NOTE: This story was originally published in The Florida Times-Union in March 2000.

By LAMAR THAMES

Webster defines travel as a journey to a distant or unfamiliar place.

And, as Michael J. Fox learned, you can travel back in time.

My wife and I did both on a trip to the North Georgia mountains a couple of summers ago in a desperate attempt to escape the oppressive heat.

It was so cool!

Our first stop was a side trip to a place I lived 40-something years ago — Lookout Mountain, Ga., the site of that vintage tourist institution, Rock City.

It was deja vu all over again for me. Almost nothing had changed since I was there in the 1950s, when Elvis was king, Ike was in the White House and Vietnam was just another country in Southeast Asia.

The only major difference I saw was the enlargement of the school I attended in sixth grade. There were no new restaurants, no new motels, and certainly no other tourist attractions on the mountain. Just the usual fixtures – Rock City, Ruby Falls, the Incline and Point Lookout, where the Battle Above the Clouds was fought during the Civil War.

”That’s because the townspeople won’t let anything else be built up here,” said the manager of the Chanticleer, the motel where we stayed. The motel was built in 1923 and seemed like a bargain at $40 per night. Remember, that was a few years ago and rates may have changed.

”I’ve been wanting to build a restaurant next door, but they won’t let me,” she said. Zoning restrictions was the explanation.

Indeed, the only way we could get something to eat that night was to go to St. Elmo at the base of the mountain, or have pizza delivered from there. Since I didn’t relish driving back up the dizzying Lookout Mountain Parkway after dark, we ordered pizza from Mr. T’s. It arrived within 15 minutes, hot, fresh and tasty. Amazing!

Another shop manager put a different spin on the lack of change.

”It’s always been a residential community,” said a clerk in the Cornerstone Station at the entrance to Rock City. ”Almost every available parcel has a house on it.”

The truth lies somewhere in between. Officials with the city of Lookout Mountain, Ga., population 1,600, and the town of Lookout Mountain, Tenn., population, 1,900, said both municipalities have restrictive building codes, but both also have little room left for commercial development.

”We are starting to develop some now,” said Brenda Miller, city clerk for the Georgia side. ”There is a subdivision of some 400 homes southwest of here along West Brow.”

But no new commercial development?

”Not that I am aware of,” she said.

Even the attraction prices at that time were relatively 1950s-like — $10 for Rock City, $9 for Ruby Falls, $8 for the Incline and $2 for Point Lookout. Like everything else, they have gone up, too. Rock City, for instance, is now $16.95, according to their web site.

The quaint streets in the neighborhood surrounding Rock City have a fantasy quality to them. In fact, Rock City’s founder, Garnet Carter, and his wife, Frieda, began the resort community in the 1920s, calling it Fairyland after her love for European folklore.

While other attractions have undoubtedly surpassed it in the number of visitors, Rock City still pulls in a respectable 400,000 tourists a year.

For those unfamiliar with it, Rock City has massive rock formations, lush gardens, storybook themes and gnome villages. If you don’t remember at least hearing about Rock City, you are probably a few years younger than I am.

Ever since the Rev. Butrick wrote in his diary in 1823, ”I ascended Lookout Mountain to visit a citadel of rocks,” tourists have paid homage to the Enchanted Trail, Mushroom Rock and Fat Man’s Squeeze while at the same time being awestruck by Balanced Rock, a 1,000-ton balancing act of seemingly impossible proportions.

At one time, See Rock City signs adorned approximately 900 barns and other rural structures from Michigan to Texas and Florida. It was one of the most ingenious public relation campaigns ever devised. You couldn’t drive anywhere, especially in the South, without seeing one of those signs.

The man who painted most of them, Clark Byers, tended a farm about an hour’s drive from Rock City until he passed away in 2004. Interstates and changing times have altered that landscape forever, however. Now, See Rock City logos are painted on almost all the trinkets sold at the Rock City gift shop.

I may take my grandchildren to see Rock City and let them experience the same things their papa did many years ago. It surely won’t have changed any more.

Blairsville waterfalls

After my little swing on the nostalgia grapevine, we proceeded to our main destination, rental cabins just outside of Blairsville, Ga., 20 miles from the notable Helen, Ga.

Blairsville is a nondescript small town whose chief claim to fame is that it is in the Blue Ridge Mountains, with several scenic waterfalls nearby. It, too, was a trip back in time, with a courthouse in the center of town and a dime store just off the square.

Be careful when you go. We took advantage of a three-day discount rate early in the week and found that most of the restaurants were closed either Monday or Tuesday, or both. We ate at the same place for lunch and dinner on a Tuesday, and not because the food was all that good.

I have to put in one plug for the area, however. The restaurants served the best sweet iced tea I had tasted in a long time. It must be the cool mountain water. If you want anything stronger, however, go somewhere else or bring your adult beverages with you. Blairsville is in the middle of a dry county.

Escaping the heat was one of the motivations for our August holiday that year, but there wasn’t a lot of relief. Temperatures were in the high 90s when we left Jacksonville and in the mid 90s around Blairsville until we began descending into mountain valleys in search of waterfalls.

The first stop we made was to Helton Creek Falls on Georgia 129, south of Blairsville. The sign said it was a 1.1 mile-hike down the side of the mountain to the falls. Piece of cake, we said — until we realized that meant 1.1 miles back UP the trail as well.

As we made our way down the looping trail, trees began to block out the sun, a bubbling mountain stream beckoned, and, yes, it grew noticeably cooler. Finally, without breaking a sweat, we reached the viewing platforms at the base of the falls, where the cascading froth fell hundreds of feet from the collecting watersheds above.

I wouldn’t call the falls dramatic, but they were compelling, especially the rocks of the creek beds, which took on driftwood-like appearances from millions of years of erosion.

A pleasant surprise was nearby Vogel State Park. There were picnic benches, a large lake with a marked-off swimming area, general store, bathing facilities and 30 or so cabins for rent at reasonable rates.

Alpine Helen

I wasn’t prepared for Helen, which is one big Alpine gift shop with hotels, motels and restaurants, all trimmed in the same Bavarian motif. Even city hall and the police department had chalet written all over them.

I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe a strip of gift shops and a few German restaurants. But a whole town?

It was colorful, charming and predictable. Most of the items in the gift shops were baubles you can find within 50 miles of Jacksonville, except for some finely tuned, and expensive, grandfather clocks. In fairness, we didn’t have time to visit all of the shops, but the ones we did were garden variety.

According to a brochure produced by the Alpine Helen/White Convention & Visitors Bureau, Helen has a deep, rich history of Cherokee Indians, a gold rush and a productive timber business. The Indians, the gold and the timber were gone by the early 1960s, however, and the only thing left was a row of concrete block structures.

An artist urged what was left of the townspeople to transform Helen into an Alpine village. Now visitors by the thousands make the annual trek to Helen for its Oktoberfest, which usually starts in mid-September. You generally have to make reservations early because the place fills up fast.

The night before our too-short stay ended, my wife and I drove into Blairsville to walk off some of the calories we had consumed at Pappy’s Restaurant, where we were served more barbecued chicken than anyone could possibly eat for $6.95.

We parked on the town square and walked around the courthouse. On one side of it we saw a sign displaying the town’s success at a fund-raising effort. It had accumulated $80,000 toward its $250,000 goal to restore a clock and bell tower on the old courthouse.

We did a double-take and sheepishly glanced about, wondering if we could catch a glimpse of Michael J. Fox passing by on a skateboard.