Sheveport was barely an image in my rear view mirror when I got the call to go to Branson, Missouri. Hearing the circumstances, I began to figure I'd be hanging out here for maybe a couple of months in the mountain air (people in the western states will scoff at that) free from the stress that had been haunting me in a couple of the last assignments.
It has been probably 20 years since we've been here in what has described as a cross between Mayberry and Las Vegas. Staying on the western end of the strip, traffic is still nuts as you attempt to cruise from one end to the other. Now there are a couple of bypasses that you can take if you truly need to get around.
Branson's oldest attractions have been the outdoor drama,
The place is largely patronized by retirees or at least those over fifty. Bikers traveling through on 3 wheeled Honda trikes remind you of the Dead End Gang. Nothing emphasizes it more than the Hampton Inn's breakfast
Unfortunately, I had only been here a day before finding out the situation was in the process of resolving itself and now find myself looking for a plane ride out of here. I won't be eating the Activia before I fly. On the fortunate side, I was able to break bread and spend a little time with an old friend and his lovely wife over in Shell Knobb. It's all good.
No comments:
Post a Comment