Showing posts from November, 2017


It was there in the distance, Some abandoned gas station, On a road long forgotten. The mountains still with Spring snow Beyond, between me and Reno. Not all promises in the desert last. The tables green and numbered Waited for me in Reno, as I drove on. Not all promises in the desert last. RENO DRIVE from David Young on Vimeo .


Charlotte is a prosperous and growing city framed by new buildings, forests of modern apartments and sports stadiums. Gentrification, though, has not reached the Eastside. It remains a tangle of industry, art and wildness. Learning how to get around Charlotte can take some time. The city is laid out on a northeast grid versus the normal north/south grid. It has been described as a group of wagon wheel spokes. Never is this more true than on the Eastside. One the most interesting of it’s streets is The Plaza, which together with the Midwood Neighborhood, was once referred to as streetcar suburb of Charlotte. The streetcars are long gone, but the rich heritage of the street and it’s ethnic diversity are very apparent.  It stretches eleven miles from the tree lined streets on the doorstep of downtown out to where it meets I-485. Along the way you find enclaves of Asian, Muslim. Latino and Black communities. It is a melting pot of the influences of adjoining Eastside distric


South Carolina Highway 903 is only 27 miles long running from Lancaster to Catarrh. While it will not be found on any guide to the South, It’s full of life and interesting finds along those short miles. It’s origin dates back to 1930. Connecting roads call out their tales: Old Dixie, Rocky River, Fork Hill, John Log, Mining, Timber Lane, Norseman, Duckwood and Bristle Creek. 903 passes many picturesque farms and ranches. There is The Hill Top Tradepost, the iconic fire tower and 40 Acre Rock along the way. The road turns lush as you past Midway and stays that way to where it meets Route 601, called The Gold Mine Road.  What I enjoyed the most were the small sights along the road, most linked with the past and rich with the patina of the road and it's color. You will find it a wonderful drive. David Young


Time stood still for a moment as Las Vegas lights shimmered on the window. I turned looking around my hotel room and the pile of case work on the table. Then I finally did it, reached for my phone and dialed. “Denio Bar,” a woman answered I could hear the bar chatter in the background over the phone.  “Is Ben there?” I asked, exacting a response of who.  She said to my amazement, “I’ll get him,” He must be 80 years old , I thought. Remembering that he looked old and cranky the summer I stayed there, twenty years ago. He owned the bar and ran it with a hard way. A rough whisky honed voice answered the phone, “This is Ben.” “You probably don’t remember me, I’m Tom Allen and I stayed in Denio one summer.” Ben paused then said, “Hell, I don’t even remember myself half the time.  Ah, wait a minute, I remember you. You were the fresh faced college kid who hooked up with my singer. You were in here every night for a while.” He paused again for moment then said