Anybody who lives within a twenty mile radius of Dairy Queen in Middlesboro is enduring a true test of our ability to monitor and adjust. Those of us who have always been able to hop in our cars and jaunt off for a DQ Blizzard have been some what haulted in our pursuit for quite a while now. Frustration has caused bumpers to collide, gravel to spill, and fingers to fly simply because we are spoiled.
This recent traffic sna-foo is the result of a rock slide on I-75 in Campbell County (no relation...hee hee hee). Traffic is detouring through Highway 63 up 25 to I-75 in Corbin and vice versa. Blame it on Mr. Tom Tom or Mr. Garmin if you like. Every satellite dependent device east of the Mississippi is routing massive amounts of traffic through this neck of the woods, and the locals are getting restless.
It is at this point I'm going to draw a generational line in my hellofuzzy world.
Our generation in the tri-state area is divided by one statement and one statement only.
"Don't you go over that mountain."
If that sentence doesn't strike fear in your bones, then you're probably too young to be reading this blog.
Before you even begin to think the tunnel poses a problem, let me tell you about "the mountain." Every federal dollar spent on that tunnel has saved the area's youth one smooth whoopin from their mommas for being caught on the wrong side of the mountain. It's not like the Hatfields lived on one side and the McCoys lived on the other. Nope. "The mountain" wasn't actually a reference to a geographic peak. "The mountain" was the reference to the piece of road that the tunnel replaced. The mountain claimed many lives...staged many moments of crisis...and took on the role of the tri state Bermuda triangle. If anything bad was going to happen in traffic or human behavior, it seemed to happen within earshot of Cudjo's Cave, which sat at the peak of said mountain. Parents forbade their children who were old enough to drive to even think about crossing that mountain, and we took on that dare like sticking our tongues to a flag pole. And, just like we would have lost flesh from our tongue, we would have lost flesh from our arses once momma got hold of us.
If something happened in typical traffic, the event seemed mundane, but if the same event happened on "the mountain," then the after shock of it was amplified ten fold. For example, it was perfectly understandable for Scottie to drive an ATV on a road in town...but driving it over "the mountain" was game that very few players had back in the day.
Some how while the days have fallen off calendars and hairs have fallen off our heads, "the mountain" has faded into folklore stories while our big, mack daddy tunnel has opened up the gate from north to south in a much more dignified manner. Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett would be most impressed with the tunnel technology. And speaking of that technology...
Anyone who travels through the tunnel more than once when checks come in knows that there is an almighty voice that slides into our vehicles and coaches us through our tunnel travel just like James Earl Jones acting as Darth Vader. The voice is as authentic as Steven Speilburg or George Lucas would pray for it to be. If either of those directors had to cast a voice for the tunnel, this is the voice each would have chosen. It is the same voice I heard as a child and throughout my happy life on Balmoral. It is the voice of my dear friend's husband. It is the voice of Noah and Isaac's dad. Yes, my yellow jacket alumni, when you enter the tunnel and your radio frequency is abducted by the voice, you might as well kick back and enjoy the ride with Steve Brown as your navigator.
Now, here's where this story makes me giggle like a sixth grade girl.
I rode the bus with Steve as did MANY other kids on Kay and Bill Carroll's route in Middlesboro. They started dropping us off behind Coppinger's Machinery and didn't stop until they got close to the library downtown. We all rode that bus from the time we started first grade until we got old enough to beg and plea for rides from kids who were old enough to drive (much love to you, Tina). Steve Brown was, without question, our entertainment on the bus. Every single passenger of buses 1 or 3 can hear him saying, "Girl, you know..." right now while you read this. On the mornings he was late, he'd come running across the intersection at the Boys' Home just hollering for Kay to stop and let him on. He'd miss the high school route and beg for a seat on the middle school route. Kay always let him ride, and she bounced him off at the middle school. He'd run like a deer to the high school and we'd all look forward to the same show on a different day.
I don't remember Steve causing anything but laughs on our bus rides. Through rain, snow, sleet, and hail, we rode together without a radio, noise reduction, or air conditioning. Kay would knock those gears from first to third faster than Dale Earnhardt ever dreamed of doing, and we'd all find our way to our future when she dropped us at our doors whether they be at home or at school. Our prized passenger from almost 30 years ago has now become the voice of reason in the Cumberland Gap Tunnel. The irony is just too much for me to keep to myself, so I had to share it here.
I've wanted to write this blog since Steve first took control of my stereo, but I've procrastinated for the sake of sleep. My dear friend, Mary, fights the tunnel traffic daily, and she made me chuckle and reminded me without knowing that I needed to write this blog.
If anything good regarding human behavior has come out of this tunnel traffic terror, Isaac and Noah have been able to relish in the glory of being the sons of a local celebrity of sorts. I'm proud of Steve for the dad he has become, and I'm tickled he shares his life with his wife, and my beautiful friend, Tina.
