Dixie

Vic the mechanic finally gave me my car back late in the afternoon on Friday the 25th of September. I was flush with a wave of excitement and liberty. Sure, I was down thousands of dollars that I couldn't really afford. And it's not as if my stay in Tampa and St. Pete had been unpleasant. Quite the opposite in fact. But I was empowered once again to continue my journey, the need for which I cannot understand let alone explain. I sprung away from central Florida promptly, motivated by wheels for wings and a new engine for a beating heart. I migrated to the winding county roads of northeast Florida, where the cypress trees overgrow the roadway like stately roman arches and the Spanish moss reaches down to try to entangle you in the rural charm. But I would not be so restrained, and soon I left Florida behind for the Atlantic coast of Georgia at sunset.

America is a nation of islands bedecking a sea of green and static. The sun had fully set as I bypassed the historic port town of Savannah, Georgia and cruised toward the South Carolina border. Here I experienced a moment that struck me and wills stay with me. I heard the static part against the shores of one of these islands. A Georgia jazz and blues station...I don't know where it was located...was commemorating the birthday of Ray Charles (b. Sep. 23, 1930, Albany, GA) with a weekend of his tunes. I managed to catch the refrains of, notably, "Georgia On My Mind" and "Hit the Road, Jack" through the darkness before the island was behind me and I sailed purposefully on the sea once again.

I reached my destination of Columbia, South Carolina late in the evening, almost midnight. I was here to visit my friend Anthony Nyberg. Anthony is the older brother of Ian, who I visited in Austin about two weeks earlier. These days, Anthony is an associate professor at the business school at the University of South Carolina. He's doing quite well there, if my limited understanding of the mechanisms of academia are to be trusted, and has had a fair amount of his research published lately. I have been friends with the Nyberg boys for 20 years now, since my college days. Anthony knows me as well as anyone, and accordingly had the bourbon ready to pour regardless of the lateness of my arrival. We stayed up chatting until past two.

The next day, after a leisurely weekend brunch, we explored the town of Columbia. The university campus is pretty, as these places usually are. The dominant architecture in the town is neo-classic of the kind that was very popular in America at the end of the 18th century and beginning of the 19th. Lots of colonnaded porches and entablatured roofs. The university itself is made primarily of a kind of yellow-orange brick. They also really like wrought iron fences here, and you can find them all throughout the city.

Columbia is also the state capitol. The capitol building itself isn't as grandiose as the one in Austin. But it is certainly more culturally significant, both historically and currently. South Carolina was the first state to secede from the Union and therefore start the Civil War, an act which would have been passed into law (or outlaw, depending on your point of view) in this very building. Of course, some of that spirit continues to this day. A live controversy of the last decade plus has been that the state government here chooses to fly the flag of the Confederate States of America. Or maybe it's the Confederate battle standard. I couldn't quite tell since there was no wind blowing. This has brought outrage from other sectors of the nation, notably the NAACP which initiated a boycott that I believe is still in place. There is a kind of compromise. Instead of flying the flag from the capitol dome, now they just fly it from a pole on the front lawn, near a statue dedicated to Confederate war veterans. It's a compromise that neither side seems to be happy with, which seems to be a hallmark of all the great compromises.

The next morning I was traveling again, this time for a short drive to Blacksburg, Virginia. Blacksburg is almost due north from Columbia, just across the short western arm of the state of North Carolina. I went past Charlotte at mid-day with only a brief stop for lunch, arriving in Blacksburg before dinner. Here I completed my climb up the Nyberg clan seniority tree, with a visit to Nyberg pater. Martin is an interesting fellow who has worked in business for many years, but is currently a sometimes teacher of business ethics at Virginia Tech. He and his wife Meribe live in a pleasant house a short way from the campus. We had dinner together, and caught the opening of new Ken Burns documentary that I had been hearing about and was quite eager to see. It was all too short of a stay, but my story is running long and I'm beginning to feel it. Besides, on the next part of the drive I would see something I had left behind weeks ago and longed to visit again: mountains!

The Blue Ridge plateau formed the eastern extent of the original 13 colonies, and was the American frontier when America itself started. My trip would take me through the eastern extent of these worn and ancient mountains. They are small mountains, a bit bigger than the western foothills of the cascades around the Issaquah plateau back home. But they are very scenic and offer frequent pleasant vistas. There is a scenic byway that I ventured onto from time to time. Unfortunately, I don't have any pictures to share with you all. There are hardly any opportunities to pull the car over, take in the scenery, and grab a snapshot. It's an experience that must be had live, and not committed to electrons. I was a bit disappointed at first, but as I drove I became philosophical: whose to say that this isn't how the road should be enjoyed? The memory lives in my head for as long as my head lasts. And it will live in granite and wood and grass long after that, waiting to be experienced by others again. Maybe that's just how it's supposed to be.

This segment of my journey, which would carry me out of the South for the first time in weeks, was one where I would indulge my penchant for history. On one of the little scenic byways off the main interstate running through the Blue Ridge, I visited Washington & Lee University in Lexington, Virginia. It was founded as Augusta Academy, was later renamed after the General and first President who gave it a major grant, and then was renamed again to commemorate its later president the former confederate general Robert E. Lee. Lee dedicated his life after the war to education and did a credible job turning the University into a perfectly reasonable private institute of higher learning. He died in 1870, and he and his family (and his horse!) are entombed here in the chapel he had built.

This was the start of my "backward through time" Civil War journey. My trip took me northward through the Shenandoah valley, past the famous sites and of the Stonewall Jackson valley campaign and the infamous Sheridan valley campaign. Why Thomas Jackson's campaign is famous and Phil Sheridan's is infamous is a curious study for another time.

But these were appetizers. I arrived at the main course in the mid afternoon: Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. This is the site of the bloodiest battle in our quarter of the globe. It was also the turning point of a war that defined the nation. It's Borodino and El Alamein and Midway all rolled into one. I spent a little time exploring the town, but found my way to the visitor's center to get the self-guided audio auto tour. This is the way to experience the place, as the battlefield was much bigger than I had imagined it: over 25 square miles.

I'm not one to indulge in jingoism. I'm certainly not ashamed of my country, but I'm given to agree with Dr. Johnson's quote: "Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel." However, it has now happened to me twice on this trip that I have felt profoundly American. The first time was at Grand Canyon National Park. The second time was here. Actually visiting the site of the battle made famous in many a book and film gave me a perspective - literally and figuratively - that I had never had. The park service has done a very good job laying out the history and contour of the battle. And the land has changed very little. There are even plaques set up so that you can see a photograph taken from the 1860s and see that the vista, sometimes down to the smallest detail, remains the same to this day.

It becomes easy to imagine the feelings of the soldiers and officers. I stood on Oak Hill, where the rebels poured fire on the exposed elements of the union army. I wandered about Little Round Top, on the exact spot where the 20th Maine stopped the Confederate advance and Col. Chamberlain ordered the battalion to fix bayonets. I experienced where Lee stood to observe Pickett's charge. It didn't seem like it should be impossible.

I don't know why I have such at attraction to history. I have engaged on this trip, in large part, to try to understand what it is that makes me happy. I have come to some insights, but in so many ways I'm inscrutable to myself. I can say, though, that this culmination of my trip through Dixie was the perfect signpost. Maybe someday I'll even understand why.

I had thought I'd spend an hour or so at Gettysburg. I left after five, and only because the sun was setting. I left these great sites of a conflict a century and half old to return to the task at hand. I had an appointment with the great white way.