A Peach of a Road Trip by Bradley A Evans

Friday, February 10, 2023. Atlanta, Georgia

6:15 am – I woke up to “Mais Que Nada” by Sergio Mendes. I use songs in lieu of the God-awful default alarm on an iPhone. I’d rather start my day with Gilbert Gottfried singing “Achy Breaky Heart” than suffer through that audible migraine.

Luckily, Sergio’s tune is like waking up in first class on a Pan Am flight to Rio in the ’60s: a Dutch stewardess named Zoe brings me a screwdriver and lights my Pall Mall; outside my window is a sparkling bay, where wooden sailboats lazily sway and tanned bodies are scattered about; green mountains jut out from land and ocean alike… DAMN IT! This is a lucid dream. I’m in Atlanta, and we call them flight attendants now.

6:20 am – Splashed cold water on my face, meditated, and got dressed.

6:40 am – Hit the road and listened to a podcast on the Fed and quantitative easing.

7:00 am – Men’s Bible Study.

8:20 am – Realized I could play hooky. Debated on going to St Simons Island for the weekend.

8:37 am – Decided to drive to Macon to visit The Allman Brothers Museum (The Big House).

8:40 am – Opened the sunroof, threw on Brothers and Sisters, and hopped on I-75.

9:45 am – Pit stop for gasoline and coffee in Stockbridge, GA.

11:00 am – I slid into Macon on the jet stream of Eat a Peach. I plopped down twenty bucks and had the museum to myself for thirty minutes. If you go, find Rex Dooley before you have to share him with others. He’s been a volunteer since it opened and a character unto himself. His encyclopedic knowledge of all things Allman Brothers is only matched by his passion for sharing it. He’ll not only show you where Dickey wrote “Blue Sky,” but he’ll point to the church that inspired, “Good ol’ Sunday morning bells are ringing everywhere.” It’s impossible for me not to be biased, but The Big House is extraordinary. If you’re a fan of the Brothers, you must make the pilgrimage.

12:30 pm – Left the Holy Land with an Eat a Peach lighter, Big House koozie, and an artist-signed Allman Brothers/Widespread Panic poster from their 2009 tour that’s going to the framer.

1:21 pm – Arrived at Fresh Air Barbeque where my taste buds were baptized in Brunswick stew. I had a religious experience and haven’t been the same since. Indoctrination was instant – I’m a believer in Fresh Air! I’ve seen the light! And I’m pretty sure I saw Jesus Christ himself in the kitchen.

This place is in a league of its own. I had to rearrange my Top 5 BBQ joints in Georgia because of it:

1st – Fresh Air Barbeque, Jackson

2nd – Southern Soul Barbeque, St. Simons Island

3rd – Sprayberry’s Barbeque, Newnan (Lewis Grizzard Special is perfection)

4th – Heirloom Market BBQ, Atlanta

5th – Sconyers Bar B Que, Augusta

1:40 pm – Left Fresh Air with a belly full of hog and Coca-Cola.

2:19 pm – Had a call with The Fliers Club about a Bobby Jones golf outing in Atlanta.

3:38 pm – Arrived at Peachtree Golf Club, chewed the fat with Collier in the pro shop, and grabbed yet another polyester Smathers & Branson hat. I find myself giving them away to fellow golf nuts who appreciate a quality lid.

4:31 pm – Left Peachtree Golf Club and headed south on Peachtree Road.

4:34 pm – Listened to Free Bird on the radio. Nine out of ten times I turn the station when Free Bird is on because I’ve heard it too many times, but occasionally it takes me back to the summer of ’97 in Jackson Hole. It was halfway through the season when I realized I was 2,000 miles from my Waffle House and the only life I knew in Atlanta. I was sitting in an ’89 Jeep Wagoneer that the lodge gave me for the summer when Free Bird came on (I had the greatest job in the United States of America). I turned my walkie-talkie off, closed my eyes, and let the South seep back in my soul. The homesickness was gone.

4:48 pm – Bought a cigar.

4:56 pm – Smoked the cigar at The Cabin. A friend of the family bought and restored the 130-year-old shack on the Chattahoochee River in north Atlanta, and much to his chagrin, it’s been my second home for the last twenty-five years. An oil painting of Augusta National hangs above the fireplace, the pine floors creak, and if only the walls could talk. Over the last century, it was home to the Buckhead Gun Club, McCullough Club, and recently hosted Jack Nicklaus and Matthew Stafford.

5:48 pm – Left The Cabin.

6:10 pm – Jammed to Gary Clark Jr’s “When My Train Pulls In” on 91.1’s Fright Night Fish Fry. This dude can bend a string and has a smoky voice to boot.

6:15 pm – Arrived home twelve hours later and no one was the wiser (until now).

Contributor Bradley A. Evans is a good buddy, a UGA grad, and an idea guy. We’re lucky to have his thoughts here at RCS…more to come.