smaller container with some cake inside that he is experimenting with (it’s always good to be one of Hunter’s guinea pigs).

“Give that a try and let me know what you think,” Hunter says with a grin, and immediately heads back to work on the flames again.

As I’m walking back toward the Excursion with both hands now full of what will soon be my last lunch before a Shoney’s meal, I ran into Barrett Speck, a friend of my youngest son, Joe Gibson.

Speck pulls out his phone and brings up a photo of a dresser he and his wife had spotted among a collection of Yard Sale items a couple had on a trailer just down the road.

One of the dressers among the items had been hand painted and the name painted on top of the furniture was plain as it could be – JOE GIBSON.

“I thought that was funny,” Speck said with a laugh. “I could tell those people weren’t from anywhere around here.”

A few short minutes later I arrive at the house to finish putting the last items (coffee, Coffeemate) into the truck and then to the most important chore at hand, getting into those two food containers now sitting on the back deck table.

With the truck now completely loaded at 11:20 a.m. and a quick push of the trip-meter reset button, I make my way to the back deck and what I’m hoping is still lunch on the counter, realizing that I’ve left everything out there in the care of our two boxers, Oscar and Belle, the latter of the two being the one that could find a way onto the counter to beat me to my lunch.

Getting out on the deck, I quickly discover that everything is still intact with my lunch, but with Belle’s front paws already on the counter, and Oscar sitting nearby hoping to help with the spoils, I realize that I’ve made it to the scene just in time and at least on this occasion, the chicken, and later that special trial cake, will be all mine.

Moments later, as I’m putting the finishing touches on lunch and desert – a prune cake experiment that I later report back certainly is deserved of a spot on the menu, my long-time yard sale partner arrives at the house and with a quick change of the clothes, a final smooch and good-bye to Belle and Oscar, and at 12:14 we’re pulling out of the driveway, producing a quick “we’re off” comment from Janie.

First stop, first treasures

I offer the now traditional suggestion of heading toward Albany utilizing the “back way” route from our house down Hwy. 696 and onto Ky. 1590, which allows us to bypass the Mountain View Park area and quickens the trip by at least three minutes.

“Nope, go the other way, I want to stop at Kathy Polston’s house and see what she has for sale – I meant to stop yesterday but forgot,” Janie explains and with that, we are on our way.

Four miles later and at 12:24, we pull into the Polston location and I grab the notebook and make my first “trekking” notes.

“Oh yeah, now I have to be on alert that you are writing all of this stuff down,” Janie comments, but not really using the word “stuff”.

After a quick scan through the garage and then the house where sale items are displayed in every room, Janie returns to the garage area to begin the negotiation process with Luke Dalton who is manning the cash box.

A little back and forth between the two and a quick exchange of $45 and we are loading up a small table with ceramic tiles on top that form a checkerboard, a drafting table stool and a small quilt.

“Glad we stopped, that was a good buy,” Janie says with her first Yard Sale Trek smile of the trip. “I wish I could have stopped yesterday, but yesterday the prices probably would have been higher.”

We quickly agree that a stop by the office to unload our Albany finds would be a smart move, freeing up valuable space inside the Excursion for other finds that will hopefully be made somewhere between Albany and our planned turnaround epicenter at Pikeville, Tennessee.

Unloaded and back in the truck on headed toward the Tennessee line at 12:50 p.m., the gang at the office had a good chuckle at the fact that we hadn’t even made it out of the county before we had to unload our first treasures, but everyone did like the small checkers table.

Tennessee or bust

As we cross the Tennessee border at 1:02 p.m., I’m multitasking a little making a time note in the notebook, which draws some scolding from the passenger seat.

“Why don’t you wait until we stop somewhere to make those notes, or at least wait until we get to a straighter stretch of road,” Janie says with her familiar (at least familiar to our two sons) stern expression.

I explain that I’m talented enough to write without really having to look at the notebook and go on to explain it’s not nearly as dangerous as texting and driving.

“Want some dishes?” I ask, slowing down a little to get a better look at one roadside private sale just a couple of miles past the state line.

“Nope, I’m done with all that – write that down in your little book,” she quickly spouts back.

We pull in at a regular “mini” epicenter that has been a favorite location for several years, usually always spotting a familiar face or two.

I made a quick comment about a planned purchase of a bluebird house or two along the way, and Janie quickly returns that she had the same thing in mind, hoping to add to our collection of two backyard bluebird houses that for the first time this year, had both been filled with bright blue families.

“I can’t believe we both had the same idea about bluebird houses,” Janie says as she organizes her Yard Sale purse that contains her three most important items – cash, tape measure and cigarettes. “I’ve enjoyed watching the bluebirds so much this year.”

I chime back that there are a couple of rules to my own bluebird house quest – “my rule is that there is to be no license plates involved in the making of the bluebird house.”

Making it only to the first booth, Janie spots a bluebird house on a table marked $20, and seeing her holding it in her hand, the lady in charge quickly points out that she would take $15.

“I’ll think about it… I like that one,” Janie says, carefully placing the house back in it’s spot.

After working through the entire span of booths and stopping at one point to marvel, and photograph, a small goat that was raising all matters of Cain near a barn, I’m back in the truck at about the same time Janie arrives from the other side, at 1:38 p.m.

Opening the back of the truck, Janie places an old wooden box in the back that would best be described as an “old wooden box” and I immediately ask “what’s that for and there’s no lid?”

“It was a good deal, she had it priced for $18 but I got it for $12 and it’s not supposed to have a lid.”

Learning long ago that more questions won’t produce good answers, I just leave it alone and am self-satisfied at wondering what purpose that “old wooden box” could possibly have (actually, a year later, I’m still wondering that same thing every time I see it sitting empty in our sunroom).

Forbus General Store – sales and Pig

Heading on down the road, with a handful of private sales passed up, we pull off at 1:46 p.m., just 19.4 miles from our starting point, at the famous Forbus General Store, where buyers and sellers are in large numbers working both sides of the road along a series of booths, tents, wagons and buildings that will include a collection of old and new as well as certainly a few that would just be classified as weird.

A quick stroll into the store building and of course, it doesn’t take long to come upon the customary gathering of locals around the back table enjoying an afternoon game of cards that the Forbus General Store is famous for – Pig

Although there is no sight of store owner Joe Sells, it’s a sure bet he’s not far away from the scene on as busy a day as this, and I continue around the store aisles and back outside to the front porch where it seems that in just those short few minutes since I first entered the front door, the entire crowd of patrons enjoying the porch chairs, have changed for a new group that include all ages – most enjoying ice cream or fudge.

Just under a half hour and no real finds in either of our hands, Janie and I are back in the blue Ford at 2:12 p.m. and back on the road headed toward the Alvin C. York park epicenter that is always a favorite gathering of “must look at” merchandise and usually where you can depend on seeing a few Clinton County friends.

“That place looks pretty good, pull off here,” Janie says as she points at the tents set up around the Pall Mall Fire Station and as I pull off, I remind her that we did in fact stop here last year but stayed only for a few minutes because it was “mostly junk”.

Janie gets back to the truck to find me already waiting at 2:24 and as she’s climbing in, she does at least acknowledge that I was right in my memory of the location and what we discovered last year hadn’t changed much this year and in fact, was for the most part still offering the same items that not only did we not find a need for, no one else had last year either.

“Bunch of junk. Failed stop,”Janie quickly mumbles as I pull out and again head south toward the York park.

As the weather continues to heat up and with high humidity and an overhead dark cloud threatening to rain on our parade, we continue to head toward the Alvin C. York park when something catches Janie’s eye on her side of the highway.

“Slow down, this looks like a pretty good place,” she says with her yard sale eagle eye focused just down the highway to a yard that is piled high with what could be the next collection of treasures. “Never mind – I thought it was a big yard sale but it was just how their yard looks all the time.”

With that, I accelerate again while reaching into the cooler for another bottle of water and after that first drink, lose it again to her outstretched hand.

Finally we pull into the Sgt. York park area at 2:42 p.m. and having just advanced 23.6 miles from our driveway and I quickly find a parking place behind the fire station building.

“This is my favorite” Janie says, already with her arsenal organized and jumping out of the truck, soon disappearing into one of the several large tents that have taken the place of the recently razed school house building.

As I’m enjoying a slow walk through a couple of outside booths just to the west of the first large tent full of potential treasures, without any practical warning, the sky simply opened up and began dumping what could only be described as “torrential” amounts of rainfall on my head and body, as well as the hundreds of other Yard Sale fans who were browsing at the York epicenter.

Luckily, I was only a few steps from the large tent, and without too much damage to my bald head, I make it inside and within minutes, find myself in one of the most crowded situations I can remember since that fateful day I was swarmed at the Shoney’s salad bar by the family of large, square jawed women.

Eventually able to maneuver toward a less crowded corner of the tent without a harmful incident much less any type of encounter that would produce hard feelings with any other 127 trekker, I look across the tent to spot Janie perusing a table full of dishes while exchanging comments with Willard Johnson, President of the Albany branch of Monticello Banking Company.

Finally moving out from under that rain soaked and now heavily stinking large canvas tent after at least 15 minutes of absolute down-pouring rain and thunder, Janie and I make a rare stroll together through the outside booths whose owners are beginning to uncover sheets of plastic that for the most part, hadn’t been very helpful against the heavy rainfalls we had just experienced.

I spotted a group of birdhouses under a tree and while making the comment that it might be too early in the run to select one, at the same time I was picking up a version that was decorated with a small star, much like has recently been the trend of homeowners decorating the front of their homes.

“We can’t buy one with a star on it,” Janie says as I set it back on the ground, explaining her objection further. “Those stars cause the aliens to stop at your house . . . it’s some kind of sign.”

Making my way on through another tent, I spot a collection of old magazines, all of which have covers featuring Elvis, but so far I haven’t spotted the item that assures you have reached the deepest depths of the Yard Sale route – the velvet Elvis painting.

Once again with no treasures in tow, we are back in the big blue Ford at 3:19 and with the rain now completely stopped, we’re back on the road and headed toward Jamestown and the official headquarters of the World’s Longest Yard Sale.

“That wasn’t nearly as big as it was last year and last year was down from the year before,”Janie says out loud, echoing my exact same thoughts and another sign that perhaps the unique is beginning to wear off the event.

Driving past several empty yards and other spots where sales had been in past years, we both marvel at the fact that just three miles down the road from the drenching we encountered at the York epicenter, the roads are completely dry and none of the rain had been encountered here.

Jamestown – where it all began

Finally at 3:40 p.m. we pull into the most heavily crowded spot of the day, the Jamestown epicenter where all of this 127 Yard Sale began back in 1987 when the then Fentress County Executive came up with the plan as a way to get motorists off of interstate highways such as I-40 and I- 75, and on the backroads that would take them through the towns and small cities that in the pre-interstate years had been stopping points for traveling families.

“This is where the jewelry lady is” Janie said excitedly as I backed the big blue Excursion into a good parking spot at the front edge of the long line of booths and vendors that lined both sides of the now 4-lane section of U.S. 127.

“Well, look at you and the parking again – we’ve lucked up on parking spots so far,” Janie noted as she again reached behind her to make sure the rear passenger side door is locked before grabbing her Yard Sale purse and bolting out the door. “I’ll meet you on down the road!”

After another big swig of water and deciding to tuck the water bottle into the side pocket of my cargo jeans, I grab the notebook that never is far from my side, a camera and my cell phone, and step out of the truck myself hoping to find my first “must-have” yard sale treasure of the day.

Joe the Preacher (I know that’s his name because his booth said it was), hands me two small rocks as I walk past him.

“Jesus rocks,” Preacher Joe says and I thank him before looking down at the two small rocks that have been inscribed with a black Sharpie ink pen with the words “Rock with Jesus” hence the dual explanation that would be possible with the phrase “Jesus rocks” that then went into my front shorts pocket for safe keeping.

A quick trip less than halfway down the epicenter street – and back, and in just 16 minutes, I’m in the truck after having intercepted Janie before she even crossed the street.

“Mostly old cars, car parts and junk there,” I point out to her, noting that the stop had been nothing like it was several years ago, but we had agreed last year that the quality of finds had been dwindling. “I’m pretty sure that Jamestown is the old car capitol of the nation – it looks kinda like the streets of Cuba out here.”

“Not mostly junk – all junk,”Janie spouts back. We agree that the findings will certainly be better just down the road at the Jordan Motel spot, and with that, we’re back on the road again with a destination of just a few miles ahead.

With 37 miles showing on the tripmeter and the “official 127 Trek clock” on my big blue Ford clock showing exactly 4:00 p.m., we pull into another awaiting parking spot along the side of the road just next to the road that leads into the Jordan Motel parking lot and a host of booths that has always produced some good finds, or at least some good conversation.

Janie quickly notices that Marion and Charlie Cyphers are again selling their goods from the first booth on the corner just in front of the old stone Jordan Inn that is flashing it’s “NO VACANCY” sign in front for likely the first time in some 52 weeks.

Marion tells us she learned from her daughter in a phone conversation earlier in the week that she had made the front page of this week’s Clinton County News with a photo that was made on our 2013 Yard Sale Trek and she seemed pleased at her new-found celebrity status.

Marion agrees with Janie’s assessment that the crowd as well as the number of vendors are down again this year and she says the same is true for the once packed Jordan Motel location as well.

With yet another failed stop behind us and nothing in tow, we again step into the truck and this time the disappointment is immediately obvious.

“Dern, that’s a bummer, my jewelry girl was gone and this place has just dried up too,” she says, further noting that she used to have jewelry vendor friends at most of our traditional stops and at this point, she’s 0 for 3.

Less than a half-hour later, at 4:31 to be exact, we are pulling into what has always been one of our most successful stops of the trip each year, the gathering of vendors and people at the South Fentress Community Park, but once again, our eyebrows are raised when after leaving the highway, I’m finding the very first parking spot in the lot corner is open and plenty big enough for an old blue Ford Excursion to back into.

“Look at you again with the parking luck,” Janie says, adding quickly – more or less in a tone that seems to serve to self convince of the likely success that lies just ahead – “This place is always good.”

A quick restroom stop near the front of the line of vendors that stretches around in box fashion through what is a multi-field recreational park, and a very nice one at that, and quick purchase of some fresh brewed ice tea for myself, and we’re off on a slow-paced stroll through the lineup of tents, trailers and shelters.

The first tent I stopped at had a nice collection of odds and ends, cast iron items, most of which were nicely polished and seasoned and ready for use.

I spent a few seconds examining a couple of cast iron sauce pots before realizing that I already had two and hadn’t yet been using both and wished for a third one, and with that, I placed the $12 item – a pretty good buy that could have probably been mine for $10 or less – back on the table and made my way toward the main lineup of vendors.

Offerings at this particular epicenter are always varied and some of the best along the route each year, and this year is no exception – a nice combination of real antique items, flea market type “stuff” and several vendors who are actually selling homemade crafts.

Although there were several pauses and stops along the route at the Fentress Community Park and plenty of items that were picked up and handled, we’re back in the truck at 5:12, agreeing it was a good stop and better than most of the previous ones, but there was simply nothing that caught either of our eyes, and believe it or not, there wasn’t a single bluebird house worth having (none that didn’t involve license plates in the construction process).

Just six minutes later and a couple of miles on down the road, we pull into our next favorite stop, the epicenter that is adjacent to the Clarkrange Chapel Funeral Home and once again, there is no shortage of parking spots at all.

With an offering of items that we’ve seen for the most part before, either in previous stops or in previous years, we are making our way through the vendors with a nice pace and my thoughts turn to the thought that we might be getting close to a nice restaurant on down the road.

Just as I begin to pick up the pace with the Excursion now in sight, I realize that whatever I’m talking about is falling through space as my partner is no where around and with that, I do an about face hoping that she didn’t stop too far behind.

A couple of booths back and I spot her in a collection of “un-polished treasures” for lack of a better term, with her focus clearly on what she said was a “really nice” old corner sink.

I quickly glanced at the $200 price tag before offering the advice that we don’t have an empty corner in our entire home and with that she reluctantly agrees and in a few short minutes, we are once again back in the truck and headed south again on U.S. 127 toward Crossville and a date with some much needed food, followed by a hunt for our now traditional home away from home, the Ballyhoo Campground.

With 65 miles showing on the tripmeter, and several small sales along the way passed by, most of which were beginning to be covered, we reach the first parade speed traffic slowdown at 6:04 p.m.

“Want to find somewhere to eat?” I ask as we are first able to spot the high-rise Shoney’s sign just down the highway.

“You’re a funny boy,” Janie says with a laugh, already going through the pre-restaurant routine that she always does which involves putting shoes back on, taking a quick glance into her purse then pulling down the visor mirror to do that makeup adjusting and lipstick thing all ladies do.

“You know it’s a good place to eat if the parking lot is full,” I quickly say pulling off of the highway into the Shoney’s parking lot at 6:10 p.m. and with no reply from my trekking partner, I offer up another observation of the situation at hand. “You know, this is the hardest parking place we’ve had all day.”

Again, no reply but she’s actually ahead of me as we make our way through the parking lot and into what will be some really good surf and turf buffet satisfaction and of course – that never empty glass of fresh brewed Shoney’s ice tea.

After a short wait in line, we are quickly headed toward the buffet and after a trio of trips for myself and only one refill for Janie, we’re back in the truck with the next quest of finding the Ballyhoo and settling in.

Ballyhoo and tent spot #34

Equipped with a smart phone that already has the supposed best route programmed in, I’m able to follow the map to Pigeon Ridge Road and at 7:32 with 76 miles on the tripmeter, we’re pulling into the campground.

A far cry from the failing venture that we first fell in love with several treks ago, we are happy to discover that although the new owners seemed to be headed in the right direction last year, this time around the place is actually semi-crowded with a host of tents and RV’s.

Mrs. Ballyhoo is behind the counter and greats me with my reservation slip for our favorite spot by the Ballyhoo pond – tent spot 34.

I pay the $28 fee that includes the primitive camping spot and a bag of ice for the cooler, and with that, we’re headed down the lane to get the big blue Ford ready for the night.

Heavy rains that once again moved through the area have squashed the humidity drastically, making for a nice evening but a very full pond that unlike years past, is actually just a few feet away from where the front of the truck will be parked.

With a set-up that is now pretty much routine for us after this many trips, we’re situated and ready for a little relaxing, note writing and reflecting next to the Ballyhoo fishing pond at 7:55, just as darkness begins to set in.

“That was a pretty good first day,” Janie says, adding that it seemed to her also that some of the luster had gone from the event itself, both in the form of items that were being offered, but especially in the dwindling number of sales and treasure hunters looking.

During the reflecting conversation, we both look up to find a Ballyhoo neighbor who has approached from the lane behind us, with a young male German shepherd out for an evening exercise walk.

Dogman never gives up his name, but he immediately introduces “Dakota” and pretty soon, he has struck up a very detailed conversation with Janie about all of our backgrounds.

I sit and listen intently, offering Dakota a quick head rub while I wonder how my own two dogs, Belle and Oscar, are fairing with our oldest son, Brett, who has been charged with babysitting – again – during our weekend adventure.

While Dogman shares his entire life story with Janie, I learn that he and his (also nameless) wife and Dakota retired last year and sold their house, bought an RV and hit the road in search of a new place to call home.

Leaving their former home in Raleigh, North Carolina (told you we were talking detailed life history here), they somehow ended up in Crossville, Tennessee four months ago and have called the Ballyhoo RV and Campground their home ever since.

“I might look for a house here or we might leave in a couple of months,” Dogman continues. “We might head down to the Air Force base in New Orleans this fall and stay there for the winter.”

I assume with that comment that Dogman is a retired Air Force fellow and in a few more minutes, he and Dakota say goodbye and continue with their stroll around the campground.

Without saying a word, I just look over at Janie who is already shaking her head, knowing what is going through my mind after having had yet another complete stranger seek her out in the crowd and share their life history with her.

“I don’t know why, it’s just something that happens to me all the time,” she explains. “I’m going to go take a shower if you’ll stay here and watch the stuff.”

Gathering up her collection of girly shower stuff, she asks if I’m going to shower that night or in the morning, and I reply yes to both with my plans on taking two showers before leaving the campground for Saturday’s final leg of the trek.

“Well, aren’t you ‘Mr. Clean’, I’m not going to shower again in the morning,” she replies as she heads down the now dark lane toward the bathhouse and office area.

Finishing off some notes and taking a peak at the Lexington Herald I’ve saved up all day long, I look up to see a familiar shuffle headed toward our campsite, only coming from the wrong direction, meaning Janie had walked completely around the entire Ballyhoo layout.

“No, I missed the turnoff somehow – I think I did the same thing last year,” she says after I ask if she was searching for someone else who would share their life story with her on her trip back.

With Janie situated for her stint at guard duty, I head off to the Ballyhoo bathhouse with my own collection of cleaning items, which does once again, include some man soap – a must have that was from a lesson learned that first year of Yard Sale trekking.

The only one in the bathhouse at this 9:30 hour, the water temperature is great and the pressure is just as I remembered it from past visits – something that would also be encountered if your were bathing in a car wash.

Arriving back at the campsite shortly before 10:00, I soon realize by the excessive yawning that’s going on that I’m soon to be by myself so I explain that I’m going to head over to the pavilion where the wi-fi service is better to check on our emails and look in on the dogs and boy.

After getting the coffee ready to plug in first thing in the morning, I take the short walk to the collection of picnic table under the shelter and after achieving my two main wi-fi goals, I take a quick glance at the PGA Tournament leaderboard, answer a text message from Brett – who reports that the dogs and house are fine and is wondering “how was Shoney’s – LOL”.

I tell him it was a fantastic night of Shoney’s Surf and Turf, and with that, I’m off back to the camp spot and at 10:15, the Ballyhoo is a pretty quiet place with a bright moon shining through some lingering clouds.

Crawling into the back of the Excursion to wrangle a spot on the Yard Sale mattress, I comment that I am hearing no monster frog sounds coming from the nearby pond, but a few juvenile croaks are heard now and again, a reference to the sound we endured all night a few years back during our overnight stay near the pond.

“Someone might have stuck him,” she mutters, and with that, she’s asleep and shortly after, so am I as Day One of our 2014 Trek comes to an end.

Day Two – adventures (and treasures) are certainly ahead

My internal alarm clock activates at 6:05 a.m. and I suddenly realize that the giant bullfrog we had discussed the night before, had obviously returned and was croaking louder than I remembered.

Just a few seconds later it comes to me that the croaking sounds are instead originating from inside the Excursion and I quickly realize that it’s only that Upchurch nasal problem I’ve been hearing for the past three plus decades, and with that, I’m out the side door to get the coffee making underway.

Several minutes of enjoying the morning coolness and making friends with the two Ballyhoo ducks that have been hanging around looking for a handout, but turning down my crackers – obviously these two are severely spoiled RV campground ducks.

Grabbing up my shower supply stack and head back to the bathhouse at 6:50, just as I’m beginning to hear movement noise coming from inside the Excursion, for my second enjoyable car wash water pressure shower.

As I approach the back of the bathhouse /office building and open the door to the men’s side, I can’t help but chuckle at the older fellow standing at the women’s bathhouse door, obviously having a conversation through the door with his wife and somehow not being very successful at convincing her that she should hurry up so they can get on the road and catch the breakfast bar.

Wondering how it could be that a fellow of his years isn’t aware that Shoney’s holds it’s breakfast bar for extended hours on Saturday, I head on in and get myself clean and refreshed again, ready for yet another day of Yard Sale trekking.

Noting that Mr. Ballyhoo, whose real name I’ve learned through email exchanges is Stanley Watson, is manning the office this morning, I stick my head inside just to say “hi” and end up spending several minutes exchanging experiences with him about the 127 Sale.

Thanking him for the coffee he points to on the table, I congratulate him on what appears to be a success in his attempt to not only hold on for a couple of years since purchasing the Ballyhoo, but actually building the business from where it was the year before.

“This year, I might not have to pay all of the bills myself and actually pay some of them out of the business,” Watson says. “My wife still worries that we will, but I think it’s going to pay the water, electric and gas.”

He further explains that with some unused land he has around the campground, he’s setting up a Frisbee golf course and already has most of the work on the first nine holes completed.

Watson adds that the business is in fact picking up because he’s seeing more and more repeat customers and notes the 127 Sale weekend is certainly one of his biggest, and one of his favorites.

“I like to people watch,”Watson explains. “I guess that’s why I’m actually doing this.”

Before leaving Mr. Ballyhoo and heading out to the Excursion to see how far along Janie is with getting everything ready to roll, so we won’t be late getting to the breakfast bar, I ask one last question, inquiring about my newfound duck friends and if they are named or not.

“Quackers and Tag,” he says, laughing out loud before explaining. “Everywhere Quackers goes, the other one Tags right behind.”

Arriving back at our campsite just before 8:00, I realize that while Janie is in fact awake and enjoying coffee, there isn’t many signs yet of intelligent life, and certainly no signs of any efforts that would resemble anything akin to getting things put up and ready to leave.

After hearing her complaint that I had attempted to “steal” her pillow during the night, I explained that I thought she was already asleep and wouldn’t notice, an explanation that is met only with an “eye roll” and nothing more.

Finally, Janie heads toward the bathhouse and after the earlier eye roll, I manage to refrain from offering any comments that would involve reminding her not to take a wrong turn on her way back.

While I’m breaking camp, Dogman and Dakota stroll back through our community, and upon noticing that I’m the only one around, he simply offers up a friendly “good morning” and with that, they continue on around the gravel lane.

After returning to the camp, and finding that I have everything packed and ready, we’re on our way out of the campground at 8:50 and within just a few minutes, we’re once again pulling into the Shoney’s parking lot – which is full again – and ready for a good hot Shoney’s breakfast bar experience.

“It’s the World’s Longest Yard Sale”

Our server – Betty – was a friendly “old gal” but she could have served as President of the Crossville Chamber of Commerce.

A family seated across the aisle traveling from New York on I-40 had exited simply to grab the Shoney’s Breakfast Bar (smart Dad from New York) and couldn’t help but wonder what all of the excitement on U.S. 127 was all about.

Betty didn’t miss a beat, giving them the entire history of the Yard Sale including when and where it all began and an exact “to the mile” count of just how long the sale stretched and through which states.

Although Janie and I now consider ourselves 127 Trekking experts, we were both amazed at the spill that Betty was able to recite and just how full of fact it was.

Finally finished with another successful restaurant find and visit, we’re back in the truck at 9:57 and ready to head just down the road to the first of several favorite Crossville area epicenters, Janie leans back with her “go cup” of hot coffee..

“That was good,” she notes, waiting for my reply.

“It’s always good – I don’t remember it ever being bad,” I explain as I bully my way out onto 127, across the northbound lane and into the southbound traffic.

Just a few minutes later and with the tripmeter showing 87 miles, we pull into the law firm parking lot that is adjacent to the first setup of booths lining the highway.

“I wonder what the deal is with vacuum cleaners this year – they’re everywhere,” Janie says as we exit the truck.

With no real explanation to offer, I just go silent as we head up the hill toward the treasures and I remember that this is where I usually am able to find some nice Halloween articles from the vendor who in the past had decorated himself with a bone styled piece of jewelry running through his nose.

Splitting up early, Janie makes a quick stop at a booth where the lady has a nice collection of . . . yep, jewelry, and I head off toward bone nose boy’s collection of stuff.

Sure enough, I spot a couple of items I decide I can’t live without, and after scanning the entire stretch of booths, I stop on my way back through near the parked Excursion.

A quick selection and I’m soon negotiating with the girl in charge that morning (no sign of bone nose boy), and after a little haggling, we agree on a worth of $50 for the two items I’ve selected that were originally marked at $70.

With a nice black and orange “Boo” metal sign and a similar blue “Lake” sign in tow, I find Janie already in the truck at 11:14, and soon learn that while she does admire my purchases a great deal, she’s been through looking at this location for some 30 minutes already, and with that, we’re back on the highway headed south.

Within minutes we head past the Crossville Courthouse and I comment that the iconic direction and distance sign in the lawn still has “BRYDSTOWN” misspelled and a few miles later, we hit the second true parade speed or slower traffic jam of the trip.

With our next destination practically in sight, we spend the next 16 minutes driving that final mile to the bank parking lot that is across from the next planned epicenter stop.

As we head down the first row of booths that look familiar from previous year’s stops, Janie soon drops off with a quick explanation and a 90 degree turn under the tent where several jewelry showcases are situated.

“This is where I always stop, see ya later,” she says, already with a bracelet in her left hand, holding it up to the light.

Working my way through the array of offerings, again which is always one of the best layouts of the Tennessee routes that we’ve ever found, I spot several possible bluebird house buys, but decline in each case for one reason or another – too big, too ugly or involves license plates.

A stop inside one booth to look at the old printing equipment a fellow is having very little luck selling, and after a brief conversation, he’s handing me his business card and offering to come take a look at some of the old type I have stored in the back of the newspaper office.

I thank him and deposit his card in my pocket with no intention of ever giving him a call, and with that, I head toward the truck.

Another stop near the front of the epicenter as I near the bank parking lot to see if Janie has made her way back, and I notice several yard decorative items that cause me to backtrack and take a closer look.

A trio of different sized windmills catch my eye and after leaving and finding Janie indeed already in the truck, I tell her I’m likely to stop on the way back through to pick up one of the medium sized windmills for the back deck.

On to Pikeville at 12:32 and Janie produces two bronze rings she had purchased at the first booth – another of her favorite stops that offers “good, cheap” jewelry. She puts them on for me to see how they look and says she paid “price marked – $5.”

Driving through yet another parade speed stretch, the traffic breaks up and we both notice the “FOOD POTTY” sign above the small roadside restaurant that is certainly a local favorite – it couldn’t survive a name like that if it wasn’t.

“I think I’ll just stick to Shoney’s rather than take a chance on the Food Potty'”, she says through an all-out laughter. “I’d rather eat Nabs, I know where they come from.”

Pikeville – time to turn around

We reach our agreed Pikeville turnaround epicenter at 1:17 p.m. and 115 miles showing on the tripmeter, driving past several spots where smaller concentrations of sales had been in the past but were no longer active this year including the place where we had both made several treasure finds in the past, next to MeMaws Cooking.

A stroll through both sides of the park still left me with no birdhouse finds, but on the other hand, Janie did have better luck in that department picking up a very handsome birdhouse from a lady in the nic-nack barn for half price of the original $28 price.

“This is always my favorite stop,” Janie says as she reaches in the back for another bottle of water from the now nearly empty cooler behind the front seats.

It was mostly casual conversation and a couple of parade speed slowdowns as we headed back toward Crossville and a likely stop at that bank location epicenter to try and strike a deal with the windmill vendor, now that I know there is plenty of room left in the back of the Excursion.

I pull off to the side of the road, parking on the wide shoulder just in front of the windmill display at 3:20, and jump out to begin my search for the windmill vendor, glancing back to see if Janie is coming with me or not.

“I think I’m done, I’m staying here,” she says. “I can’t really walk right anymore.

With that, I trod up the short hill and toward the display of various windmills and other yard ornaments, sizing up the medium one that is about six feet tall and deciding that’s the one I’ll try and strike up a bargain on, noting the $150 price tag.

Several laps around the display area produces no live vendor, which prompts me to ask the person running the adjacent tent where I might find whoever is selling from the yard ornament location.

“Little Mexican lady, she has a tent set up right back there and she disappears a lot this time of day,” her neighbor tells me, making a gesture with his right hand that would mock someone taking a drink from a flask.

Minutes later, me and the short lady who owns the windmills are trying to understand each other with little success when I finally pull out a $100 bill and point toward the medium sized windmill.

“Cost me that – give me $120,” she counters in a broken style of English and with the sun now burning down on my bald head and her beginning to stumble a little, I throw in the other $20 and head to the truck with my latest Yard Sale treasure.

As we approach the Crossville intersection where the Shoney’s is, I offer up a change, mostly just as a gesture of kindness, never expecting to be taken up on it.

“There’s an Arby’s, want to eat there for a change?” I ask.

Might have been, as it turns out, the worst decision she made on the entire trip, but she agrees that she likes Arby’s and she takes me up on my generous offer.

We are surprised to run into a couple of Clinton County residents leaving the Arby’s as we enter, Jim and Kathy Hicks, who ask how far down we’ve been and after a short chat and exchange of how much we enjoy the trip, they head out and we go in.

Generally, I’m a pretty big fan of Arby’s and still am, but my advice on this trip would be to steer clear of the Crossville franchise location.

After having to practically beg the girls behind the counter to stop chatting among themselves and take our order, we’re later also disappointed to not have a fork available for our baked potatoes – handed us one of the “spork” things because they were out of forks – then having to actually move our feet once so the other employee could sweep under the booth we were sitting in.

Not to mention – the food sucked.

Back in the truck at 4:03 with perhaps what might have been the worst Arby’s experience ever now behind us, I wait for a few minutes to hear anything that might resemble a “you were right” comment, but it is slow in coming.

“That wouldn’t have happened in Shoney’s” I finally offer up.

“I’ve never had that happen before in Arby’s,” she comes back, before adding “I’m sorry – that was really bad.”

Traveling toward Albany the rains begin falling heavy again as we go through Crossville, forcing most of the sale locations to be covered up by the time we drive past, a trend that continues even as we drive through Jamestown.

With a break in the rain as we finally near the Forbus General Store, the roads begin to dry out and it becomes clear that the weather has been favorable up to this point in the area with still heavy crowds on hand and plenty of junk still covering the many tables alongside the road.

No place like home – our real home

Turning off of U.S. 127 in the Snow Community, we both note how the epicenter there is still going full steam just before when we turn onto the Snow School Road and head for the house

“Your truck is trashed,” Janie says, taking a look into the back as we pull to a stop in the driveway and she opens the door to greet two happy boxers who act like they haven’t seen a human being in weeks. “I’m worn out, but that was fun – let’s unload the truck tomorrow.”

Reflecting back on the trip for a few minutes on the back deck, I opt to at least unload my windmill find, and before long, I’ve assembled all of our treasures on the deck countertop and for the most part, completely cleaned out the truck to put a cap on another pretty successful 127 Yard Sale trek.

Again, my advice for you if you plan a similar trip stays the same – pack lightly, include plenty of cold water and snacks, comfortable shoes, plenty of time and by all means – go south.

But for certain, stay away from that Crossville Arby’s – that was a mistake that we both paid for, as it turned out, for a couple of days.

As I’ve said at the end of this saga for the past few years, it’s not always about the treasure, but mostly about the hunt.

And as I’ve also always said, the most important part of a successful 127 Yard Sale trek, is to make sure you have a good partner who is a good traveling companion. That’s been my best secret.

It’s still a pretty fun and cheap weekend!

However – all good things must come to an end.

A final note that will certainly draw some ire from the most loyal of readers who down through the past seven year long history of this “never ending story”, when it came time this year (2015) to begin making plans, Ballyhoo reservations and checking the 127 storage bin to see what might be needed, I could tell the lack of enthusiasm from my trekking partner could spell trouble for future articles.

I was right. The adventure just didn’t seem attractive to Janie this year, and I must admit, the trip was beginning to become somewhat of a “same ole, same ole” experience at every stop along the way.

So there you have it – there will be no more after this chapter, but it doesn’t necessarily have to end here.

Janie and I can’t be the only two who have experienced unique adventures on the 127 trek highway, and that’s where you come in.

If you’ve made a trip, long or short, and had some good, funny experiences or made a particularly unique find along the way, give it a share.

Write it down and bring it in to our office in person or send it in via email (gpcompany@kih.net).

It doesn’t have to be as long or detailed as the accounts I’ve passed along for the past seven years, but that would be worth a look at also. Long or short, funny or amusing, let us take a look.

If we find it amusing or worth sharing, we’ll publish the best accounts here in this space prior to next year’s 127 Yard Sale arrival.

In the mean time – enjoy this weekend’s Yard Sale – make some new friends, grab some road food and maybe even a few treasures along the way.

Above, local venders J.T. and Lisa Harden were selling handmade wooden bowls, crafted from buckeye wood, during the 2014 World’s Longest Yard Sale. Also above, Janie Gibson shows her pleasure at another chance to bed down at the Ballyhoo Family Campground during last year’s 127 trekking adventure.

This metal windmill yard decorative piece was the last item purchased on the 2014 Yard Sale trekking trip by Al Gibson. It now sits on the Gibson’s back deck near the water feature where several other items that have been purchased during previous trekking adventures are located.

Expect to run into friends and aquaaintces all along the 127 Sale route. Last year, one of the first we ran into was Monticello Banking President Willard Johnson, shown above during a torrential rain looking at some glassware while talking to Janie under a large tent at the Alvin C. York Park epicenter.

Refueling stop

Always hot with a bottomless glass of ice tea, the Crossville Shoney’s has long been a favorite stopping place up to three times on each 127 Trek of Janie and Al Gibson. A failed stop this year at the Crossville Arby’s left us both unhappy with the service, not to mention the three day reminder we both suffered through.

Mary Bishop was at the Mountain View Recreation Park last year selling her handmade crafts, most of which were hand painted gourds. “I do this so I won’t have to take crazy pills,” she said.

Although there is always plenty of treasures outside the Forbus General Store each year, most of the real action is inside near the back of the store where locals gather daily for a game of Pig.

You never know what you might see along the 127 Sale route. Investigating what could possibly be making so much racket in front of a barn at a sale location in Fentress County produced this small goat that was chained to a tire. No price tag was found.

While booth owner Hunter Shearer deals with the fire in his cooking unit in the background, Snow resident Juliann Mullins took orders from a long line of customers. The Hunter’s Bar-B-Q stop at the Snow epicenter is a favorite of locals and travelers alike.

Just south of Crossville, Janie stopped to look at one of her favorite booths on the 127 Trek route, where – guess what – is sold? Yep, “good, cheap jewelry.”

Two large metal signs Al Gibson purchased from a favorite vendor in Crossville.

Jerley Lee stopped shopping among a collection of glassware at the Snow epicenter last year long enough to answer her phone. Usually a seller for her church, her traditional location was not available in 2014 so she made the transition from vendor to buyer.