Get in, we’re going for a ride in the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile

But traffic does not bother Carly Bowden, one of a dozen newly cooked college graduates hired to spend a year evangelizing the gospel according to Oscar Mayer.

Bowden, who goes by Corn Dog Carly, relishes it. When traffic has slowed to a crawl, the spectacle of a giant frankfurter is entertaining. She likes watching people’s reactions.

“It’s hard not to smile when you see a hot dog on wheels,” Bowden says.

Credit: Jason Getz/AJC

Credit: Jason Getz/AJC

Indeed, it is hard not to be mesmerized.

People gawk, transfixed. When it was parked on a side street behind the High Museum to pick up this reporter and two other journalists, one passerby saw the open gull-wing door and walked inside without an invitation, as if in a trance. She didn’t say a word, just stared wide-eyed at the ketchup-red carpet with a tuft of yellow “mustard” and the sky-blue ceiling painted with white clouds.

It’s OK to be awed. More people have gone to outer space than driven the Wienermobile, which is celebrating its 90th anniversary this year. Six hot rod dogs make up the fleet today, including a weenie with the license plate WNR MBLE that travels the southeast and is in Atlanta this week.

“We’re lucky dogs,” Bowden says.

When the door is closed, Bowden dims the lights and pulls up a map on her phone from the passenger seat. Her co-pilot, “Grill Ready” Evie Serda fires up the engine, a Chevrolet V-8 on a front-sitting chassis, and pulls into traffic after a glance at the side view mirrors.

Within minutes, the dog is cruising south down Peachtree Street.

Driving the Wienermobile takes practice. The crew trains at Hot Dog High weeks before they earn a title they’ll hold lifetime bragging rights to: “Hotdogger.” They’re also christened with a hot dog name, an honor they, in turn, pass on to all visitors. On this trip, Sara Kraut, Jumbo Dog Jason and All-Beef Abbey are on board.

During training, retired police officers grill the drivers and put them through the paces. Like any classic driver’s education course, instruction starts in the classroom. They learn about the dog’s turn radius (wide) and what to expect when braking and accelerating. Then, the students graduate to Penske box trucks.

Like the Wienermobile, a Penske doesn’t have rearview mirrors. It gets the Hotdoggers in the habit of relying on their side mirrors. They practice in parking lots decked out with obstacle courses, including one that simulates driving through the Lincoln Tunnel. At 8 feet wide, the Wienermobile clears the tunnel’s 8-foot-6-inch maximum — barely, with the length of one real hot dog to spare.

A final test is driving forward and back in the shape of a tightly drawn star, smaller than your average Midtown intersection.

“This has made me such a better driver,” Serda says.

Credit: Philip Robibero

Credit: Philip Robibero

On the 10th Street overpass, she flicks on the turn signal, readying to go left on the Downtown Connector. They get a few honks and Bowden waves back to the cars idling at a red light. Waving to other drivers has become such an ingrained habit over the two months they’ve been on the road that Serda confesses she caught herself waving from an Uber recently.

The dog queues in the on-ramp, then merges like any other vehicle. Drivers generally give them a wide berth, and traffic on the connector is light at the moment.

“That wasn’t too bad,” Serda says.

The Hotdoggers are paired so that one person can always serve as a navigator and an extra set of eyes. Bowden tells Serda to roll into the far right-hand lane and take the exit to John Lewis Freedom Parkway.

As she pulls to the intersection at Boulevard, the map changes directions at the last second. Bowden redirects her. This happens often. Depending on the city, or whether they’re using Google or Apple maps, they have to pivot frequently.

“We’re always making sure we’re giving extra time for our big dog to get places,” Bowden says.

Serda gets a loud honk when she turns onto North Avenue. She honks back.

Then the giant dog passes a Waymo. They’ve encountered the driverless cars here and in Nashville, Tennessee, always without incident. If the Waymo is delighted to see the Wienermobile, it doesn’t react.

After turning right, back onto Peachtree Street, the Wienermobile slows. There are more vehicles on the road, more pedestrians lining the sidewalks, their phones in the air to photograph the big dog on wheels. Bowden points out construction workers to avoid on one side of the street.

This dog gets good mileage, similar to an SUV, Bowden says. It runs on high-octane mustard. (OK, that’s not true; it runs on regular gasoline.)

The hardest part of driving this behemoth?

Frankly, a struggle common to any Atlanta driver: Parking.

They typically look for wide-open spaces where they can take a couple of spaces. They scope out event locations in advance to figure out where to park the bun.

But Serda parallel parked it the other day for the first time, with Bowden outside the vehicle guiding her in the spot.

“It was beautiful,” Serda said. “We got a lot of compliments on it.”

Where to see the Wienermobile