There are certain phrases that stay with you throughout your life, and for me, one of those came from Grandma Cooper. Whenever she saw someone doing something reckless, impatient, or simply unnecessary, she would quietly shake her head and say, “Look at that dumb bunny.”
She never said it with cruelty. In fact, there was usually a little smile attached to it. To Grandma, a “dumb bunny” was simply someone making life harder than it needed to be.
As we rode our Harley along the Blue Ridge Parkway recently, her words kept echoing in my mind curve after curve.
The mountains were wrapped in soft morning haze, and the forest stretched endlessly in every direction. Sunlight filtered through the trees in golden ribbons while the cool mountain air rolled across the road. It was one of those rides that reminds you why people travel hundreds of miles just to experience the Parkway.
We found ourselves seventh in a small line of vehicles winding through the endless curves and elevation changes. One by one, the six vehicles ahead of us tapped their brakes entering every turn. Brake lights flickered like Christmas lights strung across the mountainside.
The vehicle in front of the entire convoy was holding firmly to driving slower then the 35 mph speed limit.
Now, if you have spent much time on scenic roads, you know how these things go. Before long, the drivers behind the lead vehicle began creeping closer and closer. Their impatience became visible with every curve. More brake lights. Less following distance. More frustration.
Occasionally, along roads like the Parkway, someone will ease over at a scenic pull-off or widen their lane position just enough to let faster traffic pass. This driver never did.
And honestly, I could not help but smile.
The funny thing was that the people growing increasingly frustrated were missing the very reason they had come there in the first place. Their attention became fixed entirely on the bumper ahead of them instead of the mountains around them.
Meanwhile, we were perfectly content.
We watched the ridges unfold one after another in layers of blue and green. We passed overlooks filled with morning fog drifting through the valleys below. Wildflowers lined portions of the road while towering hardwoods shaded the curves ahead. Every mile felt like part of a moving painting.
Why visit the Blue Ridge Parkway simply to rush through it?
I honestly do not know how many miles we traveled in that little rolling parade because we were too busy enjoying where we were.
My thoughts drifted back to the day before when we had ridden the Tail of the Dragon, that famous eleven-mile stretch packed with 318 curves along the Tennessee and North Carolina border. Riders and drivers come from all over the country to challenge themselves on those roads.
But there is another side to that story.
According to reports from the Blount County Sheriff’s Office, the Tennessee side of the Tail of the Dragon saw 112 crashes involving 139 vehicles during 2025 alone. Those crashes resulted in 47 injuries and five fatalities. First responders believe the true number is likely even higher because many minor wrecks and motorcycle laydowns are never officially reported.
That road is beautiful, but it also demands respect.
Far too often, people mistake speed for skill. They let impatience take over common sense. They push harder than conditions allow or beyond their own abilities simply because someone else is riding faster ahead of them.
Grandma Cooper had another saying for moments like that.
“Stupid be stupid.”
Simple words, but honest ones.
There is no reason to join in.
If someone wants to race through life, let them. If someone drives slower than you would prefer, that is alright too. Not every road is meant to be conquered at full throttle. Some roads are meant to be appreciated.
Life itself works much the same way.
Some people spend so much time chasing the next thing that they forget to enjoy where they already are. They ride their emotional brakes every day, frustrated by people around them, angry over small inconveniences, and impatient for reasons they probably will not even remember a week from now.
Meanwhile, the mountains are still there.
The sunsets still happen.
The people beside us still matter.
And sometimes the greatest gift we can give ourselves is simply slowing down enough to notice it all.
As we continued along the Parkway that day, I found myself grateful not only for the beauty around us but also for the wisdom Grandma Cooper passed along in her quiet little sayings. She had a remarkable way of simplifying life into lessons anyone could understand.
So the next time you find yourself stuck behind a “dumb bunny,” maybe smile instead of frown.
Take a breath.
Look around.
Enjoy the ride.
Because life is far too short to spend every mile staring angrily at someone else’s bumper.
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