I grew up riding in the backseat during a multitude of trips between Florida and Ohio. I can't remember ever not knowing that if you hopped on I-75, it would take you all the way from our house in South Florida to my grandparents' farm in Lebanon, Ohio. I've also always known the best towns, the cleanest bathrooms and the least scary hotels along the way. After not having taken that drive in about five years, I was super stoked last summer when I took my ill-fated trip to Bonnaroo (for more on that, click here), as it meant I would be on I-75 once again. I would spend all night and the following dawn cutting my way through the pine trees and "mountains" of the Smokey's on my way to Manchester, Tennessee. What I didn't expect, though, was the amazing sight that I'd roll across once I ventured off I-75 and headed west on I-24.
There, in the middle of the southern mid-west, nestled down into a valley between a handful of mountains, was a decent sized lake. It was blue and sparkling and covered in the kind of fog only 6 a.m. can conjure. Then, jabbing right out of the middle of the lake, was an island of pine trees. With the bright, summer greenness contrasting against the grey fog and blue of the freshwater lake, it immediately reminded me of the island from "Lost." The highway engineers seemed to know what they were doing when they built I-24, too, because they curved the four-lane road almost 180 degrees around the island. There's even a small pull-off look-out area so the gaping travelers don't collect the morning commuters into a massive accident. I've yet to pass through there with the time to pull off, but it's a tiny feat on my bucket list, that's for sure.
During my trip to Bonnaroo, I soon had to get off that highway and onto another one. Earlier this year, though, on my way to New Orleans, I had the chance to jump onto I-24, again. This time I was graced with its asphalt for a much longer journey. The road curves in and over, down and around, mountain after mountain. On each side of the road dark green pines jut up around you and at dusk, the golden sun glitters through. There's absolutely nothing about my description that isn't entirely cliche sounding, but that's exactly how it is on that section of I-24. The entire trip feels as if you're driving through a music video for a James Taylor or John Denver song. It is a well-paved, well-traveled country road and it is definitely one of my favorites.
If you're driving on I-24 and not listening to Old Crow Medicine Show, you're doing it wrong. Here's the song I pulled my title from...
If you like banjo, fiddle or songs about drinking/drugs/traveling, check out OCMS. Especially Live! This gig was pretty tame, but they can put on a rowdy show sometimes.
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