The spring of eternal inspiration can't be found in the bottom of a styrofoam coffee cup. Believe me, I've looked in every one I could find and gotten little more for my efforts than a burned tongue and a raging caffeine addiction. However, such cups are very handy when contemplating a long ride, since they fit better into the cup holders than the super mega insulated all-day coffee cups that I usually carry.

Sunday I drove my mother to visit my father's grave, rode by the property that I sold a couple of years ago and took the children to their favorite fast food restaurant. I really hate fast food restaurants. The food tastes good, but I can usually feel my arteries clogging as I chew. Just to be safe I ordered a fries, a burger and a soft drink for the sake of nutrition, American style. I also got my big coffee there as I tried to stay awake after the fat laden meal as I sat watching the children crawl through kiddie nirvana. They don't really care about the food, so long as they get to slide and climb around the giant plastic hamster cage.

After leaving there, I told my mother I would take her to the cemetery to see the grave marker we had placed on my father's grave. It's been there for some time and her name is on it, so I figured she might like to know what it looks like. I don't think I would like having my name on such a stone; it's too much like a scene from "A Christmas Carol."

The marker's dark marble gleamed in the sun and a cold wind blew across the cemetery. The grass still hadn't taken over the grave and the raw dirt was a reminder of a day I'd just as soon forget. I didn't stay long; I'm not much for talking to stones, or listening to them for that matter. Their stories are long and cold.

On the way there I took mostly side roads. When not in a hurry, I tend to take the path less traveled. I also have several dubious ‘short cuts' that I use, some of which are actually longer than the normal way. Those who ride with me are often puzzled by my route choices. On a recent trip, I took two side roads and a dirt road when I could have simply gone straight and took a right. However, the time and the distance weren't much different and the scenery was much better-following along the side of a babbling brook, over a low-water bridge and by a larger creek. Isn't the route almost as important as just ‘getting there' - especially on a Sunday afternoon?

There was a time not too long ago when most of our roads were little scenic rural routes. While I know commerce depends on better roads, there's a part of me that enjoys taking forays into the dirt-road past of the mountains.

I grew up on such a road and I remember watching the dust billow and glow in the late summer sun as I walked the half mile or so from the bus stop to the house. I didn't think much of it then, but the children were safe, the neighbors were friendly and helpful and the pace of life was just a little slower.

That was when U.S. 58 was a small rural route, more like N.C. 18 than U.S. 21.

My father spent most of his days riding ‘the road less traveled.' I remember as a younger man I would complain when he wanted to take the back way, like following State Road 100 to Roanoke, Va. instead of just zipping along Interstates 77 and 81.

I can remember thinking to myself, "When I get older, I'll take the Interstate. It will be faster and better than this old curvy slow road." He understood that the side roads, often less busy and more scenic, may take a little more time, but they're worth it to keep a trip enjoyable. The frantic lane changing, big trucks, speeding cars and traffic jams generally aren't a problem there. That alone can help keep your blood pressure in check. Leave a little earlier, he would tell me. You won't have to hurry so much and you'll enjoy the trip more.

I remember the old steel bridge over the river going the back way, the various stops at little country stores with outdated pumps and antique inventories. When I think about the changes he'd seen, from the days when horses and buggies were still a common sight and people were buying sodas at the drugstore to the computerized car, giant stores and the Interstate highway. He came from a different time, a time when people weren't in too much of a hurry to stop and help a neighbor or to admire the scenery. He kept that mentality moving forward into the ‘40s and ‘50s when he started driving and into the ‘60s, when the larger highways really started to take off.

So often our roadways that had real ‘personality' are being replaced by highways completely devoid of anything other than large numbers of automobiles. Our own U.S. 21 used to be the main route to travel from destinations north to most southern locales, including Florida.

Alleghany County was ‘discovered' by many travelers who ventured down Main Street on the way somewhere else. What Interstate do you know of that would travel right through the middle of town like U.S. 21?

In closing, I suppose I'm still learning to enjoy each step of my journey, trying to take none for granted. There's something about a graveyard that gives perspective. Life is a morning mist under the sun of time; a quiet Sunday afternoon drive or a mad dash-it's our choice.