No adventures planned, but I do want to visit Charlotte. I’ve spent many hours in this city, but I’ve never seen the place. Every minute of that time has been in the airport, which is a major airline hub. Back when I was doing a lot of business travel its cavernous atrium, shops, and food courts were so familiar to me, that it sometimes felt almost like home.
I smile when I pass a road sign or see a brochure or web page touting a place as “historic.” This seems to me a pretty weak claim to fame; after all, every place, has a history. But sometimes I wonder if Charlotte, North Carolina might be the exception. Charlotte’s economy and population has boomed so much in the late 20th and early 21st century that it seems to have just sprung out of the Piedmont like Athena popped out of Zeus’s head.1
The city itself is a bright, shiny, proud example of the New South, having shed all the stereotypes of the South I heard while growing up. Nobody calls Charlotte poor, bigoted, ignorant or backwards. I had assumed that this prosperity all flowed from of the airport, but I was wrong. Charlotte has a downtown with a shiny steel and glass skyline. Its towers are the home of major corporations like Duke Energy, Wells Fargo, Lowe’s, Honeywell, and Bank of America. It’s got the University of North Carolina and it’s become a major center for biotech and medical research.
But Charlotte was still a perfect place for me to schedule a lazy catch-up day. I wasn’t eager to visit either of the city’s biggest tourist attractions: the NASCAR Hall of Fame or the Billy Graham Library. I did have one old college friend to visit. Steve Bumgarner was born nearby and has lived here since he graduated. We were set to meet for a beer and dinner that afternoon. In the meantime I loafed around my room at the nondescript “Drury Inn and Suites,” took the Subie for her oil change, and swabbed my nose for a COVID test (Only one stripe! Negative!).
The afternoon was warm, and I was able to find a walking trail not far from my hotel. The Mallard Creek Greenway was a nice linear park and the weather was perfect, but I was a bit disappointed. It wasn’t quite the “forest bathing” experience I wanted. The trail was paved and it though it wound through a wooded floodplain the vibe was still suburban, with houses, schools, and roads peeking out behind the trees.
I sat down on a concrete storm-water structure to rest my feet, and decided to call Joanna. We chatted away, catching up on each others lives. Just as I was about to start grousing about the lack of wild nature in this part of Charlotte, I suddenly called out ‘Holy Shit!’ Directly across the asphalt path, half-hidden by trees and underbrush, was a huge Barred Owl. I dropped the call long enough to take a few pictures and the bird and I stared at each other curiously for a while. Charlotte, why do I keep misunderstanding you?
I met up with Steve at a place called Pilot Brewing. I knew he’d been a home brewer for years, and I was certain he’d be able to recommend a good place for a beer. These days it’s easy to find good beer anywhere in America; Microbreweries have sprouted like mushrooms across the land in the last few decades. That’s a good thing, but the downside is that it’s hard to find a brewery that really stands out. Pilot is unique because it’s run by brewing enthusiasts and makes only small batches of unusual, often experimental beer. Steve was in his element here. We talked about our lives and beers as we ordered a few flights of interesting brews. I’m sorry to say I didn’t take notes on what we tasted, but I remember a dark lager that featured spiced Mexican Chocolate. That’s the kind of brew that usually would make me roll my eyes and wish for something more traditional (“Do you have any beer flavored beer?”) , but this was delicious. The bartender talked about a new hobby of his: since barrel-aged beers and barley wines have become popular among the “cool kids” of the beer world, he’d been starting to make furniture from used barrel staves.
We walked around the corner to a Barbecue place called Midwood Smokehouse. Enjoying my plate of pulled pork (collards, slaw, and beans on the side) I learned a bit about Carolina BBQ sauce styles. Midwood is surprisingly ecumenical, offering both South Carolina (mustard based) and North Carolina (vinegar and tomato based) styles. It was my first time trying the South Carolina variety, and I fell in love with it.
After some brief “where are they now” discussions about college friends, we made an early evening of it. I’d had my “downtime day,” I was satiated with remarkable beer and pork products and ready to hit the road again in the morning.
- Ok, I’m kidding, and that’s a bit of a low blow. Charlotte saw a revolutionary war battle, has a scattering of (ugh) antebellum plantations, and was the scene of a gold rush (before the big one in California). Oh, and President Polk was born in what’s now the sprawly suburb of Pineville. That’s now on my list for a future write-up, wherein I visit sites related to the most boring, insignificant U.S. presidents, like the “William Henry Harrison Mansion and Museum” in Indiana.
William Henry Harrison Mansion and Museum – Come for the insignificant details, but stay for the Dollar Store specials next to it in the strip mall.