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Like the Battle of Lost Shoes
Ronda Rich
The faithful came. There were no church houses, no steeples, no pulpits, and no altars. But those who practice a secular gospel, a devotion to boys known as Luke and Bo, poured in and assembled themselves together. It had rained pretty much regularly for the last 30 hours so the mud in the countryside of Luray, Virginia, was murky and deep. Traffic stretched for miles from all sides and some people sat in traffic for three hours, patiently waiting to park. Because they are devoted. They had come to see Cooter’s Last Stand, the final – probably – reunion of the Dukes of Hazzard hosted by Mr. Ben Jones, known to the faithful as Cooter. I knew it wasn’t going to be a pretty sight. As I inched through traffic, sometimes sitting for 15 minutes without moving, I remembered as a young sports writer when I covered the Atlanta Steeplechase followed a few months later by the first NASCAR race I ever attended which was held at the old Atlanta International Raceway. For both events, the rain poured. The horses carried on but the car race was finally called off. I returned to the newspaper both times with muddied clothes so wet they weighed as much as I did.

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