Switchback
November 10, 2025
I’m not a superstitious guy, so when my rear right tire blew out 100 miles into my 800-mile road trip towards Tennessee, I refused to see it as some dark sign that the journey was doomed. Nah, I told myself it was the kickoff to something good—a fresh tire to dig into those mountain highways, ready to lay down clean tread on roads that touch the sky. A rough start, sure, but one that’d set me up for the miles ahead. Still, it sucked. Hard.
The blowout had me limping my Suburban to a grimy gas station off the interstate. I squatted by the tire, hunting for a nail or some obvious culprit. Nada. Just a loud, angry hiss from a puncture. I thought I’d outsmart it with a $22 can of Fix-a-Flat. Big mistake—it didn’t do squat. Luckily, a tire shop sat right across the street, like the universe was tossing me a lifeline. I rolled over, talked to the guy at the counter, and got slammed with bad news: they don’t mess with tires coated in Fix-a-Flat. Something about the goop making it hard to patch. So, $292 later, I was back on the road with a brand-new tire and a thinner wallet. Not the grand opening I’d imagined, but I was rolling again.The Great Smoky Mountains were calling, and no tire was gonna keep me from my summer vacation.
Those winding country roads that snake up into the Smokies? They never get old. In fall, it’s a blaze of orange and red, like the mountains are on fire. But even in summer, it’s straight-up magic—green stretching forever, peaks that make you feel small in the best way. This year’s cabin was next-level, perched on a ledge with a view of the whole damn mountain range. The kind of spot that stops you in your tracks. But the road to get there? Hoo boy. The Airbnb reviews had warned you needed a 4x4 because the climb was brutal. I hit up the owners, asking if my Suburban could handle it. Their answer? “It’s all about how comfortable you are when you get there.” Ain’t that life—how at ease can you be in the wild situations you throw yourself into? I was game, so I booked it, made a nonrefundable deposit, and was ready to tackle whatever came. Then I dug deeper into the reviews, and man, one had me cracking up. Some guy went full-on soap opera, calling the host a “predator” and a “scam artist,” ranting about a “75-degree turn” on a half-gravel, half-broken-asphalt road that nearly sent his truck tumbling. He even claimed he jumped out mid-backup, with only three wheels on the ground! I chuckled, thinking, Buddy, sounds like you need a driving lesson, not a conspiracy theory. But it got me wondering if my Suburban—stretching nearly 19 feet long—was about to star in its own action flick.
When I got to that road? Man, the joke was on me. That review and road was no joke at all, and I felt like a clown for laughing off his soap opera drama. Narrow? Try tightrope-on-wheels tight. One wrong move left or right, and you’re done—plummeting down a slope that doesn’t play nice. It was a razor’s edge, especially for my beast of an SUV. But isn’t that life? Taking chances, stepping out of your comfort zone, driving some sketchy, unknown path? I kept thinking, What if a car comes the other way? It’d be a game of chicken, one of us backing up to let the other pass. No room for ego up there. The owner had mentioned a half-mile drive with a “switchback.” I nodded like I knew what that meant, said thanks, and then Googled it the second we hung up. Turns out, a switchback’s a sharp, zigzag turn on a steep climb, like the road’s doubling back on itself to make the ascent less brutal. You might need to ease back a bit to swing your vehicle through the angle. She wasn’t kidding—that first climb was a beast. The initial embankment hit like a 45-degree wall, and the road was a patchy mix of gravel and busted asphalt, just like Mr. Soap Opera warned. Then came the switchback, a hard right that threw me for a loop. I had to nudge my 19-foot Suburban back a touch to make the turn, cranking the wheel to tackle a 60-degree stretch to the cabin. My heart was pounding, palms sweaty on the wheel. At the top was a tiny landing, just enough space for my Suburban to level out and park. Man, that was sketchy. But by day two or three, I was navigating that nightmare road like a pro. That’s how life works, right? You face something scary, grind through it, and sharpen your skills.
You get cocky, though, and that’s when mistakes creep in. You think you’ve got it all figured out, let your guard down, and bam—trouble. Situational awareness is everything. Stay sharp, stay on your toes, and when you screw up, it’s just a learning curve—unless you’re plunging to your death, which, thankfully, I avoided. You tweak, improve, and the next day, you’re tearing up that hill smoother, faster, better than before. Looking back, that blowout at the start? It was a gift in disguise. That new tire gripped those tight, zigzagging turns like it was made for them, chewing through the gravel and broken asphalt without a hiccup. Without it, I might’ve been slipping or stuck, fighting that steep, winding road with a weaker tread—especially with a 19-foot-long Suburban to wrestle.
Life’s full of those moments—setbacks, detours, and over-the-top warnings from some soap opera review that make you second-guess yourself. Those moments sting like hell, but they’re often what gets you ready for the climb. No matter how steep or twisted the path, you keep driving, keep learning, and you make it to the top. And when you’re parked on that ledge, staring at a view that steals your breath, you realize it’s all worth it.
That’s the happy ending waiting, because life
can be one big switchback—sharp turns, a little backtracking, and a whole lot
of grit to keep climbing. So you laugh off the Mr. Soap Operas of the world,
grip the wheel, and take on the next turn, knowing every switchback’s just
another chance to come out stronger.
Comments
Post a Comment