Getting Lost in
Western North Carolina
Journey to Spindale Filled with
Interesting Side Trips

One of my favorite things in the world is to walk around in a city or town that I’ve never visited before. All around me are the people who live there. They’re traveling on sidewalks and side streets that they’ve long stopped thinking about. Meanwhile, my eyes are taking in every detail of this brand new place and my heart is racing with a sense of adventure.

When I’m in a town for the first time, I always make sure to find its little independent coffee shops and restaurants. Sometimes when you’re on the road, it can be a challenge to find a coffee shop other than Starbucks or a convenient restaurant other than the handful of big bright plastic chain eateries set up like guards at every interstate exit.

But when I find that funky little independent restaurant or coffee shop, it invariably proves worth the search. I can set up shop in a booth or at a table, take my time reading a brand new menu, and plan my day in this strange new town.

I always buy the local newspaper when I’m in a new town. Reading the whole thing from front to back is a great way to find out what’s going on there, what crimes their criminals prefer, and how their local sports teams are faring. Reading the letters to the editor page is particularly informative when trying to get a handle on a new town. And there always seems to be some comic on the funnies page that I thought had disappeared decades ago.

Last week I traveled to Spindale, North Carolina to tape a radio spot at WNCW-FM. On the map, it looked like a straight shot down Hwy 221 to Rutherfordton where I would make a left on 74 and proceed directly to the radio station. Having never been on 221 south of Interstate 40 before, it was all virgin driving once I passed Marion.

If you’ve never been on this stretch of road before, let me give you a little tip. Just south of I-40 there’s a huge intersection. And if you want to stay on 221, you have to make a right at that light. I know this because I cruised straight through the light and soon found myself in the middle of nowhere, or more specifically the outskirts of Dyartsville Township (pop. 2,901) in southern McDowell County.

It took me about 15 minutes to realize that I was no longer traveling on Hwy 221. It took me another 15 minutes or so to find a convenience store where I could ask someone how to get back on track. I finally pulled into the parking lot of a small brick gas station. Maybe it’s just the way I was raised, but I’ve never been able to use a gas station restroom or ask for directions without buying something. This time I pulled a Diet Dr. Pepper out of the cooler and took it to the register where an old woman and her even older mother were waiting patiently for business.

“Excuse me, I was traveling south on Highway 221 and somewhere along I-40 it disappeared.”

“Oh honey, you’re on Highway 226 now,” said the younger old lady. “You probably went straight through the light instead of taking the right. Don’t feel bad. Lots of people do that.”

“I’m on my way to Spindale. Is there a way to get there without going all the way back to 221?”

“What are you going to Spindale for?”

“I’m meeting some people at a radio station.”

“Ooh. That sounds like fun. What kind of music do they play?”

“All kinds, acoustic mostly. On the weekends they play a lot of bluegrass.”

“I love bluegrass music. My cousin Tibby used to live near Earl Scruggs. They went to school together, over near Shelby. You ever been to Shelby?”

“No ma’am. But I know some people named McMurry that are from Shelby.”

“James McMurry?”

“No. Steve and Bryon and Fitz McMurry. They played in a band with my friend Jay.”

“I bet they’re James’s sons. Or maybe his nephews. When you see ‘em, you ask ‘em if they know James McMurry.”

“I will.”

The conversation went on like that for another five minutes or so until the older old lady told me to keep going south until I hit Hwy 64 and take that road until I got to a town called Ruth and then take a left on Hwy 74.

“That’ll take you right into Spindale. You can’t miss it,” she said, cheerfully overestimating my navigational skills.

But she was right.

On the way home from Spindale, I stayed on Hwy 221 and stopped at a little diner somewhere between Gilkey and Thermal City. It was a country café called, of all things, Country Café. I picked up a copy of the local paper, The Daily Courier from Forest City and ordered a barbecue pork plate with pinto beans, cole slaw and cornbread. The chopped barbecue was the kind that already has the sauce in it and the pinto beans were served with sides of diced onions and sweet red pepper relish.

Being in the newspaper business, it always amazes me when I find small places that still have daily papers. Where does all that news come from? The Daily Courier’s lead story was about a murder trial in Rutherford County in which a man was claiming that he had accidentally shot his wife in the head. Other news stories included a high school math teacher arrested for possession of cocaine and a bizarre item about three young men charged with holding ten Sampson County teenagers at gunpoint for six hours, forcing them to smoke marijuana and have sex with each other.

The letters to the editor page informed me that local readers were concerned about the war in Iraq and with Duke Energy’s proposed new coal-burning power plant in Forest City. On the funnies page I found three, count ‘em three, comics that I thought had ended years ago: Broom-Hilda, The Born Loser, and Gil Thorp. Apparently Gil is still coaching football at Milford High School.

The drive home on 221 was like watching summer turn to fall. I went from the lower elevations of Rutherford County where great cathedrals of kudzu cover the pine trees, up through the western reaches of the Pisgah National Forest, to the base of Grandfather Mountain, some 4,000-plus feet above sea level. Along the way the temperatures cooled and more and more maples began wearing their seasonal colors of crimson and tangerine.

It was a great trip to Spindale and I’ll be making it again soon. But no subsequent trip will be quite like the first time I laid eyes on that new town.