Charlotte, NC

We arrive in the Queen City a little beaten up from the night before. Thankfully, Courtney and Harlan, gracious hosts, have our remedy...

Price's Chicken Coop is discreet, but if you live in Charlotte, you know about it. The hole-in-the-wall on Camden Street has been here forever. Cornwallis probably ate here, maybe even the Cherokee. Anyway. Fried chicken is the only option. Ordering goes something like this: Quarter or a half? Hushpuppies or hash browns? Cole slaw or beans? Sweet tea? 

If it's authenticity I'm after, I'm getting it. No way a place like this stays in business west of the Mississippi or north of Mason-Dixon, but here... one the most popular spots in town. And I have to admit, the meal is pretty damn good. 

We let the grease settle, watch some hoops, pack a cooler and head to a backyard BBQ.  The yard is well-manicured and there's a nice fire going. There are many wines and cheeses from which to choose. There is also a keg, which I man for a while and meet some friends of friends. 

As a general statement, I would say the people of Charlotte are active and educated, friendly and family-oriented, interested in real estate and down with Jesus. This makes for a friendly, welcoming, small-seeming community. Sure, there are a few banks around, but I don't buy this 'New York of the South' talk...

After the BBQ, we take the light rail downtown to Dale Earnhardt's new bar. I'm not sure I could pick the guy out from a crowd of two, but he clearly carries some weight in this region, and his rep and financial investment have made Whiskey River a pretty fun place to spend the silly hours of a Saturday night. I test out some dance moves. They are well received. 

Sunday morning, I go for coffee. On my way, I pass a few young couples walking their labradors and toddlers down idyllic Tremont Street. Last night's rain lingers on leaves. Today is overcast and cool and quiet and beautiful. Seems even the birds are sleeping in. 

At Dilworth Coffeehouse on East Blvd, I thumb the Times, watch passersby, write a bit. The clouds begin to part around noon. Our crew of seven piles into cars and heads to Lake Norman. 

Okay. So I've snowboarded, wake-boarded, even surfed a bit in my day, but wake-surfing is a new endeavor for me. Water's a bit choppy, but what the hell. I jump in the water and Harlan throws me board and a rope. 

Attempts one through six are utter failures, seven through thirteen are a little better, but still end in faceplants. 

Water is frigid, bones are sore, muscles are spent. The boat is looking inviting, warm, safe. But my friends aren't having it....

You're thissss close! You've totally got it! 

And I persevere. 

On maybe the 16th attempt, I have lift off. Knees are a bit wobbly, but I find balance, plant my back foot, pull the rope..... and friends, I am surfing the hell out of that wake. 

A minor athletic triumph, but by the reactions of my friends on the boat, you'd think I just won gold.