Chamblee54

PG stumbled onto some “killer” writing, courtesy of the Bloggingheads.tv comments. The tome is My Name is Betsy. I’m a Killer. It is a reaction to the reaction, of some, to the shooting in Tucson AZ. People say that violent imagery in politics is not a good idea, and may influence unhinged people with access to firearms. The reaction from Betsy …
PG was starting to write a killer post for his blog, but it was getting late in the afternoon. This was day five of the snow jam, and PG knew that if he didn’t go for a walk he would regret it later. The story about Betsy could wait until later. The pictures, for the Betsy story, have waited since 1908, and one more day isn’t going to hurt.
So, he goes up the path, by the school, and up to Peachtree Road. The usual walk for PG is to go down Peachtree, until you get to a point where you can cross the railroad tracks and find a way back. The sidewalks had gotten a lot of sunshine in this part of the world, and they were pretty clear of snow and ice. Some call this combination snice, which rhymes with nice, which this treacherous substance is anything but nice. The snow fell sunday night, melted a bit on tuesday, froze back tuesday night, melted a bit more on thursday, froze back even harder on thursday night, and by friday was tough and slippery, and not good for much of anything. You walked on it at risk to your bone structure.
The first part of the Peachtree walk went smoothly. At the Chamblee city limits, there used to be this marker. It had a brick base, and some kind of brushed metal sculpture thing on top. That is, until a vehicle ran off the road and smashed into this instrument of demarcation, and distributed bits of brick over a quarter acre site.
So PG walks down Peachtree Road, until he got to the split. This is where Peachtree Industrial goes to the left, is a six lane road with lots of cars, and goes up to North Carolina. Peachtree Road, on the other hand, goes to the right, by the Marta station and into downtown Chamblee. It is the true origin road of the legendary thoroughfare that goes to Buckhead and midtown, on its journey to the zero milepost. PG only intended to go for a little way down Peachtree, which was a good thing because it was in the shadow of the Marta line, and the ice was everywhere.
If you go down Peachtree, across the street from where there used to be a Krystal and a used car lot, there is a place where the Marta trains go up in the air on stilts. This is a good place for walkers to go across the railroad tracks and back home. PG was getting tired, and thinking it would be nice to get out on the road and get some junk food, after living on boxed macaroni and peanut butter sandwiches for five days. The only problem was a freight train sitting still on the tracks. PG breathed deep, and realized that the freight train wasn’t going to move just because he wanted it to. The only alternative was to walk up to the bridge.
If you go down Peachtree, past the cement pads that used to be chemical warehouses, you come to a side road. This road comes out by a little shopping center, with a waffle house, the Pig’n’chik bar-b-q restaurant, and several other capitalist ventures. You go past the waffle house, resist the temptation to go inside, you go a few feet further, and you get to the bridge.
The bridge is a wonder of modern concrete urban improvement. In the old days, Clairmont Road ended at New Peachtree. If you wanted to go to Peachtree Industrial, you had to take a left at the light. You went across the railroad tracks on a rickety bridge made of telephone poles, before taking a left on Peachtree Road, and cutting through the parking lot of the Krystal.
The bridge was a vast improvement, with the distinct exception of walking over it on day five of a snow jam. The bridge had been snowplowed, and the pushedaside snow was piled up on the sidewalks. The bridge was not available for walking over the tracks. The next alternative was around Wal Mart.
The sidewalks to, in front of, and away from Wal Mart were covered in ice. Broken legs lawyers saw opportunity, but PG just wanted to go home. He carefully made his way over the ice covered sidewalks, under the railroad tracks ( the freight train was gone by now) and up the hill to New Peachtree Road.
The good news is, sidewalks on the south side of the railroad tracks had been in the sun all afternoon, and had almost no ice. PG was able to walk with more speed and confidence, knowing it was unlikely that he was going to be face to sidewalk. Before long he was home.