Every once in a while, when I get back into my old stomping grounds, I like to take a slow drive through the areas I remember from my teen years with my friends. This old country road is certainly one of them. Behind me(not visible) is the disappearing trail which used to lead to the bank of the creek which snakes along the road -- or you could say the road snakes along the creek. All quietly nestled along the base of two hills, it forms a stunning view during the fall. We used to tempt the current from time to time and cross the creek in my friends little Chevy pickup. At times, usually after a rain, the water would almost be up to the door handles; yet the little truck would chug right through. Then there were the drives in my other friends Pontiac. We often jokingly referred to it as "The Batmobile." By today's standards it was a behemoth. A big black Grand Prix with red cloth bucket seats, 400 cubic inch engine, exhaust that would rumble the floor boards, and acceleration that I was reminded of the first time I flew and the plane started accelerating up the runway pinning me back in the seat. There were few cars I rode in that replicated that feeling, and it was unmistakable. We sometimes flew through this narrow winding rough road at speeds I wouldn't dream of attempting today. There were very few people I could, or still can ride with, and be comfortable. My father was certainly one, a street racer from the 50's, his command of an automobile when pushed to its limits seemed impossible. My friend was another person I felt comfortable with. Actually several of the guys I knew were amazing at the wheel. Many of them also raced stock cars, which probably helped. I learned many bad habits from my friends; and I'm certain they learned one or two from me as well, as I learned those from my father. But it is always special when I have those few moments to drive down memory lane and recall those moments in life that happened so long ago. They might have been days filled with foolishness; but they were days that seemed to last forever; until a moment came and they suddenly disappeared. We grew up, became adults, and life happened. The road hasn't changed much itself over the years. There are a few new developments built up above the road on the hillside, the trees and weeds have grown which line the road, but the sound of the creek is just the same. The gentle rush and burble of the water passing by, the occasional distant bark of a dog; or maybe the rare passing car. It is almost like stepping back in time, with the exception of the rumbling Pontiac speeding through, or the splashing water against the little truck as we traversed the current. It's funny how a place can sometimes remind you of such a distant time. While the place may not to have changed much, you know that you have. The place never has to move or adapt; it's only changed by time, the weather, or by man; we move, we must adapt, and time changes us. These brief visits sometimes are the best medicine. They remind me of good times, good friends, and bring back the memories of those who are no longer with us. It might be a little country road that is little traveled, but it has been a road that has given me more miles of memories than it actually is. Thanks for viewing, hope you all are having a good beginning to your week. 'Night!