THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, May 5, 1996 TAG: 9605050047
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: NORTH CAROLINA
SOURCE: BY PAUL SOUTH, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Medium: 70 lines
Americans, especially those of us who grew up in the rock 'n' roll era, love fast cars.
Little deuce coupes.
Hot-rod Lincolns.
Pink Cadillacs.
No matter the ride, we can't drive 55.
But the hankering for horsepower has to be put on hold while traveling Highway 64 between Raleigh and the Outer Banks. The asphalt shoestring - much of it two lanes - ties the Carolina coast to its capital. And speed limits change more often than Madonna changes outfits.
It can make you crazy.
Or it can make you smile.
All along Highway 64, once you break free of the Raleigh beltway, little towns with names like Conetoe and Bethel and Gold Point and Robersonville dot the landscape.
You won't find a Wendy's or McDonald's. They give way to eateries with names like The Filling Station or The Down East Cafe. Signs announce that ``Rotary meets here 7 a.m.,'' and strawberry shortcake is the dessert special of the day.
In one restaurant, pink placards at every table herald the next performance of the Martin Community Theater. ``Steel Magnolias'' is the production, and it's a safe bet that the performers won't have to act to portray strong Southern women.
It's just life.
All along the road, white-columned homes built at the turn of the century watch the traffic pass. And every few miles, there is a church - Baptist, or Methodist or Church of Christ - often with cemeteries nearby.
The power of the past flows strong here. A recent survey said that one in four Americans prays daily. If the number of churches along U.S. 64 tells a story, more than that keeps company with their maker daily in this part of North Carolina.
And for those seeking a less-traditional form of assistance, one spot between Raleigh and Williamston features Madam Lurane, a palm-reader. When I motored by at midmorning Thursday, there were no cars in front of Madame Lurane's. My guess is that psychic phenomena is about as popular as Perrier along U.S. 64.
And as the miles roll by, sometimes at 55 mph, sometimes at 35, folks can be seen doing all sorts of ordinary things. Cutting grass, gathering strawberries from a pick-your-own patch or sitting outside the Exxon station - just talking.
All this might seem painfully dull to residents of more cosmopolitan centers of the world. We live in the age of nanoseconds and microchips and burnout and yuppie flu and chronic fatigue syndrome.
Do it now.
Do it better.
Do it faster.
But Highway 64 in its own way shows us a picture that we too often forget, an image that tells us it's OK to sit at T&J's and slowly sip a soda pop and talk about car races, to roll up your pant legs and wade through the strawberry patch.
To say hello.
To smile.
To remember.
So take your four-lanes and freeways and I-440s. The heart of the country is beating slow and steady on U.S. 64. What happens there may not be glamorous. But it matters.
Don't drive fast, or you'll miss it. by CNB