With several years of 127 Sale experience now, Janie Gibson shows her expert haggling talents to a vendor at the Alvin C. York park epicenter last year. Both survived the experience with a positive note – Janie leaving with several pieces of Candlewick glassware, and the vendor happy with a fist full of dollars.

Trekking the 127 Sale – IV

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” . . .

For the fourth straight year now, that’s how I’ve gotten off and running with our annual recount of a trip along U.S. 127 to take part in what is better known as the World’s Longest Yard Sale.

It all began in 2008 when my wife, Janie, took me up on a 2007 promise I made during our then normal single afternoon trip looking at a few of the sale booths set up in Clinton County.

On a whim during the first stop of that initial “trekking”, I reached for a notebook and the reporter in me simply couldn’t go on vacation, I started taking notes and kept on taking notes through the entire trip.

That notebook sat idle for nearly a year, and then in 2009, I put together a rather lengthy, detailed account of our inaugural trip, titled “Trekking the 127 Sale on a Dime” which quickly became one of the most talked about and favorite pieces of you, the readers – at least that was the notion I got from the deluge of comments that first article brought our way.

We followed with Part II, III and now the most recent chapter – Part IV.

At the office, we jokingly referred to the 127 article – especially that first year, as the “story that wouldn’t end” as it seemed that comments – most favorable, continued to be brought our way throughout the entire year.

As with any event that is held on a continuing basis, there have always been new experiences in each trip, mostly good, some not so good, but we’ve learned from our mistakes and our successes, and have continued to make each year’s 127 Trek a better experience that it was before.

So, in honor of our good friend, Jerry Gibson, it is again how we will get this year’s account – Trekking the 127 Sale IV started – a trip south down the now familiar corridor deep into our neighboring state of Tennessee.

Looking back at how this all got started

Briefly, to remind the faithful reader 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?

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 Wonderdawg – 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 now four-year Trekking 127 outings.

The venture north quickly gave up evidence that with the exception of Clinton County, 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.

“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. 10 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 out 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.

Trekking IV – another run south for 2011

So, all of that reviewed as to how things had brought us here, we were ready for yet another U.S. 127 outing last year, and again it would be another trip south, and another single night outing beginning on Friday with plans to return home before dark on Saturday.

Although Oscar was still that calm, patient male Boxer that could have easily accompanied us on our trip through Tennessee last year, his running mate, the now one and one-half year-old female, Belle, was still a rambunctious, out of control, little or no disciplined “unruly” pup who was still destroying anything that involved upholstery whenever she was left alone.

Not wanting to risk trying to buy new truck seats when the trip was over, it was decided that once again, leaving the “kids” at home would be the best decision for the weekend, and plans began coming together as last year’s 127 weekend approached.

Janie gets a “head-start”

With a renewed positive attitude following that good trip in 2010, Janie even got a head start on last year’s 127 experience, taking a truck-load of lake girlfriends who had never experienced anything like this before, on a single afternoon run north toward Casey County Thursday – just to get things rolling.

Hailing from Indiana, Ohio and Tennessee, these new 127 trekkers had clearly enjoyed the afternoon run when they pulled back down the driveway that leads to our home in the Snow Community of Clinton County after a four or five hour outing.

Unloading the vehicle in the driveway at the Snow homestead, the girls spent several minutes comparing and showing off their early 127 finds before loading up in separate vehicles and heading home.

For me – it was time to start getting things put together and shored up in the big blue Ford Excursion that would once again be our headquarters – and sleeping home – for the 2011 trek south.

As I mentioned in the past – we have clearly learned, and evolved with each year’s 127 experience, and now even gathering up much needed items for the trek has become as simple as retrieving the large storage box from the barn that is marked “127 Stuff” and giving it a quick look-see to make sure everything is intact before placing it inside the truck.

Included in that storage box is a “list” of additional items that would be needed, along with a few notes and ideas I had gathered from the previous year – you should always have a list, just ask any man.

Coffee pot – check, fan – check, extension cord – check, mattress – check. Throw in some snacks, a cooler, plenty of water and the other necessary items – camera, notebooks, maps, iPad and even a couple of new additions that resulted from the note left in the storage box from the prior year, a couple of comfortable folding butterfly chairs to lounge in at the campsite – concrete picnic tables don’t leave much room for comfort – and the supply gathering is all finished.

So, come Friday morning everything is set, and after a half day or so at work, we’ll head out.

Friday and my own ‘early start’

Driving through the Snow epicenter on the way back to the house after work, sale tables are uncovered, smoke fills the air from Hunter Shearer’s bar-b-que place and traffic is already starting to cause a slow-down, I decide it just isn’t fair that Janie got a head-start with her Thursday experience, so I pull in to the area behind Hunter’s spot and leave the truck for the large white tent across the road.

It’s there that I’ve befriended the guy who runs the booth that always has good stuff – and often has at least one item that seems to catch everyone’s eye all weekend long – the female mannequin inside the large rain barrel several years ago comes to mind as being amongst his most bizarre offerings.

“You’re too late,” he quickly yells as he sees me making his way in his direction. “You missed it – had an old phone booth with a mannequin inside but I sold it yesterday to a couple who were at least 85 years old – they were tickled to death.”

We chat for a few minutes and he wonders aloud what his chances are now for making the front page of the Clinton County News for the fourth straight year – now that he has already sold his bazaar 127 Sale item.

It’s about then that I notice a price tag hanging from the fire hydrant located near the front of his tent, and being from the Snow Community, I quickly recognize that hydrant as one that “stays” when all of the 127 tents and excitement leaves.

He explains that he placed the $25 price tag on the hydrant as a joke, and it quickly nabbed it’s first victim.

“One guy make me an offer and when we told him it was a joke, he said ‘please, don’t tell anyone,'” Mr. Barrel Man said as he finished his story, stopping to chuckle at the potential customer’s embarrassment.

Bought a large, metal reproduction sign of a boxing glove holding a beer bottle – should look nice on the wall of “Al’s Outdoor Kitchen”. First buy of the weekend – priced $25, was in the truck after a $20 offer and a handshake until we meet again next year.

Leaving the area I ran into an acquaintance from daily exercising walks at Mountain View Park who asks if Janie and I are heading out again this year – “Going south” I say as I head toward the parking lot across the street.

Before I reach the truck, I’m confronted by yet another faithful 127 Trek follower, Pam Shultz, who relates how much she looks forward to the account of our annual venture.

“I sent a copy of the paper up north to my relatives and told them ‘see what your”re missing – you’ve got to come down for this,'” Shultz says with a laugh.

I thank her and head back to the truck, stopping at Hunter’s tent to nab up some bar-b-que chicken, already my third meal from Hunter in two days.

Off to the house to unload the sign, and pack the truck.

12:05 p.m., mileage 0.0

Trek IV officially starts

With a truck full of supplies, ’10’ on the dash and Janie in the passenger seat, I check the dash clock to see “12:05” and reach down to reset the trip meter before dropping the big blue excursion into drive and pulling out of the Snow driveway and toward Albany for our latest, and now fourth, weekend 127 trip.

Watching Janie scribble something down in a notebook, I ask her what she’s writing and she quickly quips back “Keeping my own notes this year, I’m tired of you getting all of the credit and telling the story – I’m going to do my own article next year,” Janie says with a grin.

Doubting that will ever happen, I let it slide without comment and we barrel down the road, taking the back road to join 127 at the stoplight since we’ve both already stopped at both the Snow and the Mountain View Park epicenters earlier in the day.

With 13 miles showing on the truck, and having made it all the way across the state line without seeing any reason to pull over, we spot a cluster of activity in a field on the right side of the road and with that, it becomes our first stop of the day.

“Whole bunch of nothing there,” Janie noted as we climbed back in the truck just six minutes later, the insides of the vehicle still cooled from the air conditioner that hadn’t been shut off long despite a reading of 88 degrees outside.

Headed down 127 toward the Sgt. York Gristmill area that is always a good stop, we pull off at the 16 mile point to an area that is always deserving of “epicenter” status with a good variety of offerings

Worthy of nearly 20 minutes of browsing, we both determine that it was a good stop but didn’t produce any “needed” items and with that, we’re again back on the highway, this time with the air conditioner at full blast, in search of our next epicenter stop.

Spotting a small group of tables a mile or so down the road, I slow down at about the time that Janie notices that for the most part, what is begin sold at this location appears to be clothes and quickly I’m instructed not to pull over but head on down the road.

“That’s just somebody else’s junk,” she explains, adding “It’s always somebody elses, but it’s not always junk.”

At 1:13 we encounter a slowdown in speed as well as parked vehicles on both sides of the road, and remembering that in past years it has been a good stop, we pull over just a few yards from the Forbus General Store to check on the offerings there.

Running into my first Clinton County folk, I chat for a while with Lana Ellison and Shelia Sells who are operating a booth selling food. After talking with store owner Joe Sells for awhile, I head on down the parking lot to check out the offerings.

Lots of tools and guns and even some antique furniture, I quickly realize I’ve lost site of my trekking partner so I head back toward the truck, trying not to pay attention to the fierce sun that has broken through the clouds as well as the extremely high humidity and 90 degree temperatures that has me wringing wet with sweat.

Sitting in the truck, I spot Janie walking up the hill, so being a good guy, I pull out and pick her up, saving her several hundred feet of uphill walking, and once again, we’re headed off, this time determined to reach the York Gristmill area, and at 1:45 p.m. with 25 miles in just under two hours now in the books, we reach our first goal and pull into the fire department parking lot at the old school to find a parking spot.

About half-way into our nearly hour-long stay, I join back up with Janie who had spotted some of her favorite glassware being sold – a collection of Imperial Candlewick.

Holding a single dish and talking to the owner, I soon realize that the deal that’s going down here involves much more than that one dish, and when the money finishes changing hands, the owner is searching for a big box – not a good sign, I think, but of course Janie looks at it much differently.

“Come back next year,” the seller shouts as we leave.

“I’ll be back,” Janie says as she smiles and waves back – waiting until we reach the truck to let out her own success yell… “Woohoo – I did sooo good!”

With that, we head back out toward the highway, and after passing a few concentrations of sales that don’t look very interesting, we arrive at another epicenter, this one known as the home base for the World’s Longest Yard Sale – the bull’s-eye so to speak at Jamestown, Tennessee.

I make a note that I don’t ever remember traveling seven miles without seeing a gathering worth stopping at in our prior trips in this area, wondering out loud if perhaps the sale is beginning to run its course or if instead vendors are choosing to go for the larger epicenter spots rather than the single or double family sales.

Always worthy of an extended break, the area boasts a wide variety of offerings, old, new, strange, useful and of course junk – we spend about 30 minutes or so walking through the area, again not finding anything worthy of a good haggle over, although it is here that I spot the first velvet Elvis print of the weekend – always an accomplishment worth noting.

With that, we’re back on the road.

Next stop, the old Jordan Motel, a nice shady spot that always has good “stuff” – if not to buy, at least to peruse for awhile.

Turning the corner, I spot another set of familiar faces to Clinton County, Marion and Charlie Cyphers, who are operating a booth offering a host of collectables and appear to be doing a brisk business.

Chatting for a few minutes, they confirm that not only are they having a good start to their selling, they are having a great time as vendors, meeting lots of people and enjoying the event.

With 4:19 showing on the clock, and having reached Clarkrange, we pull into an area that I say I think was a good stop last year, to which Janie quickly says she thinks I’m wrong – we need to go on down the road a little.

Six minutes later, and getting to hear “the truck didn’t even get hot that time,” I admit she might have been right, and in less than a mile, I spot the Clarkrange Park, where I thought we were stopping at just a few minutes earlier.

With booths circling the walking track as well as inside the track area, I quickly admit my mistake at the earlier stop and note that this is where I was intending to stop all along.

One of the best gatherings, we spend awhile making our rounds through the offerings, commenting on how we remember seeing some of these folks here in our previous two stops.

With clouds beginning to move into the area, vendors are starting to talk about reports of heavy rains in the area, and many are already reaching under tables and into their vehicles for the tarps that will cover their merchandise – likely for the night.

Nearly an hour (53 minutes) goes by before we head back to the parked Excursion, me with a trio of finds in hand, and Janie with another ashtray for her abundant (too many) collection. She later admits that she also made another buy while there, but quickly consumed the hotdog that she had been searching for at the Jordan Motel stop earlier.

My Clarkrange finds include a used Lodge cast iron sauce pot that I had earlier priced elsewhere for $25, offering this time a successful bid of $12 for the piece with a $15 price tag.

The other two needed finds were a pair of concrete “tree faces” – one an owl face and another an old man with giant lips that would have to be painted when we returned home, but should make a nice addition to the large maple trees that line our driveway ($18 buy on a $20 price tag).

“Pretty good – that’s always good stuff,” Janie says as we head toward our next intended stop of Crossville, where hopefully we’ll find a decent place to eat (?) before heading across town to the Ballyhoo for some well deserved rest.

With 66 miles behind us, and with several miles of no sales again being the case, we suddenly hit that dreaded “parade pace” speed as we near the outskirts of Crossville.

After hearing her comment on how many of the vendors we’ve seen have already covered up for the night, I quip back “It’s not an all-night party, you know,” which apparently doesn’t deserve any return response.

But the silence is short-lived as I put on the left-hand turn signal just minutes later, turning into the parking lot at the Crossville North Shoney’s restaurant, where I expect to feast in a few minutes on the weekly steak and seafood buffet.

“Oh – Happy Day,” she says with a giant cackle and an obvious tone of sarcasm in her voice. Still, as I secure the camera and begin making sure everything in the truck is situated properly, she’s the first out of the truck and headed across the parking lot to the front door.

A good meal in a cool restaurant was a welcomed break, and after taking a walk around the offerings in the Shoney’s parking lot booths, we head on down the road in search of our nighttime home – the Ballyhoo Campground.

Road construction in the area, and a couple of detours caused for some confusion – and a quick argument or two as we searched for the Pigeon Ridge Road that would lead us to our getaway for the evening.

“This is the way – this is the way we came in the first year, I remember all of these stone houses,” Janie says as we leave the road construction area and finally find some familiar looking surroundings.

First real disappointment – boohoo, no Ballyhoo

It was at 7:43 p.m. that our first serious disappointment of the still young 127 trek occurred, when we turned to make our way down the Ballyhoo entrance only to be encountered with an entrance sign that wasn’t lit, a steel cable across the road and a homemade sign that simply proclaimed “Campground Closed”.

“I was worried about this,” I told Janie, who had yet to speak but was obviously not only wondering where we would spend the night, but was saddened by this latest development.

I explained that I never received any responses to earlier email messages sent to the Ballyhoo address, and phone calls had only been met with an answering machine that ended with a “mailbox full” message.

“I guess he just finally had to give up,” she said.

Making our way through the Cumberland Mountain State Park, I check a map (yes, the old fashioned paper kind) and we decide to head across town to a place called the Beanpot Campground when suddenly I notice a sign indicating the state park has a campground and down a narrow winding road we go, finding ourselves suddenly in a maze of tight fitting camp spots – none of which appear to be vacant.

Finally, on the third trip through, I spot a single tent site, just inches from the road, and with some very nice maneuvering, I fit the big blue Excursion just in between the picnic table and the hookups for water and electric.

“If the Ballyhoo could have gotten some of this business, he wouldn’t have been closed,” I say as I get out to survey the area.

With darkness having already set in, and the heavy surrounding woods making it appear even darker, I situate our belongings on the nearby picnic table while Janie prepares the rear of the truck for sleeping.

A mattress, a fan reaching through the window, and she’s done, while I’m still struggling trying to balance the coffee pot on a rock next to the electrical outlet.

I head off to check out the bathhouse and get a lay of the land – realizing that this place is a pretty nice facility, clearly much nicer than the Pioneer Playhouse campground of a couple years ago, but still not quiet as cozy as our adopted Ballyhoo home.

When I return, Janie is already headed inside the truck for the night, and I grab the copy of the Crossville Chronicle I picked up at that Shoney’s stop (you can get anything you need at Shoney’s) and with a flashlight, I begin perusing the pages of the local rag.

After absorbing all of the Tennessee information I could stand, I pick up the iPad on the slim hope that the campground was supplied with wifi service, but quickly realize that notion was pretty far fetched, and after a few hands of solitaire – while sitting in one of those nice, comfortable butterfly chairs I had remembered to pack – I too retired to the Excursion shortly before 11:00 p.m.

Saturday –

an early start to Day 2

Always an early riser and pretty jazzed at the 127 Yard Sale finds that lay ahead – I sprang to life for 127 Trek Day 2 of our 2011 adventure just as things began to get light outside – with my watch reading 5:30 a.m.

“Time to get ready,” I muttered as I tried moving things out of the way to reach the back passenger door.

Quickly surveying the time of day, it was less than a couple of seconds after that first comment of the morning that I realized I would likely spend a fair amount of time in the earliest part of the day by myself.

“Not on Saturday,” Janie said, quickly rolling over as I shut the truck door.

Reading the rest of the Chronicle and drinking most of the coffee, with activity beginning to pick up in the campground, I head to the bathhouse at about 6:45 to get cleaned up and hopefully will find my travel mate awake and ready to travel by the time I return, and sure enough, when I arrive back at about 7:30, she’s up, out, drinking coffee and headed herself to the bathhouse to get ready to face yet another day of treasure hunting.

I’ve finished packing the truck, putting away everything including the coffee pot after pouring myself one last big cup of Joe, and by 8:10 I begin to get worried – Janie’s still not back. She couldn’t have been that dirty, I remember thinking, checking my watch again and realizing that the breakfast bar at Shoney’s will only be open for another four hours or so and besides that, I’m out of coffee.

Finally she arrives back at our modest campsite and at 8:15 we’re back in the truck and headed to Crossville to pick up just south of the I-40 intersection (next to Shoney’s) where we had ended our first day of 127 trekking.

“I’m a new woman,” Janie exclaims, still sipping on the cup of coffee she has nurtured for way too long now. “That wasn’t as nice as the Ballyhoo, but it was pretty good.”

So, with 86 miles showing on the odometer, we’re off and running again

First traffic jam of the day,

followed by a blocked breakfast bar

Just 10 miles down the road, and suddenly things come to a complete stop again as we approach our first goal destination of the day, and now with the large Shoney’s sign clearly in sight just about a mile away, I start to get anxious.

Finally getting around the traffic, we pull into the parking lot and despite a sizable crowd of fellow 127 trekkers on hand, we’re seated quickly and off to the food lineup.

Janie makes a new friend at the Shoney’s breakfast bar, stopping to discuss their favorite collectibles – her being ashtrays and his – Zippo lighters – all the while this chatty pair are blocking the access to both the hash browns as well as the biscuits.

Fearing the restaurant staff would tear down the breakfast bar before these two ended their discussion, I moved to the other side to finish making my selections, and was soon seated in the booth ready to “fuel up” for a long day.

It was in the Shoney’s parking lot on the way out – at precisely 9:03 a.m. that I saw my first “double-take” sight of the day, a middle aged, bleached blonde lady walking through the parking lot, dressed in a black tank top and camouflage spandex pants.

“That’s just wrong,” I commented beneath my own breath to Janie as I entered the truck, continuing to watch to see which 4-wheel drive pickup she was getting into, when she stopped to open the driver’s side door of one of the most immaculate new beige colored Cadillac STS sedans I had ever seen.

“Only in Tennessee,” I remember saying, producing a choking sound from Janie as she tried to finish swallowing from the cup of coffee she had brought out of Shoney’s.

At 9:00 we arrive at the first of several Crossville epicenter locations, with offerings stretching for nearly a mile along one side of U.S. 127, and about half that length on the other side – always a favorite site with lots of good, original stuff and usually worth at least an hour of pilfering.

One of the first booths along the route reminds me that this is where I purchased some Halloween decorations last year from an artist who uses tin as his medium, and once again, he’s got some new unique spooks for sale, but along side his art is something that quickly catches my eye also.

Looking as if it belongs on an old ship lies a six-foot long wooden mermaid figure – most unique thing I’ve seen so far, but I can’t imagine what I’d do with such a thing – that and a $225 price tag and I decide it’s more than I could likely explain anyway.

On down the line I spot a good bargain on a dozen bandannas, the kind my oldest son, Brett, carries for handkerchiefs, and without any price dickering at all, for $3 they’re now mine.

Half-way through the maze of booths I run back into my 127 Sale partner, who informs me of a neat, metal “Hot Baths – 25¢” sign/towel hanger she spotted for just $7 across the table, and within minutes, it’s also in my hands with the bandanas.

A few booths later, Janie runs into a collection of glassware, and pretty soon, I realize I’ve left her far behind – just can’t make myself enjoy looking at old dishes – there’s got to be something better on down the road.

Crossing the road to the “less traveled” section, I quickly see that the pickings are pretty slim for my taste, plenty of Indian blankets, lots of camouflage and some discount tools booths, and before long I find myself dashing through the four lanes of 127 traffic – it’s moving slow so it’s not that dangerous – and back to head through the booths to pick up some items I spotted on my initial trip through.

Reaching for my cell phone, I give Janie a call to inform her the stuff across the road wouldn’t really pique her interest – “there’s plenty of camo pants, but none are spandex so there’s no real need for you crossing the road,” I explain with a chuckle.

Hmm – no reply, so I guess she failed to find the humor in that statement.

Finally, I spot Janie and she’s carrying a spice rack that was her latest bargain find, and we agree that it’s time to head back toward the big blue Ford and get back into the parade speed traffic that’s creeping down the adjacent highway.

Nearly back to the truck, Janie makes another new friend – lady with a Boxer pup, and as we leave, the first sign of homesickness rears it’s ugly head . . . “I miss my dogs,” she says, just before I remind her that it’s not even 10:30 yet and we’ve already talked to Brett and learned “the dogs are fine.”

With weather this Saturday that is much more agreeable, sunny and much less humid with a high so far of just about 75 degrees, we head to the next planned stop, an epicenter a few miles south that in the past has turned up some pretty good items to examine.

Only took 12 minutes before we both agreed the collection wasn’t what it had been in the past, and at 10:34 we’re pulling out of the parking lot and back onto 127 in search of the collection that a couple years back included the pair of naked African women wooden statues.

“My bad – that wasn’t a very good stop – it pretty much sucked,” Janie quipped, reaching into the cooler for a bottle of water, pointing out an additional bit of wisdom she has collected during her 127 Yard Sale educational process. “Banana boxes – junk – just plain junk if it’s stacked in banana boxes.”

We hit the Crossville courthouse square – 103 miles behind us – just a couple of minutes before 11:00 a.m., and a few minutes later noting that traffic is practically at a standstill for as far as we can see in both directions, we pull into a bank parking lot across the road from the largest collection of booths we’ve seen yet.

Once again, it didn’t take long for us to become separated – in fact it happened at the first sign of a booth selling jewelry where she stopped . . . and I didn’t

No sign of the African statutes but the booth owner is once again located on the same corner and again his offerings are unique enough that I spend several minutes checking out table after table of his merchandise, but in the end I leave empty handed.

Moments later I spot a booth with a small used chiminea similar to the one I had purchased on our flawed trip north a couple of years ago and had wished every since that I had another.

This one was much smaller than the $11 version I had purchased, and was used so I went for the “low ball” approach, offering up $5 against his $20 price tag.

“No way – I’ll go $15,” the owner quickly shot back, and with that I just shook my head, turned and walked away, expecting to hear him agree to my offer as I left.

No such luck, and at 12:40 I’m back in the truck – empty handed. Janie arrives minutes later, and with that we’re headed on down to Pikeville where we’ve always had considerable luck.

“That was good stuff, always has been good stuff. By the way – take note, pretty soon we’ve got to be done with this Jimmy Buffet music,” Janie adds as we head south toward Pikeville.

Pikeville’s a wash-out

At 1:53 p.m. and with 131 miles now behind us, we pull into the Pikeville epicenter during one of the most violent, heavy rain producing storms we’ve seen in awhile. Hoping to wait it out, I try unsuccessfully twice to buy a case of water, but with no electricity to run adding machines or cash registers, seems you’re out of luck in Tennessee when you try to get a clerk to figure something in her head.

Deciding to head back to Crossville, pick up a couple of things we wished we had, and then head back toward our Snow, Kentucky home, we turn around and begin heading north at 2:30 p.m. and with 155 miles showing on the trip meter.

Nearing the Crossville epicenter we’re searching for, I pull over, park and we head toward the artists’ booth where the tin Halloween decorations are located, with a large pumpkin I saw earlier being my final purchase goal.

Talking with the artist, at first I thought he needed to give his nose a good wiping with one of those bandana handkerchiefs I had purchased from a booth next to him, when I realized his “booger” was actually a “rod” piercing running completely through his nose.

In the truck with one large tin pumpkin for $25, I mentioned to Janie what I had first thought the artists’ nose problem was.

“That’s what I thought too, but I was afraid to look closer,” she said with a laugh, quickly adding her next thought, “Let’s eat at Shoney’s one more time, I want a big cheeseburger.”

I offer up a stop at the nearby Ruby Tuesday restaurant, and get a quick “No, I don’t want to hear it” reply.

We’re back in the truck at 4:00 p.m., with one more planned stop at the Jordan Motel in Jamestown to pick up a horse head door knocker for Sabra Beyer, a lake friend who likes horses.

At 4:35 we pull into that final 127 stop at the Jordan, and minutes later, Janie gets back into the Excursion, horse head in hand and a smile on her face, knowing Sabra will like her new door decoration.

“Paid him $25” she says in a bragging voice, pointing to the $35 price tag still stuck to the back of the cast iron horse figure. “The weather is perfect now.”

And with that, we head toward Albany, noticing again that as the clock nears the 5:00 mark, more and more roadside booths have already been covered up.

With 229 miles behind us, we take the right-hand veer across the state line at Static, and back into Kentucky, putting our fourth – and third successful 127 Trek behind us at exactly 6:06 p.m.

“Home, sweet, home,” Janie says with a laugh. “That was a good trip, Bubba – bet we’ve got two mad dogs.”

It’s was another fun experience, and as always, should you decide to try your own trek – keep the plans loose, the water handy and by all means – go south!

It’s still a pretty fun and cheap weekend!

Marion and Charlie Cyphers, at right, were having a good weekend selling items last year during the 127 Sale. The Cyphers, who are both members of the Foothills Festival Planning Committee, traveled to Jamestown, Tennessee to set up their vending area.

Hot Baths – 25¢ – Soap & Towel extra reads the cast iron towel hanger picked up at a Crossville booth during the 2011 Yard Sale Trek. The sign adorns an outdoor shower at the Gibson home.

As a joke, a long-time vendor at the Snow epicenter, placed a $25 price tag on this actual fire hydrant that was in front of his 127 Sale tent. A shopper, thinking the hydrant was actually for sale, made him an offer.

You never know what will turn up around the corner at a 127 Sale booth – and many items are one of a kind unique offerings. With a $150 price tag, this quilt, made entirely of purple and gold Crown Royal whiskey pouches, was one of the most unique items spotted last year at the Snow Community epicenter.

The 127 Sale is a family oriented event for many, including this “family” of M&M figures that were for sale at one booth in the Snow Community last year.

This six-feet long wooden mermaid caught the eyes of several 127 shoppers last year in a booth in Crossville. The $225 price tag, combined with thoughts of trying to explain the purchase, resulted in it not being loaded up on the big blue Ford Excursion.

An artist (with a nose problem) in the Crossville area had a host of welded tin Halloween decorations for sale, including this large pumpkin that was later fitted with a light inside and used for decorations at the Gibson home.

One of the main Clinton County 127 Sale epicenters is always found at the Papinau property in the Snow Community. Crowds of shoppers can be found milling through the offerings during the entire weekend.

Two cement tree faces were among the purchases the author found on last year’s 127 Trek. These finds were among the items at the Clarkrange epicenter, and were later painted before being placed on trees at the Gibson home.

In addition to the chance to “swap junk”, the 127 Sale is also an opportunity for artists and craftsmen to display and sell their creations. The offerings are often on the whimisical side, as was the case in this birdhouse spotted near Crossville, Tennessee last year, which had been constructed from an old boot and horseshoe.

These vendors who had a booth set up at the Mountain View Park in 2011, were caught enjoying last year’s Clinton County News with the 127 account from the trek in 2010.