Start: Covington, Kentucky
End: Louisville, Kentucky
States: Kentucky
That being said we drove south from Cincinnati to the Woodford Reserve Distillery in Versailles, KY (down her they pronounce it Ver-sales). Woodford is the official bourbon of the Kentucky Derby, and what they use to make the mint juleps on Millionaires Row. To give you an idea of how small their production is, the have less than twenty employees and produce about 135, 000 cases per year. Jack Daniel's, owned by the same parent company (Brown-Forman) and located in Lynchburg, TN produces over 10 million cases each year. We scooted in at about ten past one and were able to make the 1 o'clock tour having only missed the boring video. Our tour guide, Nancy, was superb and hilarious, despite her age (mid-sixties, perhaps?) and answered every question. The tour was almost two hour and was an interesting blend of history, science, and the delicious aroma of bourbon. However the crowning glory was undoubtedly the sample at the end included in the very reasonable admissions fee of five dollars. 
There is a whole Bourbon Trail you can follow, featuring some of the big names like Jim Bean and Wild Turkey and other smaller distilleries like Four Roses and Heaven Hill. One woman on our tour had been to eight, and apparently had no life. One was enough to get a feel for it and frankly had we visited more than one we might have had to stay the night since I finished Alyssa's sample as well as my own.
Now being in Kentucky, we also had to make the pilgrimage to see the Colonel. Many have asked: Does KFC taste better/different in Kentucky? No, but then again its perfection can hardly be altered by a change of geography. The restaurant we went to also was our first taste of true South. Not only did we get a full on accent from the girl behind the counter but we also suddenly found ourselves in the Bible belt. The woman in line after us asked the girl if she read the Bible, to which she replied. "Surely, ma'am I do." Then the woman gave her some sort of Bible pamphlet and said, "You enjoy that now, you here?" Nothing against any faith, but it was a curious religious experience, to say the least. Alyssa felt as Yankees we were already conspicuous enough and would not take my photo with the life sized cardboard cutout of Colonel Sanders. Luckily I had something better planned next.
Colonel Harland Sanders, is a very interesting character if you've never heard about him. Aside from his military service he started his restaurant in the Depression out of his families' gas station to help support them. He is the reigning king of Kentucky, and kitschy or not remains a part of the cultural fabric all over the state. So on to Cave Hill Cemetery, Harland Sanders final resting place. The plan was to do some serious exploring, in addition to visiting his gravesite. I have a fascination with cemeteries, in a totally non-morbid way. I think firstly that you can tell a lot about a place and the people who live there by how they treat their dead, I can't help it I'm an anthropologist and read too much into everything. In my travels I've seen some truly fascinating burial grounds from humble family plots to mausoleums built to house hundreds of thousands. All my life my grandmother lived across from a cemetery, and when I asked her if it bothered her she said it was like living across from a beautiful park. Its where I went sledding in the winter and took walks in the summer. The architecture is magnificent, and greatly varied, they are always serene and one with nature. In short they are where its at.
Unfortunately we arrived twenty minutes before it closed, and it left only enough time to find the office. We wanted a map so we could plot a journey for the next morning. Like an angel from God a woman with violently orange hair and fabulous green eyes named Etta emerged. When we asked her about a map she went inside to get us "one of the good ones" and proceeded it tell us a host of fascinating facts about the cemetery, where she's worked for thirty-one years. Sometimes the universe just similes on you. More on that tomorrow, however. On to the Breckinridge Inn in Louisville, which looked like a mini-Tara, smelled...well how does one put this delicately? Stank of mustiness, and had a very original pair of pictures, they were the same one just flipped to make a mirror image (I covered one with my Mothman for President tee). Dinner, why I'm so glad you asked. Leftover KFC, straight from the bucket.
