Dave Call sent me an article called “Dirt Roads,” and it’s really a nice, nostalgic piece. I think I may have read it once before, but it’s been a long time. It was mentioned that no one tailgated you on a dirt road, unless they wanted to suffer having a rock crack their windshield, plus eating a lot of dust. That sure took me back in time, because I remember well those old dirt roads.

It brought back memories of barefoot days when our feet became so tough on the bottom we could run through a stubble-field. Now, that’s tough, and walking along a dusty road was much easier on the feet than that. The road grader always cut in at the edge of the road making a smooth area about a foot and a half wide. Out in the middle of the road there was loose gravel, but over along the edge there was always that smooth strip to walk on. Walking or riding a bike along that strip didn’t protect you from the dust raised by the passing cars, though, and it only took a couple of them to cover you with dust. If it was summer and you were sweating, you picked up a couple of layers real fast.

I drove up Road 700 on Wednesday and remembered when they graveled that road using what was known as a gravel wagon. That was a wagon with narrow boards on the bottom that turned on edge to empty the gravel inside the wagon onto the roadbed. In the gravel pit, four or five guys, including the driver, shoveled gravel into the wagon, and then horses pulled the wagon to wherever they needed the gravel on the road, and it was unloaded. Men then spread the gravel using shovels. It was hard work, and I don’t remember any women trying to prove they were just as good as men doing that sort of work. Can you imagine building roads that way?

Now we have blacktop roads. They have no character at all, and if they get a pothole in them, you end up having a bump after it’s patched. If you tried to walk along one of them barefooted on a hot summer day, you would burn your feet, and on top of that, you would get melted tar on them. I suppose they are better to drive on, and you can tailgate on them without eating dust, but after that’s been said, there’s not much else. You can’t grade them and make them smooth again, ant that little smooth strip along the edge is gone. I wouldn’t recommend them at all for barefoot walking.

The article mentioned that no one drove down a gravel road to rob or rape because what was usually found at the end of one was five barking dogs and a double-barreled shot gun. Not many people have that many dogs any more, but the shotgun is still there, and a lot of people have added a hand cannon and a couple of high-powered rifles. Not only do they have the guns, but most country people are quite handy with them, and could pick you off clear down at the end of the driveway thanks to improved rifling and ammunition.

I didn’t get a bicycle until I was 13 years old, so I spent a lot of time walking along country roads. I remember well the Queen Ann’s Lace, the milk weed, and the many wild flowers that bloomed along those roads. I also remember the dust from the automobiles that passed. People did drive slower then, because high speed and a gravel road didn’t mix too well as many people realized after driving through a fence and into a pasture field.

A lot of those old cars that plied the country roads couldn’t have driven much faster on a blacktop due to a device called a boot. People were poor then, and if they poked a hole in a tire big enough to pinch the tube, they put a boot in it. This was a device made out of vulcanized rubber that fit the interior of the tire and protected the tube.

The drawback was that they had to be thick enough to take a little abuse, which meant the tire was terribly out of balance with one in it. Driving a car with a boot in the front tire at a speed of 30 miles per hour must have been like trying to pick up a 30-pound pig by its back legs. You could hear those boots on a smooth road going whomp, whomp, whomp, and the steering wheel must have made a quarter turn on each whomp.

Those were hard days, but sometimes I miss them, believe it or not. The dust, the boots in the tires, the slower pace, it wasn’t all bad. In fact, at times it was downright pleasant.

• Joe Bowyer is a columnist for the Pharos-Tribune. He can be reached through the newspaper at ptnews@pharostribune.com.