We were wet and must have looked stranded. The barber working in the window waved our crew into his parlor. The gentleman bending strings on a 1928 Gibson banjo didn’t look up from his position in the middle of the room. He was playing “Foggy Mountain Breakdown.” The shop walls were covered with old newspaper clippings and the back of the room resembled a bluegrass emporium, with stacks of guitar, banjo and mandolin cases. A shrine of instruments hung along the back wall. None of the patrons spoke a word until the picker successfully melted everyone’s face with his instrument’s unique twang.

“Mikey, you keep sounding better and better,” someone said and then the focus in the room shifted and we were fielding questions…

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above Confederate railroads were not ready for battle during the Civil War. Used mostly to transfer cotton to the ports on the east coast, they were built light, had wood-fired engines and ran on tracks made of timber. The Union would simply burn the tracks and leave the supply train in embers. For us, this old bridge was a constant reference point and a kick in the ass thinking, “Man! There should have been one there.”