- So baby pull me closer in the backseat of your rover how to#
- So baby pull me closer in the backseat of your rover drivers#
- So baby pull me closer in the backseat of your rover series#
The last few miles of Interstate 10 to get an asphalt covering in the late ‘70s ran through Marianna.
So baby pull me closer in the backseat of your rover how to#
One night, I drove my father’s 1972 Toyota Land Cruiser into a muddy ditch on Fish Hatchery Road only to discover that I did not know how to properly operate the winch on the front bumper. The sandy roads around Compass Lake and Silver Lake were treacherous but fun for fish-tailing. At least Bellamy Bridge Road had a haunted bridge - where the Burning Bride liked to jog at night - waiting at the dead end. The unpaved Bump Nose Road was a favorite passage to nowhere, and so was Baker Creek Road. In a flash, I am transported back in time to the late ‘70s when I spent hours with friends driving the dusty back roads around Marianna with no point or destination in mind. The Land Rovers and Range Rovers following us disappear into a pink cloud of dry clay and sand. When we take a right turn out of the grassy woods onto a grated dirt road, the red dust suddenly swallows us.
The farrier may or may not have been kidding. A friend of mine who works as a farrier on one of the plantations tried to convince me that Cheney also brought along a 15-year-old orphan who would serve as an organ donor in case the vice president needed a heart transplant on the spot. and Ike aside, I am not hearing the story about Vice President Dick Cheney, who arrived in the Plantation Belt to go quail hunting more than 10 years ago.Ĭheney showed up with the Secret Service, a satellite phone and a personal medical team - in case his bum ticker went on the blink. There are worse ways to spend a Sunday morning. So, I sit back and listen to stories about how First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy came to The Plantation Belt to get over her grief following JFK’s assassination and President Dwight Eisenhower hunted birds in this pine-lined paradise.Īs if on cue, a flock of seven or eight turkeys, led by a formidable tom, skitters in front of the Rover and trots off into the wiregrass. I am trying in vain to take notes but the bumpy Rover ride turns my handwriting into a Cy Twombly painting. It’s a good thing McCollum knows where he is going and which path to take because I am as lost as last year’s Easter egg. “It has one of the last great bastions of old growth forest in this part of the country.” “This is what’s known as The Plantation Belt,” guide Ben McCollum shouts from the front passenger seat.
So baby pull me closer in the backseat of your rover series#
We are following a series of paths through the pine timber and wiregrass that we used to call pig-trail roads back home in North Florida.
So baby pull me closer in the backseat of your rover drivers#
More than a dozen drivers and their passengers had gathered earlier in the morning near the Pebble Hill Plantation and then took off into the woods at slow rate of speed. Yes, there is a publication dedicated exclusively to the boxy little British tanks. It’s part of the annual Plantation Wildlife Arts Festival and, I am told, is being covered by Rovers Magazine. I am visiting the heart of Quail Country to ride along with the inaugural Red Hills Rover Rally. If anyone tries to bite anything here in the rear of the pitching and swaying Land Rover, extensive dental work will be required once the blood is cleaned up.
The song goes: “So, baby, pull me closer in the backseat of your Rover/ That I know you can’t afford/ Bite that tattoo on your shoulder.” That’s why I’m laughing to myself when I think of the lyrics to the current hit song “Closer” by The Chainsmokers and Halsey. A comfortable ride never entered into the design equation. This sturdy little tan, two-door vehicle was built for crossing the African savannas and the jungles of Indonesia. I am pitching to and fro, trying hard not to spill my beverage. The ride is about as smooth as a buckboard wagon. I am in the back passenger compartment of a 1963 Land Rover that is grinding its way through an extremely remote and wild corner of South Georgia on a warm, dry Sunday morning in November.
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