These photos were taken somewhere in Tennessee around 2011.
I couldn’t tell you exactly where.
I couldn’t tell you the route, either.
What I remember is the feeling.
It was one of those warm summer Saturdays that seemed to have no real beginning or end. The kind where there was nowhere important to be and no reason to rush. A full tank of gas, the windows down, and classic rock coming through the speakers was enough.
Most people remember destinations.
I remember roads.
The older I get, the more I realize that some of my favorite travel memories happened between places. Not in cities or attractions, but on the stretches of highway that connected them. The roads winding through small towns. The bridges that seemed to appear out of nowhere. The farms tucked into the hillsides.
Back then, there was still a sense of discovery in taking the long way.
GPS existed, but it hadn’t completely taken over our lives yet. If a road looked interesting, you turned down it. If an old store caught your eye, you slowed down. If a bridge stretched into the distance, you crossed it just to see what was on the other side.
There wasn’t always a plan.
Sometimes the road itself was the plan.
Looking at this photo now, I can’t remember what was around the next bend. I can’t remember where I stopped for lunch or what time I got home.
I remember the green hills.
I remember the sunlight.
I remember feeling like the day had all the time in the world.
There’s something about Tennessee backroads that seems designed to make you slow down. The hills hide what’s ahead. Every curve reveals something new. A barn. A creek. A forgotten church. A place that feels unchanged for decades.
The interstate gets you there faster.
The backroads give you something to remember.
Places like this used to be everywhere.
Maybe they still are.
The kind of store that looks like it has served the same community for generations. The kind of place where locals know each other by name and visitors are immediately obvious.
You don’t find places like that when you’re in a hurry.
You find them when you leave enough room in the day to wander.
And then there’s this photo.
If I had to pick one image that captures the entire trip, it would probably be this one.
Not because it’s a great photograph.
Because it instantly brings back the feeling.
A warm summer day. The road stretching ahead. Classic rock on the radio. A cold bottle of Sun Drop within reach.
Nothing extraordinary was happening.
That’s probably why I remember it.
The older I get, the more I appreciate those ordinary days. The ones that weren’t planned around milestones or celebrations. The ones that didn’t seem important at the time.
Just a Saturday.
Just a road.
Just somewhere between here and there.
And somehow, years later, those are the days that stay with you.
Deedlebay 