Burger Basket

Few things are as American as the hamburger, even though it is actually German. Furthermore, few things prove you are a real man like grossly overeating in the presence of others. With these two things in mind, gentleman, I introduce you to the Burger Basket.

Just past civilization on the outskirts of a little burg known as Bells, Tennessee rests this bastion of greasy goodness.  A restaurant, if you can call it that, that caters to the hard-working cotton farmers in the surrounding area, this joint knows how to serve up the food. The only thing on the menu that is not deep-fried is indeed the hamburger, and what a hamburger it is. They come in many shapes and sizes. (By many, I mean three.) However, the real man only goes to the Burger Basket for one thing... the House Special.

Many men have attempted the House Special, few have made it out alive. This culinary masterpiece serves up a whopping triple-cheeseburger, complete with all the "fixin's"; at least a pound or more of krinkle-cut french fries, extra grease; and a 48 ounce bucket of lemonade.  To boot, this triple cheeseburger is no laughing matter. Each patty is probably 2/3 pound of beef and the finished product looks more like a car tire than a Big Mac.

Coming in at just under eight bucks for the whole meal, the price may seem a little steep to the college student (read bum) or other area tightwad. However, the price is more than fair when you consider this styrofoam carton full of cholesterol easily takes the place of three meals.

To find the Burger Basket, take highway 412 towards Dyersburg from Jackson. After 15 minutes or so begin looking for an exit to Bells. Follow the road into bells and the Burger Basket is the ugly, red and white building just past the only grocery store in town. You can not miss it.

Golf Ball Diving

There is apparently much debate over the precise origins of golf. Theories abound that place its beginnings in either ancient Rome, China, Persia or Europe. The prevailing theory places its birth on the British Isles in the country of Scotland around the 12th century. Wherever its inception, golf has been a great contribution to mankind, providing us with hours of entertainment.

For instance, where else would one get to laugh at old men dressed in ridiculous patterns of plaid? In addition to its intrinsic humor, it has the added effect of becoming a powerful anesthesia when shown on television. Hence its airing on Sunday afternoons while everyone is taking their nap. I actually sat and attempted to watch it once, I did not wake up until late the next day.

Perhaps though, one of golf's greatest gifts is the water hazard (not to be confused with the Dukes of Hazzard). These littles jewels dot the landscape of any well designed golf course, beckoning would-be golfers to send their ball off into oblivion. Golfers may try to avoid the wiles of these ball traps; however, many will succumb to their siren song. Leaving a plethora of little, white treasures in a watery grave.

Enter golf ball diving.

Golf course water hazards make the perfect late night excursion, as long as you do not get caught. During the summer months, there is nothing quite like a nocturnal goodwill mission to rescue water-logged golf balls. In a good night, you can pull several hundred old balls out of these little ponds. Bring a bucket, but leave your flashlight at home.

Rarely are these makeshift pools deeper than 4-6 feet, so they provide the perfect place for a few night-time laps, or a good game of Marco Polo. The added benefit is walking away with more golf balls than you can carry, providing you with an activity for the next night... trying to lose all of those golf balls.

Golf courses abound in the Jackson area, there are three right in town. Some are easier to access than others, so exercise common sense. Oh, and do not destroy anything. Golf courses can get picky if you mess up their manicured lawn.