The Mountaineer

David Noland of Fines Creek clearly remembers his family’s crusade to get a paved road between Haywood and Newport, Tenn. 

It dates back three generations and still represents an enormous political victory for Haywood. But when the actions and hopes of the past are examined in light of the present, things sometimes don’t turn out as planned.

Sixty years ago, highways and interstates were seen as the pipeline to economic prosperity, Noland said. Those communities that were able to ensure good roads went through the area had a better chance to attract industry, grow and compete for a part of the national wealth.

“Back then, everyone thought I-40 would be a boon, but if you look at it today, where did the boom go?” Noland asked. “We got probably two gas stations and one rest area out of that deal. As far as the interstate economically helping Haywood County, where is it? There are no new factories, no new plants, no new retail shops. Sixty percent of the traffic is trucks and they never stop in Haywood. Back then, everybody thought the interstate would really be a boon for Western North Carolina, but it didn’t happen, not in my viewpoint. I’ve asked myself, ‘where is that gold cup at? It was supposed to be filled.’”

Noland’s grandfather, state Sen. Dave Noland, pushed the effort for a paved road to Tennessee before the wide availability of state and federal funding for such projects.  His father, D. Reeves Noland, is one of the men in the county’s history who is credited with ultimately making the road possible.

The first proposal for this roadway dates back to 1855 when minutes show the commissioners  considered going it alone to construct the roadway. When that proved to be unfeasible, a stock company called the Jonathan Creek and Tennessee Mountain Turnpike Company was organized to raise bonds for the project. After a five-year effort, the plan was abandoned, and in 1915, Noland’s grandfather introduced a bill to build the road, which also failed.

Ultimately, it was D. Reeves Noland’s friendship with Gov. Doug Cherry that likely started the ball rolling on the highway.  On Christmas Eve in 1948, the governor set aside $450,000 to start what was then called the Pigeon River Road, and later, D. Reeves Noland was appointed to the state highway commission. The original plan was to build a two-lane road nearer to the river along right-of-way that Noland was able to secure for the state at no cost. The free right-of-way turned out to be a crucial factor in determining where to route the interstate. At the time, Haywood leaders wanted the Pigeon River route, and representatives from Madison and Buncombe counties wanted the interstate built up the French Broad.

“The bottom line about this whole thing is money,” Noland said. “The first road was a two-lane road from Harmon Den to Tennessee. It laid there for about eight years with no pavement or gravel. They figured if they didn’t start at the state line and come this way, it would never be finished. Then the interstate program came along, and it was a way to get money to finish that road. Politics is politics.”

The other part of the politics that worked out well for the Haywood route was gaining support from Tennessee.

“They agreed to meet North Carolina at the Pigeon River and wouldn’t meet at the French Broad because it would cost them so much more money at the time. Coming up the Pigeon River meant there were no land acquisition costs.”

In retrospect, much has been said about the French Broad route being the better route, but Noland said there would have been problems along that route, too, if it were built under the same practices used in the 1960 for the Pigeon River roadway.

The French Broad route is roughly the roadway now in place for Interstate 26 connector link. When it opened several years ago, Noland said it cost $135 million to build just five miles of road.

“They corrected their mistakes over what they did in building I-40,” he said. “The used different construction methods, different equipment, different techniques.”

Looking back, it is easy to recognize the mistakes made in constructing I-40 through the Pigeon River Gorge, Noland said.

Using the existing two-lane road was a cost savings back then, but the entire route should have probably been redesigned for new construction, he said. There should not have been “benchings” along the mountainside, which fractured rocks during blasting and made them much more prone to slide during heavy rains such as after the 1972 cloudburst that closed the interstate.

The horizontal slope formations were such that it wasn’t a good idea to remove the base area, he said, and, in reality, the road should have probably been two-lane as originally planned so the mountainside wouldn’t have had to be bothered. Or, he suggested, the roadway could have gone above the rock cliffs so the base wouldn’t have been disturbed.

“When they put in a four-lane road, they had to get into the mountain,” he said, “but they were building that for an east-west highway, and the federal government was the final decider in this thing.”

At the time, sophisticated technologies in use today weren’t around, and neither were environmental regulations.

“It was a different time,” Noland reflected. “In road work back then, you didn’t worry about water quality, landscape or anything. You could drill as deep as you wanted to and load it as much as you wanted to. It was just common sense that the more you could throw out, the more quickly you could move it out.”

In reviewing old photos of the road construction, Noland found several examples that clearly show why the slides started — and why they will never end.

The large, flat rock formations are on the diagonal, he explained, and there are “voids” between the rocks where water can accumulate, freeze, thaw and contribute to fractures. Furthermore, the toe of the mountain was sheared off in a number of areas, which left nothing to support the diagonal rock behind.

Blasting activity when the road was built took a heavy toll.

“There were no regulations whatsoever back then,” said Noland, who worked as a contract hauler during the project. “They’d drill six-inch holes 40 feet deep and put one stick of dynamite in there. Then they would pump in as much ammonium nitrate as would fit.”

The results were that rocks fractured into small pieces that were easier to haul. Some of the blasted mountainsides even flew as far as across the other side of the Pigeon River, which meant it didn’t need to be hauled at all.

“There have always been rock slides on that road, and there always will be rock slides,” he said.