Summersville, West Virginia.

A welcome day off before the last two shows, or at least a stop-over on the twelve hour drive from Atlanta to Warrendale. Summersville, West Virginia—this really is the back of beyond. According to Wikipedia Summersville has a population of 3,500. We are in a hotel just off highway 19 at the north edge of the town. Every one of the 3,5000 inhabitants of Summersville seems to own a pickup truck and seems to be driving to somewhere in the continuous strip mall that lines both sides of highway 19 to buy a car, or a hamburger, or a shed, or to get some cosmetic surgery done. Nothing is accessible on foot. There are no sidewalks even on the roads around the hotel. It doesn’t seem possible to get to the other side of highway 19—there are no crosswalks at the junctions. It is unexpectedly hot.

The hotel’s one amenity, an outdoor swimming pool is closed and the staff have no intention of opening it for us which puts pay to the mooted proposal of a barbecue / pool party. A couple of sorties by individuals to a branch of Walmart visible 750 meters away across a small ravine and through a stand of trees return with reports of snake sightings. I content myself with taking photographs and head off towards a Day-Glo pink fireworks store perched on top of a hill nearby. On my way back I find a rocking chair on the shady porch of Tudor’s Biscuit World and sit there for an hour or so doing absolutely nothing. No one bothers me to order anything. When I get back to the Hampton Suites half of our band of brothers are at a picnic table in the evening sun and have resorted to drinking cans of something claiming to be Margarita purchased from a gas station. Vultures are circling overhead.