Anyway, I traveled to Atlanta last Saturday to hang out with former Road Reporter and dear friend Jason Bronis and his lovely girlfriend. I knew despite what happened the rest of the weekend, it'd be a great Saturday night. We had a steak at Morton's, then made our way to the Cypress Street Pint and Plate for more beverages. Several beverages later we made our way back to Jason's place where a hooker was walking down the street.
Of course, I did what any other inebriated photographer does when he spots a hooker at 3 in the morning, I utilized my camera phone! Regardless, Bronis was the gracious host like he always is and he's missed greatly in Charlotte, USA. It was great to see him and meet his girlfriend. A fine meal, an inordinate amount of beverages and good company made for a tremendous Saturday night.
I made the trip Saturday because Solarte and I were slated to cover the Panthers vs. Falcons game at the Georgia Dome Sunday. Solarte shoots the Panthers every week and is a way, way better football shooter than myself, so I jokingly said he should shoot the game and I should sit in the press box. Lo and behold, I get to the dome Sunday afternoon and he's wearing wind pants with paint stains. Thus, I sat in the press box for the game. It was weird and I was visibly uncomfortable there. Regardless, the game sucked since we got spanked, but the Papa John's personal pizzas at halftime and unlimited Diet Coke to nurse off Saturday night were nice.After we got sound(Solarte did let me shoot post,) we fed some tape and rolled up 85. Coming out of Atlanta, I ran over something. I don't know what it was, but we stopped in Commerce, GA for gas and BK when Solarte got out of the truck and heard a hiss. Well, the right rear was going down and in a hurry. Normally, you whip out a jack, change the tire and keep on going like most normal human beings but when you're in a satellite truck that weighs 12,000 pounds, the jack in the back of the truck doesn't cut it, thus you need a tow truck to raise the ass of the truck so you can change the tire.
After an hour, this guy named Shane rolled in with his tow truck and Shane whipped some serious ass. The tire had a gash the size of Fulton County so a plug wasn't going to cut it. We finally got the spare down and Shane swapped the good one for the bad one and we were on our way. We rolled in to the station at 4 am Monday, two hours after our planned arrival. Instead of Burger King, we ate ice cream sandwiches and a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos from the gas station, but we made it home safely thanks to Shane.
Sure, Atlanta threw me another curve ball, but thanks to good folks like Bronis and Shane, I won't count this as one of the bad trips down there.