Adventures in driving
Some years back, my husband, Bill, and I used to make a game out of driving destinations. When we didn’t have a particular place to go, we’d decide to drive three miles and take the first left; then we may decide to drive four miles and take the next right and so forth and so on until we would wind up in someplace that was familiar.
One time we found ourselves on the other side of Chattanooga, headed toward Nashville. We almost decided to just head on, but we both had jobs we wanted to keep, so we found I-75 and headed home. We weren’t crazy about interstates no matter where we went. We liked the back roads and still do.
After children started arriving, from 1974 to 1983, our adventures in driving on random roads slowed down. In reality, with four young ones we felt it better to not take chances. Case in point: many years ago, we had traveled down to Florida and decided to visit this place called Wolf’s Bay, which was in Alabama not too far over the state line. It was a seafood eatery that people were wild about. Folks especially liked the flounder.
This place was not easy to find at that time, but we finally did and the food was fantastic. Aunt Rosie, Aunt Martha, our nephew Randolph, Bill and I were the only ones to take this little side trip for seafood. Unfortunately, we took the wrong turn out of the parking lot and, before we knew it, we were in the middle of nowhere in LA — Lower Alabama — in the dark.
We almost drove into the bay of something, but one of us saw the water. Aunt Martha, who lived in Alabama, said to stop at a house and ask directions. It was late by then. She saw a farmhouse and said to stop. Bill would not. We weren’t really on a real roadway. It was dirt and isolated. Bill said we might get shot and I said I was sure I heard banjos playing in the distance.
To make a long story short, we finally found a main road that led us to the road back to Navarre Beach, where we were staying. I was never so glad to see the name of Navarre Beach on a road sign. That’s been years ago, but the memory still makes me feel a knot in my stomach. I guess in the long run the food was still worth it. And the flounder was indeed worth it.
Another road adventure was when we headed out for our first Western trip. One of the first major stops was in South Dakota at Crazy Horse Monument. My husband, Aunt Rosie, Hayden, Hartwell and I had all picked out a specific place to visit. I chose Crazy Horse. As we got farther into our journey, we noticed an unusual number of motorcyclists on the road. They were driving mostly Harleys. I love the rumble of a Harley.
It seems that there is a celebration of sorts at a place called Sturgis in South Dakota where gobs of these cyclists meet each year. We were in the middle of them. There were lots of interesting folks, typical cyclists with lots of tattoos, long hair and beards, cut off vests and such. In truth, they were on vacation, out to have a good time.
It was a driving adventure that took us into Casper, Wyoming, where we had planned to spend the night. Not only was that little city crowded with Sturgis folks, it was crowded with a national rodeo crowd. We drove into the night and stayed somewhere in Montana, stopping at around 3 a.m. The motel was a bit questionable, but we were too tired to be picky.
While on another western trip, we decided to drive to see the Gooseneck in Utah. Let me tell ya, those secondary roads out West are gulp inspiring. We would see these Butte billboards and such. Those Buttes were beauts!
We came to a curve with narrow roadsides and a drop off of probably 2,000 feet. There were no warnings. If it had been dark, we would have sailed over into the chasm below. Yikes!! Aunt Rosie wondered about the “butts,” as she pronounced them. We got a laugh out of that.
Another time, we traveled up a mountain road to see the Giant Sequoyah trees. There was, again, no railings and drop offs of 5,000 feet. I don’t like heights. Neither did Aunt Rosie.
Bill was driving. I was almost hysterical and Aunt Rosie was praying … “Dear Jesus in heaven …” I wouldn’t be writing this if we hadn’t made it.
Our most recent adventure was before we got out of Mentone, Alabama, this past weekend. A landslide had happened, but this story will have to wait until next time.
Happy motoring, y’all.
Coleen Brooks is a longtime resident of Gordon County who previously wrote for the Calhoun Times as a columnist. She retired as the director and lead instructor for the Georgia Northwestern Technical College Adult Education Department in 2013. She can be reached at coleenbrooks1947@gmail.com.