Everyone along the route was well aware that Ty Cobb was riding to his hometown of Royston for the last time. This had been considered Cobb country for so long and where he once got his start in baseball. A place where you wonder how much Cobb had hunted and fished in the woods and rivers that made up the romantic beauty through the red clay hills.
Along the highway people stood outside newly bricked homes and old run down wooded houses in silence as the cars rolled passed one by one. A young boy fell off his bike on the side of the road and held his baseball cap in attention.
An old farmer in a huge cotton field stopped his mule and refused to return to work until the last car had passed.
State Patrol and local police had cleared the way as the hushed parade moved through Carnesville on it’s way to Royston.
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