Sweet Home Alabama was getting pretty sour for us

It says “Sweet Home Alabama” on their license plates and we were beginning to think it was going to become our home, too, on our way back from Florida.

We didn’t have a very sweet time, however, trying to get out of the state.

Terry and I were on our way back home from a week in Panama City Beach, Fla., visiting her brother and sister-in-law. The trip home took us across Alabama from top to bottom and, as long a trip as that usually is, it turned out to be agonizingly longer.

We actually covered the first third of the state in good shape. It was only when we got on the interstate highway — where things are supposed to go easier — that things started to bog down.

We covered the first third of Alabama on an old US highway, going through a lot of little towns and rural countryside. We kept looking for the Sac-O-Suds convenience store, but we didn’t see it — which was all right, since neither Terry nor I have a cousin named Vinny, lawyer or otherwise.

We did pass through one town with the interesting name of Opp. I’m not sure where they came up with that name, but I imagine there might have been a conversation like this among the first settlers:

“The natives call this place Oppalatchacoulahassee. Does anyone have any idea how to spell that?” “Let’s see — I think it’s O, P, P — oh heck, let’s just stop there and call the place Opp.” “Opp it is.”

It was after we got off the two-lane roads and onto the interstate that things started to slow down.

We got on Interstate 65 in Montgomery and hadn’t gone even 10 miles when things came to a halt — literally.

There were three lanes of traffic on I-65 at a complete stop. As we slowly inched forward, we watched three or four ambulance and a couple of fire trucks race past us on the shoulders of the highway.

After creeping forward and taking about an hour to cover the next mile, we finally discovered what had brought everything nearly to a halt.

There was a car overturned after apparently striking the barrier in the median. With Illinois license plates and beach towels scattered around the car, we figured they were spring breakers either heading to or coming back from the Gulf coast.

At least we had an easier time getting through Alabama than they apparently did.

Since it was after 2 in the afternoon by then, and we hadn’t stopped for lunch yet, we decided to pull off at the next exit to get something to eat.

We pulled into a fast-food restaurant, figuring we could grab some sandwiches and take them with us while we tried to make up a little lost time. Instead, we wound up losing more time instead of gaining it.

It wound up taking more than 20 minutes for us to get a couple of burgers, fries and sodas. We were starting to think they were busy sending out for the potatoes for our fries — either that, or they were still slaughtering the cattle for our burgers.

We went through two or three refills on our sodas before we finally got our food and got back on the road.W

e sailed along for another couple of hours and were only 40 miles or so from the Tennessee border when Alabama decided to throw one last curve our way.

This time, there were state troopers waving cars off the interstate at an exit just south of Huntsville. There was no explanation, just a sign for a detour directing us to the east.

After about a 15-mile detour we finally got back onto I-65, only six miles north of where we got off, with no explanation of what the detour was all about.

We found out later that that particular stretch of road had been closed for several days after a sinkhole occurred in the middle of the highway. At that point, we were beginning to think that the entire state of Alabama was a sinkhole and that we were never getting out.

Understandably, we crossed the border into Tennessee with much cheering, singing and rejoicing. We have nothing against the state of Alabama — it’s a lovely state with a lot of great people, great scenery and great weather, but that much of any state would be too much for the average person.

We had expected to reach our motel just past Nashville about 6 in the evening or so. Instead, thanks to “Sweet Home Alabama,” it was more like 8:30 p.m. when we got there.

NEXT WEEK: Matriculating (or something like that) at the University of Spring Break-Panama City Beach.