I totally forgot to post this on the first of July as usual. So today, the 11th, I thought I’d go ahead and use the post for this day. But when I went back and looked to see what I did post on the 1st, it turned out I didn’t. So this has become the July first post.
Two For The Road
In Search of Two-Lane Fun
By Diane Southwick & Scott Cotter
I had sworn off car trips. Despised them really. All those miles bouncing around in the back of that 1977 Olds had pretty much drained my desire to ever take a car vacation again. Dad would crank the A/C up on high until our teeth chattered. What’s worse, both he and Mom would chain smoke the whole way until our eyes were a red, blurry mess. For hours upon hours every day we’d sit in the cavernous confines with our faces plastered to the windows as scenery crept by at a mind-numbing 55 mph. After all, dad was a stickler when it came to the law. Never mind that the Olds had 403 cubes under the hood that were just dying to be unleashed on America’s widest, flattest highways. I was convinced that car trips were only for those with an extremely high tolerance for drudgery.
Recently, though, tucked away in my head someplace, questions started to surface. What if I was not in the back of an Olds? What if my wife and I drove only on two-lane roads that appeared like a serpent twisting around on the map? What if we went as fast as we wanted? And what if we drove our Miata?
So we embarked on a road trip. My first in nearly 20 years. The only plans we made prior to leaving were to back out of the driveway. We’d look at the map when we needed to and decide which small, twisty roads looked the best.
People constantly remark on how new my blue ’92 looks. I even have trouble convincing some people that I actually drive it every day, come snow, sleet, rain, or blistering Midwestern sun. It needed a couple of things, however, if it was to deliver us cleanly through the twists and turns we’d encounter along the way. In the past I’d bolted on some sway bars (time has erased the memory of which brand), a K&N Filter Charger, and a snappy Ansa muffler. I’d resisted doing the shocks, even though they’d been dead for quite some time. At 70 some odd thousand miles I was getting the lowrider effect—on the driver’s side only—and bottomed out on the smallest obstacle. But for the trip, I decided to ante up and get the car on a new foundation. This, too, would require new rubber since the current batch was pushing 45,000 miles. I did some flash research and settled on the KYB 8-way adjustable shocks. After my local shop installed the shocks, I was off to the tire store to select my new tires. Because I’d waited till the last minute to do all this, it was impossible to find the desired size Dunlop SP 8000s in town. So I swapped the worn D60 A2s with new versions, deciding they’d be fine.
Unlike my previous car trips, on the fateful morning there was no big production involved. We simply tossed our single bag into the trunk and backed out of the driveway. We flew through parts of rural Missouri and watched as first corn, then soybeans, and finally cotton fields zipped past. Heading towards Poplar Bluff on 60 east through Mark Twain National Forest was a fun little jaunt, giving the new shocks and tires their first test as the road rose, dipped, and twisted through the rolling hills and colorful countryside. On 21 South, also called Veterans Memorial Highway, we enjoyed more twists and turns and frequently found ourselves zipping along roads that weren’t even on the map.
We finished the day in Paducah. Kentucky, but not before spending a few minutes enjoying the solitude of Big Oak State Park and attempting to cross the Mississippi by ferry. Arriving just ten minutes late for the last boat, we ended up backtracking nearly 70 miles to find another crossing for the big river.
Starting out from Paducah the next morning, we found The Land Between the Lakes, which is halved down the middle by a scenic byway called the Trace. The byway provided lush scenery and plenty of small roads to explore, some of which were barely the width of a Miata. The trees held hands over the smaller roads, making it seem like dusk.
The tug of something a little faster, and with a few more curves, got us off The Trace and onto 80 East, a bucolic road that bisects The Trace and The Land Between the Lakes. It was our gateway to some curvy, scenic roads and quaint townships. We passed gently rolling pastureland with the occasional horse-drawn farm implement rusting in the blowing grass and numerous weather-bleached barns.
Near Mammoth Cave we saw our first and last Miatas we’d see on the trip. We passed them on 70, a small two-lane road that bends around the hills and hollows nicely and eventually turns into another scenic byway. After a trip through Mammoth Cave, which I strongly recommend, we saw them again sitting in the parking lot. Both were red, and one sported a Chicago Miata Club sticker.
After Mammoth Cave we headed towards Nashville with the express purpose of exploring the much-talked-about Natchez Trace Parkway. This is a rambling slice of pavement that, for several hundred miles, traces the historic trail once used by Native Americans, hunters, farmers, and European settlers to move northward into Mississippi, Alabama, and Tennessee.
Just outside of Nashville we began our trek southward. At first the Parkway seemed nearly forgotten. We dashed through sweeping turns and dove in and out of the ups and downs. Lodgepole pines filled the air with an unmistakable scent, and roadside overlooks gave us unobstructed views into valleys that were a patchwork of greens and browns. In the lower part of Tennessee and into Alabama and Mississippi, the curves had been combed out of the road, and it became much flatter. Traffic also increased. We followed the Parkway to Mathison, Mississippi, and headed west on 82 to go in search of some blues history. Although chock full of an interesting—and painful—past, we didn’t spend much time in the state that gave birth to the blues. The roads were too straight, bumpy, and flat to be of much interest to someone begging for twists and turns. We visited the Vicksburg battlefield, a couple of plantations, and finally, the blues museum in Clarksdale.
We headed up the blues highway, number 61, to Memphis, where we felt obligated to pay a visit to the King’s mansion. Graceland was worth the time, as was Beale Street, where we enjoyed some authentic blues, an Elvis impersonator, and a spectacular gymnastics exhibition by a group of kids flipping down the street for tips. The next morning we crossed into Arkansas and pointed towards Eureka Springs. The Natural State is filled with little roads that snake off in all directions, promising the thrill of a fast turn amongst towering trees and pastoral views. We weren’t disappointed. Though Highway 64 started out rough and lackluster, it eventually gave way to more rolling terrain. At Russellville, we discovered Treasure Highway 7, a scenic byway that charges for mile after twisting mile toward Harrison. Its serpentine route cuts through the Arkansas hills and green forests like a ribbon tossed haphazardly onto the landscape. We carved the S curves, hairpins, and large sweepers with grins smeared across our faces. We came in search of Miata country, and we found it. From beginning to end, it tested my skills as well as my nerves.
In and around Eureka Springs, a Victorian-type village more than a century old, there are handfuls of wonderful, twisting roads that shoot up and down the picturesque Ozarks. The town, too, is as interesting as the landscape it’s cut into.
We left Eureka Springs on 23 which then turns into 86, another scenic byway. By this time we’d spent so much time on beautiful stretches of road that this section almost went unnoticed by the two of us. At Cassville, Missouri, we started working our way towards the biggest, fastest stretch of pavement we could find. After six days of driving the Miata through six states, with the top down nearly the whole way, we were ready to take a vacation from our vacation.
We’d covered 2,600 miles, most of it on two-lane roads, and some even smaller than that. We had a marvelous time looking out at the world from our cozy cockpit. With the wind in our hair, the smells in our noses and the sites filling our eyes, we got to be a part of the places we visited in a way other drivers couldn’t. Whether you’re using it just for short runs on perfect days, commuting every day rain or shine, or screaming around a track belted in with a five-point harness, the Miata is a great sportscar.