Hey there, folks — it’s Duke Teynor, and you’re tuned in to The Duke Drive Home Show.
The day’s been long, the traffic’s thick, but this is your Carolina reset button.
We’re talkin’ stories, songs, and the spirit of home — all rollin’ with you down that highway.
Whether you’re headin’ east on 70 toward the coast, or climbin’ west into them Blue Ridge hills, you and me, we’re ridin’ the same road tonight.
So crack that window, let a little pine-sweet air drift in, and settle back.
We’re leavin’ the noise behind and drivin’ straight into a story.
You know, Carolina roads have personalities.
Highway 70’s the storyteller — been whisperin’ tales since before my granddad was born.
Take 95, and she’s a wanderer — always pushin’ north, chasin’ new dreams.
But my favorite? Highway 11 — runs quiet through farm country, where the smell of cut hay mixes with diesel, and folks still wave when you pass.
When I was a kid, my old man used to say, “Son, roads remember everything.”
I didn’t understand that ‘til years later, drivin’ alone after a rough day, and a stretch of cracked asphalt brought back his laugh clearer than any photograph.
Maybe you’ve got a road like that — one that knows your secrets better than you do.
Somewhere between New Bern and Kinston, I swear melodies hang in the air like humidity.
That’s where I wrote River Road — pulled over by a gas station, scribblin’ lyrics on a sandwich receipt, mosquitos playin’ percussion on my windshield.
You can’t plan inspiration; it sneaks up like a freight train you didn’t hear comin’.
Every line in that song is a snapshot: headlights bendin’ through fog, porch lights blinkin’ like beacons, a voice on the radio singin’ about goin’ home.
Sometimes the tune writes itself — all you gotta do is listen close enough.
And maybe tonight, drivin’ home, you’ll hear your own song in the rhythm of your tires.
If you do, don’t ignore it — hum along. That’s your story tryin’ to get out.
I stopped at a diner last week outside Goldsboro — place called Ruby’s Grill.
Neon buzzin’, screen door squeakin’, the kinda joint where coffee’s a dollar and the waitress calls you “hon” before you sit down.
An older gentleman at the counter looked up from his newspaper and said, “You’re Duke Teynor, ain’t ya? I heard you talkin’ about that road near Kinston.”
Turns out he used to pave it — back in the ’70s.
We sat there for an hour swappin’ stories about asphalt and music, and by the time I left, he’d convinced me that roads really are alive — they breathe through the people who build ’em.
So, if you ever wonder whether what you do matters, remember — somewhere out there, somebody’s drivin’ on the work of your hands.
Now maybe you’re just a few miles from home.
You can see that sky turnin’ lavender over the treeline, radio glowin’ on the dash, the day startin’ to ease off your shoulders.
Before you pull in, I want you to think about somethin’.
Every road we take — from dirt lane to interstate — has one job: it connects.
Town to town, heart to heart, yesterday to tomorrow.
And somewhere between all that, it reminds us who we are.
So when you park tonight, take a breath.
Let the engine tick cool, listen to the crickets start their song, and thank the road for gettin’ you here safe.
Because no matter how far you roam, Carolina always leaves the porch light on.
That’s gonna wrap up our ride for today, folks.
Thanks for spendin’ a little of your drive with me on The Duke Drive Home Show.
Tomorrow, we’ll chew on somethin’ near and dear to my heart — The Great Carolina Barbecue Debate — and
I’ll warn ya now, things might get saucy.
Until then, keep your wheels steady, your mind easy, and your heart pointed toward home.
I’m Duke Teynor — see y’all on the road.
