Learning from a spoiled trip north, the venture heads back south for 2010

Janie Gibson shows off her first 127 Yard Sale find of last year’s trip through Tennessee, a bag full of “unloved” stuff animals, including a big, green frog that rode on the Gibson dash for the entire trip and was named “10”, derived from the sum of adding 1+2+7.

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 Re-arrangement of Junk”. . .

That’s the way we began the recount of our two-day World’s Longest Yard Sale trek into Tennessee that appeared in the August 6, 2009 issue of the Clinton County News and quickly became one of the most popular and talked about articles ever published in these pages.

When we offered up our sequel in “Trekking the 127 Sale – Part II” last year, we used Jerry’s description to once again get the article underway.

It’s become a tradition, much like the account of this couple’s annual trek through at least a portion of what is billed annually as the World’s Longest Yard Sale.

So, in honor of our good friend, the late Jerry Gibson, that’s the way we’ll start it out again this year for the third installment of a look back at how things went last year when we once again took an annual pilgrimage down the U.S. 127 Corridor for a look at the collections of junk, antiques, treasures and yep, more junk.

A look back at how it all started

A quick recount would bring to mind the first trip that has proven of the three treks, to have been the best venture, when in 2008 I made good on a slip of the tongue promise to travel at least across the state line and see just how many 127 Yard Sale stops we could take in during a two-day trip through Tennessee.

That trip proved to be an adventure to say the least, with my wife of 30 plus years and myself heading south into the Volunteer State, eventually making it all the way across our southern neighbor state into Chattanooga, and back.

The outing included a fun-filled weekend that was surprisingly enjoyable for both of us, with a two night stay at the Crossville, Tennessee based Ballyhoo Campground, utilizing our blue Ford Excursion for sleeping quarters both on Friday night as we worked our way into the middle of the state, then again on Saturday night after reaching Chattanooga, then returning to the Crossville area by nightfall.

With the one exception of the incident at the Shoney’s salad bar when I found myself trapped in a swarm of hungry, tomato grabbing women, all in all the 2009 adventure turned out to be a fun-filled weekend adventure.

In short, it was a great trip.

In “Trekking II”, last year’s published account of the follow-up trip on that first Saturday of August, 2009, we headed north in hopes of finding even more new junk, and with the hopes of a new and even better adventure.

It just didn’t turn out as good, as we quickly realized that Albany and Clinton County was certainly one of the areas of Kentucky that had wholeheartedly embraced the 127 Yard Sale concept, and while there were a host of “epi-center” sales along the way, the activity just wasn’t as concentrated as what we had found the year before.

With the family dog, Oscar, in tow, we again filled the Ford Excursion with enough supplies to spend a couple of days and nights on the road, and with a goal of at least reaching the Ohio River before heading home, we headed “up” U.S. 127.

No treasures, no room at the first campground and only a makeshift spot at the second campground, and no bathhouse. In fact, the one of the few highlights of that first day – especially for Oscar – was that bucket of KFC grilled chicken we enjoyed at the edge of a small lake before heading out in search of a place to spend the night.

This trip north, was quickly turning south, and on the second day, as we inched closer to our goal of the Ohio River, the fun and the finds were just simply not coming out.

It was on this second trip, at the Frankfort Shoney’s on Saturday at exactly 1:20 p.m. that Janie uttered those now famous words when she gave up the fight and “tapped out” of the yard sale adventure:

“This sucks – I want to go home – let’s just go home. Next year, you don’t even have to go, you gave it your best effort, you win.”

Yep, the Yard Sale Queen had “tapped out” at the Frankfort Shoney’s, bringing an end to our 2009 trip north, and at the time, it seemed quite possibly an end to our 127 Yard Sale ventures altogether.

2010, back on the road

I wasn’t about to tell her at the time she announced her submission to the yard sale trip at that Frankfort Shoney’s – which by the way, is one of the finest Shoney’s in the franchise collection, if you’re ever in the neighborhood, check it out – that I was actually enjoying these outings.

It wasn’t the hunt for treasures or collectables along the way that she enjoyed so much that was so entertaining to me, but rather the break from a routine weekend of lake outings, and the chance to do some people watching. Making small talk with other yard sale visitors from across the region, listening to vendors tell their stories and spending some time with the partner I had shared so much of my life with since our high school sweetheart days in the mid 1970s.

If we weren’t going back, I think I was going to miss this.

So, with nearly a year behind our less than enthusiastic memories of that 2009 trip through Kentucky, and with just a couple of weeks before the start of the 2010 World’s Longest Yard Sale, we began tossing around the idea of maybe trying it one more time, with both of us quickly agreeing that any trip this time, would certainly be in a southern direction.

Now while Oscar’s inclusion on that northern venture worked out favorably, there was no question that he wouldn’t be making a return trip if we went south for the third outing, and it was of no fault of his own.

During the winter months, we had expanded our dog family with a new pup – Belle – and she was certainly the most energetic, mischievous and as I generally find the best way to describe her fun but often challenging personality – “unruly” boxer we have ever had. No way could we leave her with Oscar inside the air conditioned confines of the big blue Excursion on a trip like this for any length of time – unless we were prepared to return home in a vehicle that lacked any upholstery whatsoever. Besides – it just wouldn’t be fair to Oscar, who often just sits calmly and watches in disgust as she destroys whatever happens to be the closest to her when these urges strike.

The plans are set

Finally, the first August weekend arrived, and we agreed – let’s try it one more time. Brett and Joanna, our oldest son and only daughter-in-law, can dog-sit and we’ll head south to at least Crossville on Friday night, spend a night at our favorite Tennessee home – the Ballyhoo Campground. On Saturday, we’ll head further south at least to Dunlap, then we’ll head back to Albany, cutting the trip in half from our first two outings, and hopefully cutting down on the chances of being forced into another drawn out disappointment.

With the truck loaded from the supply box marked “127 Sale Stuff” that includes a coffee pot and a small fan, the cooler filled with snacks, water and ice, and a camera, notebook and the cell phone on the console, we embarked on yet another trip through the Volunteer State and both of us with hopes of a better time.

After visiting the favorite Clinton County spots – a stop at the Mountain View Rec Park – one of our “epi-center” collections as we refer to areas with a host of vendors, then on to Lands Chapel, the old Albany Ford property in the Snow Community and stocking up on some of Hunter’s Bar-B-Que, we climbed into the Excursion at 12:14 p.m. Friday and headed south, down U.S. 127 toward the Tennessee line.

Traveling through Snow and into Albany, working through the heavy traffic and nearly 30 minutes later, we finally reached the state of Tennessee at Static, and with that I was instructed that we were about to make our first stop – this one at a collection of merchandise situated at what had a few years ago been occupied by the Gold Dust Saloon. It only took me a couple of minutes to figure out that this stop didn’t have anything I needed and I quickly retreated to the cool confines of the air conditioned truck to wait while Janie handled every single item being offered.

Ten minutes later, and she returns with the first buy of our 2010 World’s Longest Yard Sale trip – a large garbage bag full of stuffed animals. Dogs, bears and even a frog.

“For all of my nieces – and only $10” Janie said with more excitement in her voice than I heard throughout the entire trip the year before. “They’re un-loved, not worn out.”

With that explanation of the like-new condition of these toy critters, she reached into the bag and pulled out a giant green frog with a red tongue protruding from his smiling mouth and proclaimed –“This is for you – you can name it if you want” as she plopped it down on the dash of the truck, grinning in satisfaction that she had added to my now vast collection of frogs.

Heading south toward Jamestown – the original home of the World’s Longest Yard Sale, we made it a whole 16 miles before encountering a gathering of vendors on the right side of the highway that was just short of being classed a 127 epi-center, but worthy of a look-see nonetheless.

Lots of individual booths and a good variety of tools and cast iron cookware, I might come across something worth throwing the back of the truck. Wasn’t the case but a pretty good stop I thought to myself as I climbed back into the truck some 25 minutes later, joined shortly by Janie and what was quite possibly the ugliest vase I’ve ever seen, and believe me – I’ve seen plenty.

“It was just $2” she explained as she admired her find, then made sure it was carefully wrapped so as to not get destroyed during the trip. “Boy, what a deal that was” I answered, apparently with just enough sarcasm as to draw my first over the glasses stare of the weekend.

Yep, this was going to be better, I thought to myself already.

10

“10”, I said without any explanation, breaking the silence as we barreled down U.S. 127 at a brisk pace, heading toward what we both knew would be our next stop, the huge gathering that always occupies both sides of the highway at the Sgt. York Gristmill and Pall Mall Volunteer Fire Department headquarters.

“10 what?” quickly came back.

“Name of the frog – 10” I said as I pointed to the stuffed green frog staring at me from the dashboard – where incidentally it still rides nearly a year later. “Add 127 – 1 plus 2 plus 7 – and you get 10 – that’s the name of the frog.”

No response, but I did detect a grin on her face – another indication that this year’s venture would certainly top the failed trip we had so desperately tried to put behind us.

With the clock showing 1:40 already, we pull into what is actually one of the best 127 Yard Sale offerings in the immediate Clinton County area – a must visit if you are only looking for a venture of a couple of hours – the York Gristmill area just north of Jamestown.

Both sides of the road filled with private vendors, clubs attempting fundraisers, collectors and table after table of good items – and even more tables filled with junk.

“We’ll be here for awhile” Janie predicted as she shut the truck door, realizing that I would be heading off at my own pace for this stop, rather than the slow, methodical “pick and touch” method she prefers.

Twenty minutes after parking at the Pall Mall Volunteer Fire Department headquarters, I’ve finished with the entire group of vendors on the right side of the road, and I venture into the Sgt. York Gristmill park for a while, admiring the mill itself with it’s large waterwheel and swiftly flowing stream that heads under the bridge crossing U.S. 127.

Thinking back to my most memorable encounter with that very bridge, an afternoon in the very early 1970s while helping Harvey Aaron on his Flavor-Rich milk route that included a portion of Bald Rock, Pall Mall and Static.

As instructed by Harvey the day before, I came this time with a pair of swimming trunks in store – not really knowing what to expect. The plan was to change in the back of the milk truck, scale the edge of the bridge, then dive off into the refreshing waters below.

I remembered that day as I looked at the “No Swimming” sign that now was on the bank next to the reservoir – that was certainly the coldest shock I had ever had in my life when I broke the surface of that water just seconds behind Harvey.

Still one of his favorite stories to recall – if you don’t believe me, just ask him. As I made my way out of the water onto the mud bank, Harvey met me on the bank with a big grin on his face, reminding me of story he had told earlier in the day that involved another friend and a goose egg.

“It went just like this,” Harvey said as he raised his cupped hand and splatted me right between the eyes with a big, hot, stinking goose egg he had found on the bank. Back in that cold water I went, trying to get the goose egg out of what was then a mop of long hair, as he stood on the bank slapping his legs in amusement.

That bridge looked taller back then I thought to myself, recalling the goose egg episode in my head as I crossed the road to check out the other side of treasures that would lead me back to the parked Excursion. Then I remembered that while that water was frigid –both times I was in – it paled in comparison to the experience of changing out of those wet swimming trunks in the back of a milk truck that is maintained at a temperature of 33 degrees.

More junk/treasures to peruse on the other side of the road, but the first thing I notice is that the antiques outlet – Valley of the Three Forks Antique Store – is closed for the weekend, so they must have figured out from previous years that a weekend of junk hunting won’t help the business of selling overpriced antiques – probably hit the road in search of some treasures themselves.

On down the group I run into an Albany dealer – Ricky Shelton, who is vending his custom made furniture, and seems to be having some success, at least at the moment as he’s talking with a couple of potential customers so I don’t interrupt – just throw up my hand and give him a “Hey Ricky” as I pass by and head for the truck.

Janie’s already inside with the air conditioner at full blast, which is about the third time on this still young venture that this has happened, and I can’t say I’m not in favor of this new tradition. It’s 2:10 p.m. and we head on south, traveling an entire 16 minutes before we pull over again at a small gathering of local residents selling some goods in a wooded area.

I found a cap to purchase after discovering earlier that not only had I somehow left the Snow Community without one, then following a wholehearted search of the truck discovered that I also didn’t have one hidden somewhere inside. With a few hours of hot daylight still in front of me, I’m already beginning to feel that tingle of a sunburn on my slick noggin.

Donning my new cap, I head for the truck and find, once again, Janie waiting inside, this time admiring her newest find which is some kind of strange little glass bird thingy.

Addison’s glass chicken

“It’s a pink hen on a nest, for Addison,” she explains, prompting me to ask even more questions beginning with why is she buying a pink hen for Addison.

Seems that Addison Bernard had questioned Janie one day in the office as to why she got to be on the front page of the Clinton County News last year with the yard sale story, and at the end of the conversation, the young girl had asked her “Did you see any glass chickens – I like glass chickens.”

So, with Addison’s newest addition to her “glass chicken” collection in the back, we once again fire up the truck and make our way toward the next yard sale mecca, the official 127 Yard Sale headquarters at Jamestown.

Traveling that two miles or so into Jamestown, I get a call from my best friend Allen Smith who asks how things are going on this year’s 127 trip. He explains that he and his wife are actually going to check out the Sale this year, and knowing he’s not a fan at all of the 127 experience, I question that statement and get the reply I should have expected.

“Yep, we’re going to go down 127 to Static, then turn right on 111 and get away from all of that junk and I ain’t stopping until I pull into Red Lobster in Cookeville,” Smith explained. “And I hope they’re all closed up when we come back through tonight.”

Janie and I laugh as I relay his message while turning into a parking area at the northern end of the Jamestown vendors area, which is chock full of offerings on both sides of the highway.

These vendors offer pretty much everything from food to junk to tools and clothing and even antique automobiles in one collection that touts a visit to their junk yard web site: www.under1981.com, an address I jot down in my notebook to check out later that night provided I can get some wifi service at the Ballyhoo.

One thing I do notice is that there is way too much Tennessee orange in this area – both worn and for sale – for my liking, and my new UK hat is standing out like a marshmellow in a cup of hot chocolate.

On through the booths on the west side of the road, and across the highway for the trip back. After a stop to check out the old cars, I head back to the truck, to once again find Janie already inside with the engine and air conditioning running full speed.

The first hint of a disappointment came as we pulled out of the Jamestown stop and headed to the next epi-center location at the old Jordan Motel, when she figured out that her trip through the booths had actually not included the entire collection.

Not realizing that the area actually had a double run – or four rows of vendors nearly caused me to have to stop again, but a little pressure on the accelerator and it was pretty plain that we weren’t going to backtrack on this particular stop.

The Jordan Motel location proved to be a pretty unique stop and in fact, offered up the first real yard sale find of the weekend, a couple of wooden yard decorations with themes of our respective favorite holiday – Christmas for her, of course, with the purchase of a wooden snowman silhouette, and for me, a “Goblin Express Train” decoration that included the engine, caboose and a couple of cars in between, each carrying a Halloween character.

Handmade by an elderly couple who said they were from Michigan, the combined price totaled $65 but a little haggling and we were loading our yard critters for just $58.

“We build ‘em to last,” the old guy said with a laugh, explaining that he knows his plywood cutouts will withstand even Michigan winters, so Kentucky’s mild seasons should be no problem.

“I butcher the wood, and she makes ‘em pretty” he further explains, pointing to a grinning white haired lady with a nail apron full of money. “You have to pay her too, I don’t count so well.”

With our prizes situated in the back of the truck, we head on out again in search of even more stuff and hopefully, inching closer to our planned overnight goal of Crossville, a good meal at the Shoney’s and a stay at the Ballyhoo Campground.

With the trip meter showing 49 miles, and the clock at 4:35 p.m., we pull into the Grimsley collection of vendors, stuff and buyers, for what is another bright spot along the way we remembered from the trip two years earlier.

Janie spots some Candlewick dishes inside one of the small stores at the Grimsley gathering, but leaves empty-handed.

“Way, way too high on that,” she quips, as we make our way back inside the truck just 20 minutes later. “That just wasn’t a good stop like before.”

We pull into the Clarkrange epi-center just three miles down the road, a huge collection of vendors offering one of the widest arrays that will be spotted on the trip through Tennessee, all situated around a huge walking track at the park.

Nearly 30 minutes later, and surprising almost all of which are spent at least within sight of each other, and we’re again pulling on to 127 in search of the next stop when Janie pulls out a small package and takes a look at the find she picked up at that Clarkrange outing.

“Bought some earrings – I needed them,” she proclaims, then before I can even ask, she continues with “$12, price marked, no haggling.”

Mile 67 finds us pulling off the highway again for what appears to be a pretty good looking collection of stuff, and with the truck clock showing 5:55 p.m., we notice that already we’re starting to see some tarps being spread over vendors collections.

A few minutes later, and with no finds -not even any jewelry – we’re back on the road headed for Crossville and Shoney’s .

“That’s wasn’t as good as I thought it would be,” Janie says as we pull away.

Crossing into the Crossville City Limits at 6:10 p.m., everything comes to a near standstill as the traffic shifts downward to what could best be described as “parade speed” as we head through the first epi-center of goodies.

Reaching Shoney’s a couple of miles later, I quickly realize that unlike the visit two years ago, not only is the restaurant open and ready for business, but apparently the owners have found yet another way to relish the U.S. 127 Yard Sale event as much of the adjacent parking lot is also filled with vendors – all just a few feet from the Shoney’s front door.

“How much better could it get for you,” Janie says with a big laugh as we back into a parking spot.

Quickly agreeing that the smartest move, considering the time of evening, would be to look at the booths before heading into the restaurant for a Shoney’s Seafood and Steak, we make a circle through the parking lot to see what’s being offered.

Somehow those items on the tables and shelves just didn’t pique my interest as much as the aroma of the fine cuisine that awaited us as the smoke from the grill fan filled the air and drew my attention away from what was being offered for sale on the outside.

So, inside we headed for a good break from the heat, and the junk, and I’ll have to say, one of the better Steak and Seafood nights we’ve ever encountered.

By the way, that Crossville Shoney’s is one of the finest in the entire franchise – if you’re ever in the area be sure and check it out.

With full stomachs and no episodes at the salad bar, and only a slight problem that Janie encountered with the automatic paper towel dispenser in the ladies room, we pay our bill, load into the truck after deciding to skip one final gathering of yard sale treasures that will be available on Saturday, we head off of U.S. 127 for the first time since leaving the Snow School Road at the start of the trip.

Back to Ballyhoo – home, sweet home

“Ballyhoo Campground Ahead” the road sign we have been looking for reads, and with that we know we’re in the right vicinity for what will surely be a needed break and some rest.

Pulling past the large Ballyhoo welcoming sign with the cow looming large, we head down the gravel road that will lead us to our home for the night – hopefully the camper spot at the end of the first row, next to the creek and the electric hookup where we’ll plug in the coffee pot, purchased a couple of years ago for this annual trip – and of course the fan that Janie purchased somewhere along the way during the first 127 run through this same route.

A stop at the Ballyhoo office and a short conversation with the owner, and I learn that some pretty torrential rains had washed the road out earlier in the week, so he apologizes for the ruts and says he remembers us being there before.

Mr. Ballyhoo further notes that business continues to be slow for his struggling campground, but he’s holding on, then he takes the copy of the Clinton County News I had brought for him with the account of our first 127 trek and Ballyhoo stay, saying he hopes it was a “favorable” account of our experience there.

At 8:05 p.m. we pull into the same camping spot we had occupied twice during the 2008 trek and begin getting the truck ready, talking about how this year’s first day was much better than either day last year. A quick phone call home to check on the dogs and at 8:30 I get out the laptop and see if the wifi signal from the office will reach our spot – nope.

Janie plugged up her fan, routing the wire inside the truck, and realizing the cord was too short for what she had planned, she situates the pallet in the opposite direction from how we had stretched out before, prompting me to ask “why are we laying backwards – my feet are higher than my head.”

Explaining the deal with the fan cord, she quickly adds “you can turn around if it bothers you that much.”

Assessing that for a brief moment, and realizing that she had opted to skip that bathhouse shower until in the morning, I came up with the idea that I’d rather just stay where I was.

“No way am I sleeping with my face next to those feet after you’ve been walking all day,” I said, figuring I probably should just keep that comment to myself, but somehow finding it impossible to do so. “I’ll make do.”

There was no reply, and after looking over the local newspaper with the aid of a small flashlight, I drifted off to sleep sometime before 10:00 p.m., the first day of 127 treasure hunting behind us.

After only a couple of brief awakenings to check on the bad storm I keep hearing brewing at the campground, then realizing each time that the noise is actually coming from inside the truck and is best described at the “Upchurch snore (roar)”, I’m up and out of the truck at 5:30 a.m..

One down, a new day to go

With only the sound of the nearby creek to be heard, I hit the switch on the coffee pot and sit down to enjoy the crisp and much cooler air, awaiting the coffee and noticing that 74 degrees is much more comfortable than 94 degrees.

At 7:00 a.m. I head to the office/bathhouse, stopping at the bulletin board to chat with a fellow who says he’s from the area where the sale either starts, or ends depending on how you look at it – Gadsden, Alabama.

“Gonna be another hot one – yesterday I saw 117 on a couple of thermometers,” he says. “Hope it’s not so hot today.”

I agree and head into the shower facility, exiting a few minutes later feeling refreshed, clean (brought some man soap) and ready to tackle a new day, and I head back to the truck to get everything there stashed away for the rest of the trip, while Janie heads to the bathhouse.

As we finish up the truck arranging, we spend a little time talking about the plan for the day, quickly agreeing that the plan will likely be a “loose one” and I suggest it should probably start at the Crossville Shoney’s for breakfast, then head on south to what was the Crossville epi-center that goes on for nearly a mile on both sides of the highway.

“I would have gathered as much,” Janie quips right back at the Shoney’s comment and with that, we head up the washed out gravel road and toward the exit to the Ballyhoo Campground.

On the way out, I spot the fellow from Gadsden, Alabama, in his own pickup truck with two Jack Russell dogs and who I would guess was his wife, hair in rollers and already pointing her finger at him giving instructions about something..

“Man, his day can only get worse from here,” I said out loud, expecting to get a response but instead seeing Janie only nod her head in agreement.

As we leave the Ballyhoo at 8:30 a.m., I think to myself that the campground business in Crossville has probably seen its better days – owner is a nice guy that seems to be struggling with his plans – about 70 camp spots available and on what should be a big weekend, we count only about 12 occupied.

“We don’t even have to go to Pikeville if you don’t want to, we could just do Crossville and go on home,” Janie says as we turn past the Ballyhoo sign. “I don’t care – what a wonderful day in the neighborhood . . . I feel like a new woman.”

Another good meal at Shoney’s and we’re pulling into one of the Crossville epi-centers at 9:35 a.m., two miles south of I-40 where we remember seeing a good mix of vendors and private individual booths.

A television crew walks through doing a few spot interviews with shoppers, and I manage to get out of the area with three dog toys for the “kids” back home, and a large haunted house candle holder for the yard and the Halloween decorating that is on down in fall. Price at $30, it’s mine for $25.

As I head back to the truck, I spot a fellow I know must be from Albany, wearing a Trooper Island hat and an Albany Redi-Mix t-shirt, but I don’t know him so I just walk on by, hoping to unload this yard decoration before I end up breaking something that I don’t really want to buy.

It’s 10:30 a.m. and that 74 degree start didn’t take long to warm up to about 90 degrees, and as I turn the corner, I spot Janie so we decide it’s more fun to look while we’re together.

That concept lasted at least a couple of moments when she spotted yet another booth full of jewelry, and I said looking by myself was more fun than standing there watching her try on earrings, so I’m heading in search of some “good stuff.”

“You don’t know what good stuff is – this is good stuff,” she explains as I’m already almost out of earshot, hoping to spend a little time looking at something besides old jewelry or dishes.

We’re back in the truck about 11:00 a.m. and still heading south, with traffic through downtown Crossville back at that parade speed, a crawl we continue for nearly five miles, without ever spotting a major epi-center along the way, or any other reason for the slowdown for that matter.

A glance over at the old directional sign in the Crossville courthouse lawn and the “Albany – 64” millage notation, causes me to glance down and see that it took us 94 miles to reach this point. Five miles later we come into the reason for the crawl, a new epi-center of yard sale collections that both of us recall being the sight where I had attempted to buy the pair of naked African women statues a couple of years earlier, but had left empty handed.

An hour later and in what was surely 100 degree heat, and we’re back in the truck heading down to what we hope is Dayton.

A wrong turn but a good break

Reaching near normal speeds, and without having seen any yard sale activity for some time, I consider out loud that perhaps we’ve taken a wrong turn, when I see a U.S. 27 sign go by, and figure out that sure enough, we’ve somehow left U.S. 127, so with a little map studying and some pretty impressive maneuvering without having to stop and ask for directions, we are quickly back on track and about 30 minutes later, in the middle of Pikeville and the epi-center we had hoped to reach when we left Crossville.

“That was a pretty good break in the cool, ya know?” Janie says as we pull into the grassy parking area next to the Pikeville gathering of treasures.

About 30 minutes later and once again we’re back in the truck, and for the first time, we’ve both picked up some merchandise, a pair of “Tom Cruise” sunglasses ($5) because I had lost the glasses I left home with – I think on the picnic table at the Ballyhoo, and also a pretty impressive bandanna with a sponge sewn into it that holds water and keeps your bald head nice and cool ($10).

Apparently unimpressed with either of my Pikeville “scores”, Janie proceeds to show me her finds from Pikeville – surprise – more jewelry and some more dishes.

“That was a good stop, always has been a good stop,” she says, unwrapping one of three Candlewick dishes to show off. “I bought these three-footed bowls, do you know how hard they are to find? Talked ’em down $2 to just $25.”

Heading back into the Crossville area at 3:40 we stop at a few places we had passed up earlier, but nothing really piqued either of our yard sale interests and at 4:36 p.m., as we near I-40 intersection, Janie looks up and proclaims “Hey look, Shoney’s, let’s stop and eat at Shoney’s.’

“I think I’m winning you over,” I proudly blurt out, which brings out a quick comeback, “I’ve given up that fight.”

I explain that – after a good meal at Shoney’s – there was one more stop I wanted to make at a spot along the way we somehow didn’t stop at on the way down, then we could head back to the house if she wanted.

“By grabs we’ll sure stop wherever you want, I don’t want you telling everybody I ‘tapped out’ this year,” she says with a chuckle.

We’re out of Shoney’s again at 5:22 p.m., and slowing down just enough to see that the planned stopping point had already closed up, we “hammer down” the big blue Excursion and head for Albany and the Snow School Road, pulling into the house at 6:40 p.m. to two lonely dogs and another closed chapter on the “Trekking the 127 Sale” saga.

Not much on giving advice, but when it comes to the 127 Sale I’ve got some – go south, take some man soap, keep the plans loose and wear a cap.

It’s pretty fun and cheap weekend.