The End of the Pavement [Photos with captions and anecdotes] 1978

A legendary gathering place in the woods

From the late 1970s, through the 80s and 90s up to 2009, the End of the Pavement attracted people from all walks of life.

Hillbillies, gamblers, jet-setters, motorcycle gangs, politicians, preachers, pushers, vagabonds, and travelers from all over the world managed to find the place. No one was turned away.

Just a couple of acres near Mulky Gap in Union County, Georgia, the End of the Pavement was a regular watering hole for over 30 years. A mountain wilderness with trout streams, horseshoe pits, plenty of parking, and free entertainment, it was no wonder people returned week after week, year after year to this little spot in the North Georgia Mountains. The End of the Pavement, its people, and lifestyle were addicting.

We were a wild bunch but not all of us were outlaws. Some of the people that visited the End of the Pavement had never tasted beer or smoked a cigarette. Some of us went to church, most were Christians, and a few were preachers.

Sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll? Yes, those things worked to pull people in. Men and women always needed a place to hook up and sometimes the drugs were enticing. And the music? Hard rock was always the music of choice at the End of the Pavement and we played it loud.

Code of Honor

We held each other to a code-of-honor much stricter than outsiders can imagine.

Some things were absolutely forbidden at the End of the Pavement. We did not cheat, lie, or steal. We did not narc out anyone -- friend or foe. We didn't rape or pillage.

If we broke the code, we got run off.

Other things were a given -- we watched over the kids, we shared what we had, and we gave everyone a chance -- no matter their race, religion, or political beliefs. The love at the EOP was palpable. That kind of environment, one that promotes love and kindness, was the best kind of place.

Memories and observations

I arrived from Atlanta in 1978 and was immediately adopted by this gang of free-spirited hillbillies better known as the End of the Pavement bunch. We drank lots of beer, played thousands of horseshoe tournaments, and kept the campfires burning bright.

As I sort through old photographs, I am reminded of people that were once closer to me than family – some I haven’t seen in over ten years. Many have passed on, some are fighting heart disease or cancer, and a few are in prison. Perhaps our couches became more comfortable than wooden benches and metal fold-up chairs. Maybe we just finally grew up. Whatever the reason, the End of the Pavement is no more.

Now, even though the EOP is disbanded, we still have our memories.

All day tournaments, rip-roaring parties, and weeks of living the high-life are more than memorable. They are legendary.

Some of the following stories are true and some may be figments of my imagination. After 35 or 40 years memories fade. My viewpoint now might be different than my viewpoint years ago. Also, the person that was standing two feet away may have seen things quite differently than I did.

This website is about the old days.

Most of my stories and observations on this website are written in past tense. That does not mean that things are not relevant today.

There are three sections to the website.

1. The main navigation is at the top of the page in the black bar. It links back to this page, to the People Index, to the Comments page, to the Memorial page, to the Contact page, and to the Policies page.

2. The second navigation bar is on the side or top of most pages depending on your device. It has links to categories such as Bill Bowers Cove, Horseshoe Games, Halloween parties, Couples, Trout Camp, and more.

3. The People Index is the third section of links. It lists EOP regulars by name so you can click on their page.

The digital world is a lot different than print.

I can add stuff when people remind me, make corrections, and create whole new pages as needed. If you see a mistake, have a suggestion, or want something deleted or changed, please contact me on Facebook or by email.

Sincerely, Janice E. Boling