Chapter V-Sojourn to Savannah

Trip Theme: "We Got Lost On Our Way… To The Buffet Of Love"

Trip Motto: "Don't Leave Your Party At The Pitch"

11-March-99: Thursday

2 p.m.
Is it acceptable for semi-mature, quasi-professional men to willingly fling themselves into the chasm of debauchery?
Hell, all I need to do is look at the contortions of the faces of the men sitting in the front seat of our rented vessel to know the answer to this. Bigger Time (a.k.a. Bar Stool) and Big Daddy really need this. The definition of need here isn't some biological process-that thing that pulls buzzards back Hinckley or sparrows to Capestrono-no, this is something deeper, more intestinal, definitely spiritual albeit non-secular. It makes you wonder: When it comes to stewed prunes, are three too many, are four not enough? My apologies to Chevy Chase, whom Dan Clifford considers one of America's most important actors-which explains why he's never been on a rugby trip.
Let the games begin.

4 p.m.
We're two hours into the 12-hour journey. I've already consumed a pint of Bud and am polishing off a 33-ounce Corona (Yo, quero' pissed!). I guess I needed this trip.
Gotta pee!

12-March-99: Friday

2:30 a.m.
Smell that? No, not the stench coming from four men riding in a car (sorry, a Buick Park Avenue) for 12 hours. It's the ocean… we're on Tybee, our wet nurse for the next three days! "Mother, mother ocean, I can hear your call. Wanted to sail upon your waters since I was 3-feet tall. You've seen it all…"
Need sleepy!

3 a.m.
We slow while passing the now-vacant lot where the "seedy, seaside DeSoto Motel" once stood. They actually did it. They tore her down. The humanity of it all. Doesn't anyone care about homeless rats?
A plethora of alcohol-clouded memories, or lack thereof, spew: Crazy chicks and their kin ("we can't get married")… milk crates… Guilt City, Pop. 1… cement ponds… movie stars… sorry, I digress. Please, if you're reading this, light a candle and raise a prayer or two.

3:15 a.m.
Whoa! The feline checking us into the exclusive Econo Lodge (our new digs) is a babe (based on the definition in "The Road Trip Bible") And she's got a sister… and a mom, who probably was something before Prohibition.
Need sandblaster.

3:30 a.m.
"Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray, thee Knappy don't make me weep. If I cry before I wake. I pray, thee Knappy, don't hesitate."

8 a.m.
I'm up. I'm always up early. I check out the ocean. It's still there. What's that… lesbians cuddling on the beach. Already. Cool! (Editor's note: we discover later that there's some sort of lesbian pride event planned for Sunday… really cool!) White wine, anyone?
Need coffee.

10 a.m.
The boys are awake. The stench from the car has moved to the room. We think something died in McQuigg's bag, or possibly his pants.
Time for food. We head to that old, familiar shack. YES! It's still shabby, the food sucks and the wait help is greasy.
Ah, Tybee, I've pined for thee!

11 a.m.
Other SVELTS arrive. Correction: This is a hybrid SVELTS team… way too many skinny guys. (Bigham a.k.a. Bing brings Brett, a tall dude from OSU who looks like he's 14.) We're missing our spiritual leaders: Leach, Mock and Sparky. Sparky is due later, however. If he doesn't show, Big Daddy is prepared to be King SVELT for the weekend.
The Steel Valley boys arrive. Go figure, they're already drinking, or rather, haven't stopped. They plan to sit by the pool (its 54 degrees) and find a golf course, in that order. See, they really aren't SVELTS!