Curvey Moore Expedition

Hunting the treasures of our past.... the Attapulgus Gang are real scientists!

Farewell Breast Awareness Month

The icy winds of November hearken us toward the forests of the south, but the beginning of November also casts a spell upon us that shakes us to our souls -- it is no longer October, and so...

Breast Awareness

Like most everyone in America this month, we of the Attapulgus Gang believe it is important to do our part, however humble, to spread awareness of breast health here in October.

We do not like to say Breast C-Word Awareness Month, but rather Breast Awareness Month, because we think it is important to celebrate all breasts at all times, while beginning to make the C-word a thing of the past.

One of of our own became aware of the C-Word in her own breast at the beginning of Breast C-Word Awareness month two years ago, so we of the Attapulgus Gang are well aware of the insidious nature of the enemy of breasts, and the toll it takes on the lives of those who go through the treatment, never mind those that succumb to it.  We treat that enemy about like we treat the snakes in the last post -- we wipe it out.

And so, please, be aware of the breasts around you, be aware of your own breasts, have those puppies smooshed once a year no matter how much of a "pain" -- better that than the pain that comes from waiting too long to check, ladies.  Those of us who have not breasts of our own will certainly do our part to remain aware of those breasts around us at all times.... vigilance is a good thing.  We should ALL be united as one to SAVE THE TA TA's!

And now a very brief public service announcement from the Attapulgus Gang on behalf of Breast Awareness Month.

                           

Snake Season

Sorry, animal-lovers.  Y'all ain't gonna like this.

Walking down the trail between Attapulgus and Havana with my dog Tinker last week, I came about 3 feet from stepping straight on this diamondback and I was not amused.  

No warning.  

No rattle.  

Just a pair of sinister eyes and an ambush that almost succeeded in ruining the day for Tinker and I.  Tinker's already survived one rattle snake bite, and ever since we've decided to cut these things zero slack.

Too bad for the snake.  He was disguised well.  He almost won.  

One straight shot from my 12 gauge, though, and the trail was cleared of bad company.  He had 9 rattles.  A few assorted mammals out there in Booger Bay are now thanking me.

Yesterday at Whigham though, there was more proof that snake season is still with us.  JR was leading through what's left of the Beaver Pond, about 2 feet deep of water surrounded by deep grass.

All of a sudden, a genuine big-ass water moccasin is facing him down and heading in the wrong direction -- straight at the Attapulgus Gang.

We discussed various options for dealing with the obstreperous reptile, from contacting PETA to writing the EPA for permission to do a study on the feasibility of hiring the snake for oil spill cleanup.  Next thing we know, the damned thing is crawling up the inside of JR's front wheelwell -- and it disappears up inside his Polaris WHILE he is on it!  

Not cool.

All politically correct alternatives for dealing with this creature were scrapped.  As you can see from this video, the snake, like all who would thwart the Attapulgus Gang, was not the victor.

RIP, snakes.

Does ANYONE Know Who This Woman Is?

We are at a loss, folks. Somehow this mysterious woman showed up at a recent Attapulgus gang function and managed to spend 3 hours there without once ever revealing her identity.

Who sent her?

Is she a fed investigating us for EPA violations because Travis' mufflers are too loud?

Is she an escaped member of the 35th Calvary Primitive Baptist Assembly of Zion church out looking for a strawberry margarita (you came to the right place, darlin'!) without the congregation seeing?

Is she a reporter for the Tallahassee Democrat?

We do not know.

All we know is she can dodge a camera lens better than a politician can dodge a question, or better than Ranger can dodge a Rottweiler -- and that's sayin' something, folks.

If any of y'all know the identity of this woman, please let us know -- she won the raffle that night and we're trying to give her the prize!

Travis Got a Kawasaki

I never thought I'd see the day when one of our own unloaded Japanese machinery from the back of a trailer.  But like TS Eliot says, April is the cruelest month -- and so it was here when I had to change the banner on this blog out of -- you ready for this Travis? -- respect for one of our own.

So...yup...Travis got him a Kawasaki.  Not sure what they name those things -- could be called like a Wildebeast, or a Mad Viking or KameKaze or something.  

I'll just call it a Kawasaki.

He brought it out in Whigham and it seemed to go pretty good.  True, he got stuck in this hole in the picture -- a hole me and my Polaris got through right afterward, I might add -- but I don't think you can blame that on his machinery as much as his tires -- not that he's got bad tires either, I just don't think he's running Outlaws.

Either way, the jury is still out on this strange Asian bug.  We did have an interesting incident later in the day that I still think was staged.  For some reason Travis switched bikes with Kristen -- and then he immediately proceeded to "get stuck" with her Polaris 850 in an easy creek crossing that the rest of us had no problem with.  And after that he made a big show of getting out a rope, hooking it to the back of his Kawasaki, and pulling the Polaris out of the creek.  

See where we're going with this folks?

Travis knows how to cross a creek.  And Kristen's bike goes where other bikes fear to tread.  Something smelled really fishy about the whole thing -- kind of like Japanese food if you catch my drift.  I'll give Travis the benefit of the doubt and say he staged the whole thing.  He's too experienced a driver to have been stuck in that little ole hole -- and it was a great photo op for his new Kawasaki to be pulling the Polaris.

I think Travis has a future in politics.  We probably oughta start calling him Slick.

SOUTHERN PASSAGE DISCOVERED AT LONG LAST!

We always knew it was there.

Look at a Google Map and any fool can see that what takes 20 miles by truck will only take 10 miles through the woods -- if only the trail can be blazed.

The Southern Passage, a trail through the woods from Attapulgus, GA to Havana, FL, has been a mythical grail since our earliest ancestors first climbed up from the primordial ooze and straddled their four-wheelers. Explorers have spent centuries on that puzzle to no avail, and many of them have been lost forever in the wilds of Booger Bay while making the attempt. This reptile-infested wilderness that straddles the Georgia-Florida border has confounded the best of frontiersmen -- that is, until now.

NEWSFLASH FOLKS! THE PASSAGE IS DISCOVERED!

And naturally, it was discovered by members of the Attapulgus Gang. A couple of weeks ago JR and Larry had a dream, jacked up Polaris's and coolers full of fine brew. They fought their way for hours through the merciless muck of Booger Bay. They reprovisioned at Steve's and he joined them along the twisted trails of outer Havana from which they plowed relentlessly onward, driven not so much by compass as by the force of fearless determination and bolstered further by ample amounts of liquid courage.

Late that evening, after downing Margaritas and chimichangas in Bainbridge, Jerry and Beckie returned to their hacienda bordering the untamed wilderness, and found that the world was changed forever.  The clues were too shattering to ignore.

The lawnmower was on the front steps.

Their boots were mysteriously lined up the stairs and onto the deck, centered, like so many boulders at Stonehenge, with a hidden purpose that only a shaman could understand.

And there, planted dead center in front of their door, was the wrought iron shelf upon which they keep their bug spray -- planted as proof of what had been accomplished -- like the flag planted upon the moon by the first astronauts to land there.  The signs were clear -- people from the woods had been there!  THE PASSAGE HAD BEEN FOUND!

The world owes a debt of gratitude to these brave pioneers.  Never again must an Attapulgus gang member have to suffer the indignity of sharing paved roads with ghetto-blasting Caprices perched on 30" spinners when traveling from Havana to Attapulgus or vice versa.  Never again must any of us actually register a motor vehicle with the states of Georgia or Florida.  We'll take the woods, thank you. 

And thank you three trailblazers -- Larry, JR, and Steve.  You have changed the world.

Gettin' Pumped For The SMRS Season!

Hope y'all had a nice and squishy-sweet Valentines Day/Daytona 500 yesterday. If today -- being Monday -- ain't the opposite of yesterday then I don't know what in the hell is.

Saturday found us Attapulgus gangstas seat-deep in the local mud. Steve brought along his yankee-girl Renee, who was kind enough to enlighten us about the similarities between ATVin' and snowmobilin'.  Havin' done plenty of snowmobilin' myself in a past life, I have to say that the main similarities are the sound of those motors and the taste of that beer.  The main differences -- my ass never recalls snowmobilin' underwater or having to chop the heads off a swarm of water moccasins with a machete.

But I digress.  This weekend is big fun in Doles, GA.  That's 'cause the Southern Mud Racing Series is kicking off its 2010 race season at Creekbottom ATV Park, and our Attapulgus gang will be flyin' colors at the event.  Not sure who or what we're gonna race just yet, but being there is half the battle -- we'll worry about the rest of it when we get there.  Gonna need some damned helmets because, unfortunately, lawyers have had something to say to somebody.  We'll try to obey the rules just out of our general sense of graciously accepting hospitality, but there's likely to be trouble at some point.  We'll keep you posted.

Attapulgus Gang Featured at AmericanTowns.com

That's right, folks -- when it comes to big livin' in small towns, there's none better than AmericanTowns.com to bring all the people together in the tradition of fellowship and hell-raisin' that's made this country great. The Attapulgus Gang is pleased to announce that our contributions to our community have not gone unnoticed. In January, The Attapulgus Gang was recognized and immortalized by American Towns, and we think this is only the beginning.

When the Attapulgus Gang blog was selected to be regularly featured by American Towns based on our outstanding cultural significance to Attapulgus, GA, we here at the clubhouse could not have been more proud! While we are normally very humble about our position of preeminence in the Southeastern recreational 4-wheeling community, and also very humble about our extreme recreational vehicle skills when compared to those currently seen on television, we all took this recognition by American Towns very seriously, and naturally we decided to celebrate.

And we will continue to celebrate! There will be whiskey and there will be beer. There will be wine, women, and song. There will be every kind of food imaginable and every intoxicating concoction known to man and God. And when it's all done -- when our bellies are full and our heads are buzzin' -- there will be hayrides of dubious intent down dirt roads of questionable destination.

And the moon will be full.

Attapulgite: Our Mud's So Powerful You Buy It When You Can't Hold Your Own Mud

It's time to talk about mud cred. Here in Attapulgus, our mud is so fine that they mine it, pack it up, and sell it for consumption. There ain't man, woman, nor child alive who hasn't swallowed some of our mud -- and paid for the privilege.

Attapulgite is the stuff they put in medicine to bind your ass up. When your mama came at you with a spoonful of Kaopectate because you couldn't hold your mud, she was feeding you ours -- and it did ya good. This clay mud is thicker, more absorbent, and slicker than any mud on Earth. It will climb up out of holes and grab your ass forever if you let it.

It takes a special breed to bog the Attapulgus. You've gotta be a tough SOB and you've gotta stay alert. You've gotta catch it when it infiltrates your machinery and always be ready to fix your shit. When the Attapulgus Gang takes it on the road and rides your local mud, it's like a cruise down the interstate to us -- just as easy as pecan pie. That's why, when you see us coming to your town, you lock up your women and run your bikes up to higher ground.

Attapulgite. This mud is in our pores and in our souls. We walk on it, bog in it, hunt on it. We barbecue in it, drink beer on it, and piss on it. Just remember that the next time you can't hold your own mud, and you pay to swallow some of ours -- it makes us proud to know that y'all got a little bit of Attapulgus Gang in every one of ya.