I spent the last two days in Charlotte, North Carolina. It’s a city of some million-and-a-half people, and the only other time I had been there was for my wife’s immigration interview in 2003.
I don’t know if it was my mood or the city, but I just couldn’t get into the groove. Usually I’m all over the place taking pictures and exploring, but I spent a good bit of my free time driving around in my rented Toyota Corolla in a rather sullen mood.
I put my iPod earphones in for the drive home, and the first song that came on shuffle play was Aengus Finnan’s rendition of Bill Caddock and Pete Bond’s “One Hand on the Radio”. It seemed oddly appropriate. **
“Well, I’ve been talkin’ at the man on the radio, though I know he can’t hear a word that I say …”
Shortly outside of Charlotte, I happened across an antique store. It had all the fixins’ of promise; an old farm house with a plow in the front yard, a kind lady behind the counter who made pleasant conversation and even offered me hot tea, and that great musty smell that can always pry my wallet open. I emerged about a half-hour later with a handwritten title deed to a property in Moore County, dated 1886. More on that after I’ve had some time to stabilize the old document.
“… no, he just keeps on talking, telling me the time, and the weather, and the wavelengths, and his disc of the day …”
OK, so maybe this wouldn’t be a shitty trip after all. A short time later, I happened across this old service center. How can anyone resist a name like “Frog Pond Service”? There was a great old Chevy truck out front that I managed a few good photos of; I might just give them a call and see if it’s for sale. I’ve been looking for an old vehicle to spin wrenches on, and for some reason this truck caught my fancy.
“… He understands the way that I feel, one hand on the radio, one on the wheel.”
The trip across highway 24/27 was a long one, but the old cemetery I found near the Moore County / Montgomery County border was too intriguing to pass up. The McLeod Cemetery was established in 1700, according to the sign, and was restored in 2004. There’s only thirty-eight marked graves; seventeen of them are marked “Known to God”. The earliest grave I could find belonged to Alexander McLeod Sr., born in 1795. James McLeod, the first marshall of Star, North Carolina is also buried here. Great care had obviously gone into the restoration of this cemetery, and I can only wonder how many other unmarked graves are “Known to God”.
“There’s no car lights in the mirror, only starlights above. All the truck drivin’ heroes have called it a day …”
I’m a sucker for historical plaques, and this one almost made me ditch the car. Having lived in Guelph, Ontario, I’m no stranger to John McCrae’s poetry; it’s something every Canadian child recites in school. It turns out that this is a slightly different John MacRae who predated McCrae by about a hundred and thirty years. I drove two-and-a-half miles down the road in vain, though - either his house doesn’t exist anymore, or it’s not marked.
“Just the whine of the wheels as they beat up the miles, and the rain drops on the window and the night owl DJ …”
An old tractor for sale caught my eye, forcing another stop to take photos. I have a soft spot in my heart for old tractors like this; they remind me of happy days in my 4-H plowing club, where we learned to admire the beauty of these iron horses as they turned the soil. I still cringe when I see one of these old ladies rusting in someone’s backyard, and I was happy to see this tractor in such good shape. It’s not perfect by any means; there’s just enough wear-and-tear to tell plenty about its long and storied life.
“… He understands the way that I feel, one hand on the radio, one on the wheel.”
The last shot is of another plaque remembering a “plank road”. It’s exactly what you’re thinking - a road made out of wood. I can’t imagine how much work must have went into making this road, much less maintaining it … but it’s surely some testimony to early civil engineering.
“Don’t you tell me there’s a wreck on the road ahead. Don’t you tell me that the rain’s gonna turn into snow …”
My trip concluded safely and quietly, and I’m just thankful that I still have a weekend ahead of me to get some much-needed rest.
“Keep me going, stop me thinking, fill up my mind … for without you on the airwaves, the night goes so slow …”
** - The lyrics I have reproduced here (in italics) are respectfully taken from Aengus Finnan’s rendition of “One Hand on the Radio” (by Bill Caddock and Pete Bond), which can be found on Aengus’ 2003 album “North Wind”. It was dedicated to the late Peter Gzowski, and represents some of Aengus’ finest musicianship, not to mention fantastic song-writing.
