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Well I sleep like a feather
I don’t worry ‘bout the weather
I take backroads, wherever I go
And I can’t take no chances
‘cause I sure ain’t got no answers
I take the backroads, wherever I go

Steve Canaday was speaking to my soul when he wrote that song for the Ozark Mountain Daredevils back in 1977. It blared from that Kenwood stereo system I had installed in my ‘68 Buick Skylark, as huge clouds of backroad dirt followed me whereever I went.

Those four-lane freeways ain’t got
nothin’ for me
Just gimme a six pack and a
‘50 Mercury
And I’ll be rollin’
Over them backroads of my home
Over them backroads of my home

Even today, if given a choice, I’ll take the backroads. More curves. More hills. More scenery. A slower pace. A time to think. I gave up the loud music while driving a couple of thousand years ago. I don’t know why, but it’s harder to think these days when Jim Dandy is yelling in your ears.
But more importantly: those backroads almost always meant less traffic; which means fewer people who obviously should have left the house sooner because they’re in such a hurry. They’ll end up passing me while waving one finger; I’ll throw them the peace sign back. That makes them angrier than returning their one-finger salute.

Well I don’t let things get risky
‘cause I might be drinkin’ whisky
Out on them backroads of my home
You don’t see no hitchhikers
Ain’t no semi-trucks or bikers
Out on them backroads of my home

I don’t think my wife believes me, but back in the day, I was the “wheels” guy. I would drive anywhere. I would drive at crazy fast speeds. I would pass where I shouldn’t. I was young and reckless on the roads.
More than once, my car ended up in a ditch on one of those backroads. And more than once, a hubcap was left on the side of a road where I rounded a backroads curve a bit too fast.
After leaving college and a year into my first real job, I drove a little Ford Ranger pickup – the first new vehicle I had ever owned – at an alrming speed on a gravel road.

Them four-lane freeways
ain’t got nothin’ for me
And that all night rollin’
to be where you got to be
It ain’t nowhere
Gimme them backroads of my home
Gimme them backroads of my home

Yes, I was a crazy driver on those backroads. Not at all bragging, just stating facts.
Maybe my love for backroads may have started in my subconscious. My first years of life were spent in an old farmhouse on a long driveway at the end of a dirt road. It had zero traffic that wasn’t coming to our house. There were no other homes in sight, you couldn’t even see that road.
We thought it was progress when the dead-end road was extended to the closest county road; and lo and behold, it was paved as well.
I remember walking in those woods, espeically when it snowed, imagining I was in the middle of nowhere. Now, that brief half-mile stretch of “new” road has 13 or something homes on it.
A backroad it ain’t.
Progress?
Maybe that love of backroads came from my dad. When he was first driving, all roads were backroads. He remembered when NC 801 was a dirt road at the US 158 intersection. He wasn’t sure if 158 had been paved.
He’s also the one who made sure that ‘68 Skylark, which had been babied by my aunt who rately drove, was mine at age 16. He knew.
Later in our lives, I was one – if not the only one – whom he was comfortable riding with. My driving had calmed down and was sensible. Still is.
But I inherited his trait. I’m a nervous wreck riding with most anyone, especially if it’s someone with whom I share an auto insurance policy.
Those backroads are rapidly changing. You have to look to find a public road that isn’t paved. We’ve got a few, and for old times sake, I’ll drive down them every now and then; but at a grandfatherly pace.
There’s that insurance policy, remember?
– Mike Barnhardt