Previously on Midlife Crisis Crossover: Each year since 1999 Anne and I have taken one road trip to a different part of the United States and seen attractions, wonders, and events we didn’t have back home. From 1999 to 2003 we did so as best friends; from 2004 to the present, as husband and wife. We grew up in families that couldn’t afford out-of-state vacations. We young geeks had to live vicariously through the windows of pop culture in lieu of in-person adventures. After years of settling for everyday life in Indianapolis and any nearby places that also had comics and toy shops, we overcame some of our self-imposed limitations and resolved as a team to leave the comforts of home for opportunities to see creative, exciting, breathtaking, outlandish, historical, and/or bewildering new sights in states beyond our own, from the horizons of nature to the limits of imagination, from history’s greatest hits to humanity’s deepest regrets and the sometimes quotidian, sometimes quirky stopovers in between. We’re the Goldens. This is who we are and what we do.

2023 was a busy year for traveling and special occasions as the pandemic and its anxieties receded. In addition to our Midwest comic-con resurgence, in March we took our very first trip to Disney World as wonderstruck fiftysomethings; at the end of June we made our first foray into the Carolinas with an emphasis on the Charleston area. The out-of-town respites didn’t stop there: at summer’s end we turned the week leading up to Labor Day into a special combo package: a convention and road trip.

That Labor Day weekend marked our third visit to Dragon Con in downtown Atlanta — one of America’s longest running events for folks like us from across all fandoms, hobbies, and geek interests, which the two of us have made a biannual tradition. We already shared hundreds of photos from our three days in the thick of it all, posted as quickly as I could after we returned home and recuperated. Before reaching Georgia we made a few other stops along the way whose photos I never got around to adding to the blog collection. I could list the excuses why or I could just show them to you now. Onward, then?

Dateline: Wednesday, August 30, 2023 — Because our paid-off cars were getting old, as usual we rented transportation for the occasion — this time a gray 2023 Mazda 3. I think I forgot to take a photo for posterity. It ran fantastically, though we ran into one slight issue later in the evening.

In Lexington, Kentucky, we stopped for a quick lunch at Hot Head Burritos, a chain frequently attached to gas stations that we don’t have back home. Anne had a basic Americano Burrito; I had their Flamin’ Hot Cheese Burrito with barbacoa. No gastric distress was incurred.

Around 4 p.m. we found our first-ever Buc-ee’s, which had just opened two months earlier in Sevierville, Tennessee, as part of the Texas-based company’s expansion plans. Little did we know we’d eventually visit enough of their animal-hosted gas superstations to merit an entire gallery of every Buc-ee’s we’ve braked for to date. (Consider that entry a de facto prelude to this very miniseries.)

The average Buc-ee’s isn’t as gigantic as, say, the sprawling Iowa 80 Truck Stop — not yet, anyway — but it was an oasis of roadside merriment and various indulgent proprietary snacks. Among their inedible perks, their gas was 60 cents a gallon cheaper than it’d been in Lexington, and their legendary bathrooms were the size and sterilization level of Mr. Burns’ executive washroom. For the latter alone it’s developed a fandom among middle-class families who ride long-distance together and have at least one parent, guardian, or kidnapper who’ll never fail to go bug-eyed at the sight of one and shout, “Hey, kids! There’s a Buc-ee’s!” before swerving toward the entrance as everyone chants, “Buc-ee’s! Buc-ee’s! BUC-EE’S! BUC-EE’S!”

Our hotel for the night was a few minutes farther in Pigeon Forge, away from the main drag and clear over on Ordinary Suburb Avenue. The room was fine except a previous guest had stolen the shampoo bottle from its secured slot on the shower wall. It’d been two months since our first glimpse of both Pigeon Forge and next-door neighbor Gatlinburg, the twin cities of terrifically touristy tackiness. Neither of them is along the way to Atlanta from Indianapolis; we bent our route specifically to see more of the area. This time we aimed to capture more pics if we could. For anyone who’s never been, the miles-long tourist-trap complex very much has to be seen to be believed.

Longtime MCC readers can guess our primary objective above all else: smashed penny machines, Anne’s favorite kind of souvenir. We found one in front of a pioneer-looking strip mall and one inside a bear-themed gift shop. Readers may also recall that in various areas throughout our travels where we were told we’d see bears roaming the land — last time in Pigeon Forge, in nearby Great Smoky Mountains National Park, in Yellowstone — we’d never seen a single bear in the wild. It was cold comfort to return to these allegedly bear-infested grounds only to be surrounded on all sides by fake bears.

Sadly, the bears were off the clock. We were told their store appearances were more of a daytime feature. BOOOOOO.

Bears weren’t the only wildlife we found acting as mascots and decorations — an understandable marketing choice in an area where the biggest attraction is a national park made entirely from mountains and vast forests. Their unreality was for the best — if any of them had been real animals, we would’ve been doomed.

As with many tourist traps we’ve visited throughout the years — the Dells, Virginia Beach, Niagara Falls, Orlando, around the Alamo, et al. — up and down the city streets were elaborate fun houses, whimsical dinner theaters, buildings devoted to singular amusement park rides, and so on, maximizing your frivolities in the mountainside shadows. If you’ve ever been to Wall Drug and thought, “What if this were an entire community? And twenty times larger?” then Pigeon Forge is your weird dream writ large.

Dinner was at Blue Moose Burgers & Wings…well, at least it was for me. Anne’s lunchtime burrito had been pretty big, but she was polite while I enjoyed a Cajun burger.

One slight kerfuffle: as we got out of the car, I fumbled the Mazda’s fob, which somehow fell apart in my pocket. One side had already been missing when the Avis rep handed it to me, but it’d been working okay regardless. I managed to snap it back together and was relieved to confirm it still worked okay, but now I had the added anxiety of treating it like a glass relic for the rest of the long weekend.

On the brighter side, later that evening a pair of our comic-con friends likewise posted their own goofy pics from the Sevierville Buc-ee’s, which they’d also just discovered. That’s exactly what we love about the Dragon Con experience: great minds thinking alike.

To be continued!