Driving north along Highway 421 in picturesque Wilkes County, North Carolina, it's quiet, few cars are on the road, and off in the distance, the green pastures and foothills are dotted with farmhouses.

At first glance, newcomers to this sleepy, rural countryside would never imagine decades ago, post-Prohibition, the quaint farmhouses were fronts for lucrative bootlegging businesses that supplied speakeasies with illegal alcohol called moonshine.

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Moonshine or White Lightning; Kickapoo, Joy Juice, Hooch, Ruckus Juice, Mountain Dew, Happy Sally, Hillbilly Pop and Panther's Breath -- all slang words for the liquid institution of North Carolina, but more important, the liquid catalyst for which NASCAR was formed.

And only one man embodies both: Junior Johnson, legendary bootlegger turned successful racecar driver and team owner.

He is the fabric of NASCAR -- America's most popular form of motorsports -- and moonshine -- the backwoods beverage that bootleggers ran under a veil of darkness on the back roads of Wilkesboro, N.C., the town once considered to be the moonshine capital of the world. Along the dirt roads of Wilkes County is where stock car drivers like Johnson learned to become wheelmen by evading revenuers.

Today, Johnson uses these roads, now covered with asphalt, to drive his kids to school, have lunch with friends and check on business affairs in town.

"See that over there, that used to be a spot. They used to run liquor all through these mountains," said Johnson as he pointed to a plot of land now hidden away by a Citgo gas station and Subway sandwich shop. "Most of them got out of bootlegging to raise cattle or the chicken business."

NASCAR.COM reporter Raygan Swan rode shotgun with the legend inside a dusty farm truck to observe life as a living legend and one the last great American heroes.

10 a.m.: Entering the Junior Johnson Estate

"Hey ya lazy buzzard, wander over here."

Those were the first words I heard from Johnson's mouth. Fortunately he was talking to the dog and not me. He was calling for Sally, a coon dog he and his wife rescued from an abusive situation.

Standing in the drive way, he was dressed in his iconic overalls and me in iconic camo capris with coordinating Ray-Ban Wayfarers. He gave me a once over and said "Are we going coon huntin' today?"

Laughing, I introduced myself and he told me to go check out his "tadpole hole" while he changed clothes.

I walked to the back of his home, situated on 200 acres with about 800 head of cattle, and found a luxurious in-ground pool with adornments and a pool house larger than my condo in Uptown Charlotte.

Tadpole hole my Aunt Fannie!

10:30 a.m.: Down at the shop

Sometimes in life, things come full circle and such has been the ironic case for Johnson.

He spent most of his young life running moonshine for his father starting at age 8 and continued through his twenties. After a stint in prison, he left the illicit life behind for a fruitful racing career. However, decades later, Johnson is revisiting his roots through modern day moonshine.

Drink like a Champ

Junior Johnson offers a few of his exclusive recipes for you to try at home with a bottle of his Midnight Moon.

Red Flag	Cranberry juice and one shot of Midnight Moon poured over ice.
Burn Out	Midnight Moon, Gin, Rum, Tequila, Triple Sec, Sour Mix and a splash of cola.
High Octane	Midnight Moon and Red Bull or any energy drink

In the spring, Johnson unveiled a line of self-branded, legal moonshine called Midnight Moon made in the state's last legal distillery, Piedmont Distillers Inc., in Madison, N.C.

"I've done a lot of things in my life, and my history in the moonshine business is no secret. Back in the old days, we learned to drive cars fast because we'd go to jail if we didn't. Now, I own part of a legal moonshine company that makes the best shine ever," Junior said as he autographed a bottle and pushed it in front of me.

Sweet, my very own moonshine! My first thought was whether or not I could use it in a cosmopolitan.

Evidently, yes, because Junior told me, "It's smoother than vodka and better than whiskey."

Mainly because of the process in which his Midnight Moon is made. Junior is no longer using pot stills down by the creek. Today, Piedmont triple distills his family recipe in a copper column still.

To promote his product, Junior appears at liquor stores around North Carolina that sell Midnight Moon and also talks about his product at racetracks. The first product launch was at the Coca Cola 600 at Lowes Motor Speedway with the help of track president H.A. "Humpy" Wheeler.

For years, Junior said friends and businessmen approached him about branding his own moonshine but only until this year was the husband and father of two teenagers ready.

"Several years ago, I was guarded against it in anyway," he said. "I didn't see any harm in it, but I just didn't want to promote alcohol with two young kids at home. But now I think they are old enough to understand."

11:30 a.m.: Drive through Wilkesboro

Part of my adventure with Johnson would be a trip to his friend, Mr. Call's house, to see an authentic, operating moonshine still, I mean, gas-alcohol still. Making moonshine today is still illegal.

Anyway, we climbed in his black farm truck and headed out on Highway 421. En route to Mr. Call's house, Johnson recalled the story that changed his life forever.

Johnson was hauling moonshine for his father's bootlegging business before he even had a driver's license.

"I didn't need one, I wasn't gonna stop anyway," Johnson laughed.

The revenuers never caught him in a car but there was that fateful Sunday night coming home from the racetrack. Johnson, about 23 or 25 years old, was on his way to fire up his father's still. It was done at night so the revenuers wouldn't see the smoke bellowing from the still.

Upon his arrival, federal agents were waiting for Johnson.

"The revenuers had it staked out," he said. "I spent 11 months and three days in the Chillicothe, Ohio, federal prison."

After he served his sentence, Johnson said he returned to the free world with a new perspective and returned to racing with the bootlegging business behind him.

He became such a legend in stock car racing that President Ronald Reagan pardoned him on Dec. 26, 1986 restoring his right to vote and hold a passport, one of Johnson's proudest achievements.

That said, Johnson also prides himself on evading the law behind the wheel for nearly two decades.

Johnson was known for his "bootlegger turn," where he would avoid roadblocks by jerking the wheel to one side and mashing the gas to spin the car 180 degrees and take off in the other direction.

"I never crossed the highway or the paved roads, I stayed on the dirt. You had a 10-to-1 better chance of not getting caught," he said.

Noon: Mr. Call's house

While riding with Johnson today, you'd never guess him to be a racer and certainly not one to partake in a high-speed police chase. He never went more than five miles over the posted speed limit.

Nevertheless, we found ourselves on one of Wilkes County's last remaining dirt roads to drop in on a fellow bootlegger from back in the day, Mr. Call, who has a permit to make gas alcohol.

Here is where I would get my hands-on training in moonshine and by hands on I mean hands around a mason jar full of high-powered booze!

But first I have to explain how what in my hands came to be.

The basic recipe calls for grains, molasses, yeast sugar and water mixed together in a huge barrel to ferment for several days in warm water. The barrels at Mr. Call's house were covered with sheets of plasterboard.

Johnson moved one of the sheets and said, "Stick your finger in there, taste it."

Hesitant because it looked like a vat of watery oatmeal, I stuck my index finger in the fermentation for a taste test. Yummy, tastes like a rusty nail, thanks! But the smell was wonderful. The whole place smelled like sweet rolls from the yeast and sugar.

Laughing at my facial expression, Johnson ushered me into the room where the liquid, fermented brew, is then filtered and run through the still.

Now that I understood the process, I was ready for the product.

I had my pick of the lemon flavor or the blackberry flavor -- I went with lemon. Johnson unscrewed the cap and I took a big whiff and my eyes watered a bit and my sinus opened; kind of like the nose spray affect.

With both hands, I tipped the jar to my lips and took a tiny sip. 'Hmmm, not bad,' I said. So then I took a bigger sip and instantly felt boozy.

Johnson grinned at me and said, "You'll be naked by the time we get to the next stop."

Oh fabulous, maybe this is why I've made it 30 years without trying this stuff.

So I asked Johnson: 'Why moonshine?'

"It was a good life, very exciting and fun to be a part of," Johnson said. "We didn't do anything to hurt anyone, we just didn't want to pay taxes on the alcohol, and we wouldn't make any money."

Fair enough.

Mr. Call, 67, told me he tried to keep up with Johnson, but never could.

"He was the man in this part of the country, I could always tell when he was driving by," he said. "I knew the sound of his car. But he was so fast, you'd only hear him, never see him."

12:30 p.m.: Chow time

After Mr. C's house I was kind of sulking because I thought our trip was over and I still had so many questions and wanted to hear more stories. Luckily, that's when Johnson turned to me and asked, "You ready for lunch?"

We pulled the truck into the Brushy Mountain Smokehouse and Creamery, a diner in North Wilkesboro that used to be a grocery store Johnson remembers from his childhood.

Today, the homespun eatery pays homage to the moonshine era through relics of authentic stills. Vintage photographs of the North Wilkesboro Speedway and old bootleggers posed with revenuers hang on the walls. Johnson and his pal Mr. C of course were in a lot of those photos.

As was Mr. Charlie Felts, a well-known revenuer posted in Wilkesboro to chase the likes of Johnson and his bootlegging buddies.

"I met him face-to-face once," Johnson said. "And I used to tell him 'get out on that road and I'll out run your ass every time'."

Ironic enough, the state Department of Transportation would later (2004) name a stretch of U.S. 421 in Wilkes County highway in his honor. Junior Johnson Highway recognizes his contribution to motorsports, the state and the community.

Wonder what old Mr. Felts would say about that today? On the way back to the estate, Junior let me hop out of the truck to take a picture of the Junior Johnson Highway sign, in true tourist fashion.

Meanwhile, back at the restaurant, I agonized about which fried or floured entree to order for lunch; Johnson said check out the appetizers. And there they were, Junior Johnson's Country Ham and Biscuits.

Bingo!

1:30 p.m.: Hamming it up

Not too often can you have lunch and then see just exactly where your lunch came from.

Such was the case on my journey with Junior.

At lunch, per his suggestion, I ordered the Junior Johnson Country Ham and Biscuits and so it was only fair that he take me to Suncrest Farms Country Hams, Inc. where the Junior Johnson-branded hams are cured, processed and then shipped to grocers.

Just a short drive from the lunch spot, Suncrest Farms Country Ham, Inc. has been producing the Junior Johnson-branded products for nearly a decade now.

Inside, sweet old ladies in hairnets were lunching in a break room and their eyes lit up when Junior walked in. They asked for autographs as they fidgeted with their smocks and smoothed their polyester pants.

As I readied myself for the tour of the factory, Johnson handed me a hairnet.

I looked at him and said, "I'm good. I don't really do hairnets per se, not really a flattering accessory for me, you know?"

He looked down his nose at me and put both hands on my shoulders, gave me a shake and said, "What about muzzles?"

So I put on the hairnet, despite my better judgment and proceeded to learn the ins-and-outs of curing hams.

Did you know they simulate seasons? Inside the factory are different rooms kept at different temperatures. The winter room was 10 degrees -- Junior sent me in there alone -- and the summer room was above 75. The overall process for one ham to be cured is 90 days. So that's why my lunch was so delicious.

But I had to ask Junior and the guys at the factory if they were thinking on organic options, forego the harmful nitrates in the ham.

"Organic! What in the hell is that," Johnson asked. "That sounds like some kind of worm coming out of the damn ground."

OK, guess not. Too soon for a Trader Joe's in Wilkesboro.

So Junior knows ham, Junior knows racecars, Junior knows cattle, and Junior knows booze...

What about hot dogs? Yep, that's next.

"Ever heard of Frank Fries," he asked? "That's our next move, French fried hot dog strips."

Got ketchup?

2:30 p.m.: Back home on the ranch

It was time to get back in the truck and head home. I still didn't want to leave. I wanted to stay for dinner and feed the cows. Too often we take our national treasures for granted and don't spend nearly enough time with them while we have them.

That said, I had to soak up as much knowledge as I could on the way home so I figured if I uttered the words 'Daytona 500,' or the fact that NASCAR is celebrating the 50th running next season, stories would come flooding from the past champion.

As we walked back to the truck, Johnson leaned over to me, pointed to his chin and asked, "See that scar?"

Behind that scar was one helluva story that took place on the track at Daytona, some time during the 1960s.

"I cut my chin all da hell," Johnson said, as he began to recount the crash, a crash that will forever stand out in his mind because of what Bill France Jr. had to say...

Johnson crashed and more or less ate the steering column.

As he crawled out of his racecar, basically holding his jaw together while blood poured down his forearm and dripped from the tip of his elbow, he yelled to France, and pleaded with the boss man to take him to the hospital.

"You know what he said? He said to wait for the ambulance; you'll get blood all in my new white Buick Riviera."

On a serious note, Junior said of the 50th running of the Daytona 500, "I hate that Billy won't be a part of it," he said. "Me and him fought like cats and dogs but we was also friends. I miss him."

Like France Jr., Johnson tries to leave positive impacts on the sport. He is credited with an early safety innovation -- the shoulder harness. Johnson and Banjo Mathews developed the device to help hold the driver in the seat. At the time, stock car seats were just that -- stock seats from passenger cars.

"I like to stay on top of things. I don't like the Chase though. It's ridiculous how they start everything over, but the sport has been good to me," he said.

So once a moonshine mechanic now a successful business owner and innovator, what is left for this NASCAR icon to accomplish?

Well, he still has two teenagers to raise, he says, likely his biggest challenge yet.