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Driving Nostalgia and the Perfect Road
We've all felt it, I'm sure; that time when you take the right instead of going left, because even though it takes you 20 minutes longer, there's that section of curves or that long, open straight that just gives you that feeling, or when you look out at your car, and the gleam of the sun through the headlights is almost like the car is saying, "Let's go somewhere different today." What do you call this feeling? I really don't have a name for it, but for me it's the same kind of feeling you get when an you see an old friend that you haven't seen in a while walking down the other side of the street.
When the weather cools down and the wind blows down the mountains telling the countryside it's time to start the fireworks display, I get that feeling - that nostalgic feeling. I want to drive in those mountains. Not 35MPH as the curves and signs indicate, but the kind of driving that draws the leaves from the surface of the cooling asphalt in a tumult of colors, with a quiet rustling that whispers, "GO," pushing me to play my car like an instrument - a kind of one-man mechanical band, while the tones of the tires, engine and exhaust echo across the valleys as the trees lean forward and applaud my version of "Ode to the Curves and Straights." On this kind of day, the tourists aren't clogging the roads, because they're in the shops. The motorcyclists come by, but they pass as the opportunity presents itself, and they're still faster than I am; they know what I'm feeling, and are chasing it themselves.
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So, let me introduce you to the perfect road, as I have seen it. Walhalla, South Carolina has almost nothing to offer. The majority of the shops died during the first economic downturn just after the late '90's, the population is largely unemployed, and the one tourist attraction they have (Issaqueena Falls/Stumphouse Tunnel) is beautiful, but isn't known very well. The town is, however, a gateway to the mountains, so it's fitting to start at the Head's 66 on US 28, since a fill-up here is almost 30cpg cheaper than the stations you find 20 miles away. Passing The Last Resort, a local bar recording more shootings than the entire town, the road starts to incline slightly. You only have a few seconds to comment on what a let-down the drive is before you see a sloping right curve with a natural wall to the left and large, old trees hanging over the road to the right in a kind of entryway to a series of curves that take you up as if you were in an aircraft. Instantly the view changes, and the guardrail is the only thing between you and your fate, which the entire countryside will have a first row seat to.
Climbing from plateau to plateau, the road straightens out, and you see farms tucked between the massive hills, which are in reality small mountain peaks. Handwritten signs line the roads, where you can buy anything from eggs to pickup trucks to boiled peanuts. As they say up there, you ain't seen nothin' yet. Highway 107 is a beautiful road, but it's not for this run. No, this time you veer left, headed towards Mountain Rest. As you pass the Leroy and Mountain Rest Lakes, there's only one thing to do: flip your wrist, slide that shifter into third, and glue your foot to the floor. The back and forth of the curves through this stretch is a veritable slalom, or God's way of helping you heat your tires.
You only have a few minutes to flirt with Georgia, but she sees you coming, and offers up the same kind of high-G kaleidoscope you just experienced. This is already fun. This is why you left your wife at home. This is sports car territory. Maybe next time you can stop by some of the stands in those small towns, as you commit the road to memory for the next time, but not today!
As you enter in to North Carolina, you're barely halfway through the run. Slow down as you get into Highlands, 'cause Johnny Law's got an eye on you, and he figures he knows what you've been up to. At this point, you're at 4,000 feet. Go ahead & stop for pizza, and let your ride cool. Take a look at the Porsches and Lambos that frequent the town, as well as the plethora of bikes of all kinds.
It's time to roll out. This time, you're headed East on US 64 towards Cashiers. Golf courses and massive houses line this wealthy mountain top, and are worth taking a look at before you set your eyes on the Miata. As we all know, the maximum distance between a Miata rear bumper and a Festiva at speed should be one car length. This will eventually unnerve said corporate board member (after the next 15 miles of hard driving) and he will pull off into the gas station in Cashiers. Had you taken the 107, BBQ on the Side & The Farmer's Market is where you would stop for BBQ and glass bottles of root beer.
Treading lightly as you slip in and out of Sapphire Valley, you manage to avoid the Special Exotic Car Interceptor Team (I'm not kidding, last time I was there, they had SEVEN WRX STi's with lights on top), and take the right turn through Oakland down the 281. The one thing you notice most isn't the view, because for the last hour it's been breathtaking; it's the dump trucks. LBM Industries runs a quarry on 281, and it's not uncommon to see pull-offs at random intervals. Once you pass the inevitable truck, your roller-coaster awaits. 281 turns into 130, and you're back in South Carolina.
The reality is, there haven't been too many straights since you got started. Bad Creek reservoir slips in and out of view, and as the land and the road calms down, highway 11 returns you to Walhalla, where your run is over. This whole run has only cost a tank of gas, and a pizza. You can see why it calls to me...
My Perfect Road.:headbang:
Anyone want to go with me sometime? Tell me about your Perfect Road.
When the weather cools down and the wind blows down the mountains telling the countryside it's time to start the fireworks display, I get that feeling - that nostalgic feeling. I want to drive in those mountains. Not 35MPH as the curves and signs indicate, but the kind of driving that draws the leaves from the surface of the cooling asphalt in a tumult of colors, with a quiet rustling that whispers, "GO," pushing me to play my car like an instrument - a kind of one-man mechanical band, while the tones of the tires, engine and exhaust echo across the valleys as the trees lean forward and applaud my version of "Ode to the Curves and Straights." On this kind of day, the tourists aren't clogging the roads, because they're in the shops. The motorcyclists come by, but they pass as the opportunity presents itself, and they're still faster than I am; they know what I'm feeling, and are chasing it themselves.
__________________________________________________ ______________
So, let me introduce you to the perfect road, as I have seen it. Walhalla, South Carolina has almost nothing to offer. The majority of the shops died during the first economic downturn just after the late '90's, the population is largely unemployed, and the one tourist attraction they have (Issaqueena Falls/Stumphouse Tunnel) is beautiful, but isn't known very well. The town is, however, a gateway to the mountains, so it's fitting to start at the Head's 66 on US 28, since a fill-up here is almost 30cpg cheaper than the stations you find 20 miles away. Passing The Last Resort, a local bar recording more shootings than the entire town, the road starts to incline slightly. You only have a few seconds to comment on what a let-down the drive is before you see a sloping right curve with a natural wall to the left and large, old trees hanging over the road to the right in a kind of entryway to a series of curves that take you up as if you were in an aircraft. Instantly the view changes, and the guardrail is the only thing between you and your fate, which the entire countryside will have a first row seat to.
Climbing from plateau to plateau, the road straightens out, and you see farms tucked between the massive hills, which are in reality small mountain peaks. Handwritten signs line the roads, where you can buy anything from eggs to pickup trucks to boiled peanuts. As they say up there, you ain't seen nothin' yet. Highway 107 is a beautiful road, but it's not for this run. No, this time you veer left, headed towards Mountain Rest. As you pass the Leroy and Mountain Rest Lakes, there's only one thing to do: flip your wrist, slide that shifter into third, and glue your foot to the floor. The back and forth of the curves through this stretch is a veritable slalom, or God's way of helping you heat your tires.
You only have a few minutes to flirt with Georgia, but she sees you coming, and offers up the same kind of high-G kaleidoscope you just experienced. This is already fun. This is why you left your wife at home. This is sports car territory. Maybe next time you can stop by some of the stands in those small towns, as you commit the road to memory for the next time, but not today!
As you enter in to North Carolina, you're barely halfway through the run. Slow down as you get into Highlands, 'cause Johnny Law's got an eye on you, and he figures he knows what you've been up to. At this point, you're at 4,000 feet. Go ahead & stop for pizza, and let your ride cool. Take a look at the Porsches and Lambos that frequent the town, as well as the plethora of bikes of all kinds.
It's time to roll out. This time, you're headed East on US 64 towards Cashiers. Golf courses and massive houses line this wealthy mountain top, and are worth taking a look at before you set your eyes on the Miata. As we all know, the maximum distance between a Miata rear bumper and a Festiva at speed should be one car length. This will eventually unnerve said corporate board member (after the next 15 miles of hard driving) and he will pull off into the gas station in Cashiers. Had you taken the 107, BBQ on the Side & The Farmer's Market is where you would stop for BBQ and glass bottles of root beer.
Treading lightly as you slip in and out of Sapphire Valley, you manage to avoid the Special Exotic Car Interceptor Team (I'm not kidding, last time I was there, they had SEVEN WRX STi's with lights on top), and take the right turn through Oakland down the 281. The one thing you notice most isn't the view, because for the last hour it's been breathtaking; it's the dump trucks. LBM Industries runs a quarry on 281, and it's not uncommon to see pull-offs at random intervals. Once you pass the inevitable truck, your roller-coaster awaits. 281 turns into 130, and you're back in South Carolina.
The reality is, there haven't been too many straights since you got started. Bad Creek reservoir slips in and out of view, and as the land and the road calms down, highway 11 returns you to Walhalla, where your run is over. This whole run has only cost a tank of gas, and a pizza. You can see why it calls to me...
My Perfect Road.:headbang:
Anyone want to go with me sometime? Tell me about your Perfect Road.
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