I'm here in North Carolina mainly because it's the second home of the Sierra Nevada brewery, whose California head office I visited last year. I won't bore you with beer talk: suffice it to say that everyone has their own private little vision of paradise, and this is very close to being mine.
Last year I did the Pacific Coast Highway, which is pretty much the world's greatest drive. Close behind in second place for me now is the trip north here from Atlanta across Georgia and South Carolina, through autumnal forests and hairpin-riddled mountains. My new rental car is a Chevy Camaro RS V6: not quite the beast that last year's V8 was, and nor is it in a colour I'd have chosen, but it still does 0-60 in 5.1 seconds and I'm not complaining.
(My previous Camaro was black and it had a wide rear end, so I called it Beyoncé. Now I've rented another Camaro, and I kind of feel like I'm cheating on Beyoncé. With a blonde, as well. I've called it Becky.)
After collecting the car in Atlanta, I drove east to Stone Mountain, which is a rather stark tautology. It's also a quartz monzonite dome manadnock. In layman's terms, a big geological zit in an otherwise flat area. Like Ayer's Rock in Australia, just smaller and less colourful. On the north face is the world's biggest bas-relief carving, a Confederate memorial, one of many monuments you see in this part of the world dedicated to the heroism and sacrifice of men who selflessly gave their lives in defence of, er, slavery.
I stopped one night in Athens, Georgia. There I ate soul food at Weaver D's, a tiny little café where the motto is 'Automatic For The People'. That's where the REM album of that name, omnipresent on the airwaves during my late teens, got its title. Weaver himself, a big sleepy black dude, still ladles out the grub and still repeats his slogan every time he rings the till. But he's clearly become jaded over the years, and now it just comes out as "Aumafuhpil". (Actually I've never really been a fan of REM, but my 'been there done that' list is a hungry beast and insists on being fed with new additions wherever I go.)
The car's going back to Atlanta airport, and that's where I'm flying out from. Not home, though. Not just yet.
 |
| The Sierra Nevada brewery, Mills River, North Carolina. It's a 184-acre site, and you drive up Sierra Nevada Way to get to the front door. You don't have to drive. You can crawl over broken glass if you prefer. It's worth it. They let you leave cars overnight, as I did with Becky (see above). I booked the only AirBnb within walking distance. |
 |
| Off of REM |
 |
| Downtown Atlanta, seen from about thirteen miles away on Stone Mountain |
 |
| I don't know why this bar is called the 'Royal Peasant'. It genuinely appears to be just a combination of two random 'English' words. An example of a reciprocal equivalent would be the 'Superbowl Cadillac'. |
 |
| Continuing on the booze theme: the Jack Daniels distillery in Lynchburg, Tennessee. I got through a lot of JD in my mis-spent teenage years, and I still like a sip every now and then. Don't we all? |
 | ||
Edd vs Food #47
Heritage Farms green chile pork, creamy Carolina gold rice and Three Graces queso blanco.
Flavoured with cilantro and Sierra Nevada Otra Vez beer.
At the Sierra Nevada Taproom, Mills River, NC.
|
