by Shelton Steele

I’m always running late. All I have is a river trip planned for the day, yet I’m rushing around at the last minute in a mad scramble to get out the door. In my haste, I forget to pound a big breakfast before hitting the road.

The hunger pangs strike as I am rolling down the highway. I desperately dig through the piles of personal belongings in the backseat of my truck, hoping to come across an energy bar or maybe even a half-eaten cheeseburger to take the edge off my coffee buzz. I find a soy-vegan-eco-friendly bar buried in the back, but the first bite tastes something like cardboard dipped in fake chocolate. Trying my best to keep my jaw moving, I can only imagine whoever made this bar must be a carnivore playing a rude prank on the vegan world.

By the time I reach the river, my hunger pangs are replaced with butterflies. The Green River parking lot is a full-on circus. I spot my friends tucked up under the only shade available. I mumble something about missing breakfast in my greetings, and one friend quickly offers up his mystery sandwich. I reach for the tin foil treasure on the tailgate. Peeling back the wrapping, I can only imagine how good it’ll be to murder this PB&J. But a blind bite may not have been the best idea. There’s meat in the sandwich, and it tastes like rusty sausage. What is this? “Livermush, dude!” To hell with eat’n, I’m going boat’n.

An afternoon on the river takes it all out of me. If it hadn’t been for that safety layer I put around my waist this winter, I may not have made it out of the gorge today. The adrenaline drains out of my body, and the hunger reemerges. A lukewarm beer momentarily subdues my grumbling gut. Loud laughs and tall tales aren’t enough to keep my mind from wandering up the mountain and across the railroad tracks. As I catch myself drooling, one thought enters my mind: barbeque.

With the truck redlined, we blaze toward the bright lights of Saluda. At the end of Main Street, just over the railroad tracks, we spot the familiar sight of pink pigs and smokestacks, and now we’re at the home of Green River Barbecue, hands-down the best BBQ in western Carolina. My mouth begins to water as we pour out of the truck and onto the front porch. An ambitious appetite is an understatement, but I have to think twice about the Hog Trough, as this monstrosity of a sandwich is a whole loaf of French bread busting with pork barbeque. No BBQ meal would be complete without slaw, hushpuppies, and all their deep fried cousins. I find myself lost in a sea of side dish decisions, as I can’t decide whether its tomato pie or collard greens that I have a hankerin’ for. Not to worry, I’ll have both.

Our boating conversations die down to a low cacophony of moans, as we make short work of the plates in front of us. My full belly and tired body give me a dual feeling of accomplishment. Today is only Saturday, and I know Green River Barbecue is open on Sunday as well. Maybe I’ll even find time to get on the river.

Shelton Steele can be reached at Shelton_steele@hotmail.com.