Drive It While It's Gold — A Bluegrass Saturday for the Last Warm Ride Before the Frost

Frost is coming to the mountain — the forecast says this is the last warm Saturday, so I loaded the grandkids and the fly rods before the coffee finished. That's the whole song. "Drive It While It's Gold" is a bluegrass Saturday ride: booster seats bouncing, cork handles knocking against the back window, a phone out the window filming the ridge turn to fire, and one last cast on the river where the October caddis are still working the noon light.

I've been driving this road long enough to know the truth of it: a season won't keep. You can't bank it, can't shelve it for next year. The band's down there in the valley and they're fine — but I didn't drive up here for the band. Somewhere on the switchbacks it hits you that the gold in that back seat is already there.

If your color is burning this week — leaf road, river road, either one — this one's your riding song. Roll the windows down and take the long way.

[Intro]

Drive It While It's Gold

[Verse 1]

Waylon's fifty-six; half past ten, sun spills through the glass

Two grandkids buckled in, talking over each other

Their booster seats bounce with every patched-up mile

Fly rods ride in the back-window slots, cork handles knocking when the road bends

Maples hold the mountain road in one long blaze

He grins at the voices in the mirror

[Verse 2]

One phone held out the window, filming the ridge

“Keep your arm in,” he says, then laughs at the red leaves racing by

The harvest fields lie squared off in the valley below

Last warm Saturday before frost puts a hard stop to the season

Waylon eases down where the clear river folds around the stones

Lets the kids choose which fly goes on

[Chorus]

Drive It While It's Gold

Take the ridge road slow through October light

You can't bank a season

You can only spend it well

One last cast, then the valley fiddle's call

Three voices rise where the valley fiddles call

[Verse 3]

One last cast beneath the alder shade

An October caddis skitters through the mid-day gleam

The older one sets the line; the younger counts each swing

No trout today, just a bead of river water on the thumb

Then rods laid safe, and fiddle notes floating up the valley

[Fiddle Break]

[Chorus]

Drive It While It's Gold

Take the ridge road slow through October light

You can't bank a season

You can only spend it well

One last cast, then the valley fiddle's call

Three voices rise where the valley fiddles call

[Bridge]

In the mirror, two faces wear the maples' fire

Small boots swing above the rods behind his shoulder

A leaf turns slow against the window glass

Down-valley, a fiddle climbs the evening air

Two bright heads bob in the seat behind him

[Chorus]

Drive It While It's Gold

Take the ridge road slow through October light

You can't bank a season

You can only spend it well

One last cast, then the valley fiddle's call

The gold in that back seat is already there

[Outro]

The band plays on as the dusk cools the field

Two tired voices hum the drive back home

Waylon keeps the mountain road in view

The rods tap softly in the back-window slots

And the last warm day rides with them too

Written & performed by Waylon · DirtRoadRadio