The familiar winding path off of Lake Hughes Road is one that is permanently ingrained in my head. 15 years ago, I would be in the passenger's seat, as my dad would be driving his yellow Chevy Nova down this same path. If it was summer, it'd be guaranteed that the great piece of American engineering would be overheating, and the steam coming from under the hood would give us a few condescending stares from the guys on their bass boats as we drove past them to the "non-towing' vehicle parking lot.
The same thing happens today, but the stares are usually because of the G-Loomis sticker on the back window of my truck. Now I get a sheepish nod from these same individuals. Bass fisherman are an intriguing bunch.
"It's YOU again," the gate attendant says.
I nod to acknowledge the guy, as I've done hundreds of times before. I already have my $10 entry fee in hand.