We oversleep, as is our want, and are away late. I drive us back to Barksdale and I drive slowly – I do not like this elephantine dodgem.

We grab a bit of lunch at a local diner then take a tour around the Maker’s Mark distillery, which is a lovely spot and surprisingly interesting, even if one is fleeced at the end for a bottle of bourbon one is too effeminate to drink. We do get to #justdipped our bottles in the distillery’s trademark red wax, which is nice. It’s always good to #justdipped things when one gets the chance to #justdipped them. They are beginning to experiment with social media and ‘hashtags’, and I agree to join the cause (#justdipped), despite hashtags being dumb and difficult to marry with correct grammar.

It is truly beautiful countryside around here. Kentucky is exactly how we hoped and imagined it would be. Our scenic route takes us past big Abe Lincoln’s childhood home and his place of birth, so we pull in to pay our respects to the Great Emancipator and noted theater lover. We also stop at these places because certain members of our crew have bladders the size of errant golf balls.But mostly it was the Lincoln thing.

*

I’m really starting to get the hang of driving this beast now. It skips and jumps along to my controlled and skillful touch. We dash together across the miles and dance towards the horizon. Truly we are one, man and car.

At this point I misjudge the sheer width of the bastard and career into the back of a much smaller vehicle with a hideous screech of metal and Silver (who was somewhat alarmed). Damn. Damn damn damn damn damn.

Fortunately no-one is hurt and the ladies I rear-ended (ooh-er vicar) are cheerful enough given the circs. A copper is summoned to complete a police report. Andthesea requests that Officer Owen tazes me. Happily she declines. He asks again, again she abstains. I tell Andthesea to shut up. He replies that if I’m not more polite Officer Owen will taze me.

The damage (to our sodding whale at least) is minimal, so after all details are exchanged we continue on our way and stop at the Cardinal Motel in Bowling Green, KT. Were I given over to cliche I would describe the lodgings as ‘cheap and cheerful’. But I’m not, so I won’t. It was, however, both better value and better quality than the wretched Days Inn back in Louisville.

It is now time for some Real America, so we go for some feed at a Red Lobster (actually quite good) then hit up ‘Southern Lanes’ – the enormous local bowling alley-cum-all purpose arcade and hangout. There are batting cages as well, and our belief that we are all future World Series winners is reaffirmed.

Bowling-wise I lose the first game quite comfortably. I blame this on a dixieland supermodel bowling in the next-door lane who distracted me. However, this vision of loveliness leaves and I duly lose the second game by an even greater margin.It must, therefore, have been something to do with misshapen American balls (ooh-er etc. etc.).

We indulge in an earlier night and slap ourselves on the back for having had a mostly teetotal day. Apart from the whiskey tasting. And the beer with dinner. And the three pitchers The Big Man, The Eagle and I demolished during the bowling. All in all, splendidly Methodist.