You’ve heard it at every wedding, every bonfire, and every bar in the South until you probably wanted to scream. Wagon Wheel is one of those songs that feels like it’s existed forever. It’s got that timeless, dusty, "I’ve been on the road too long" energy. But most people who scream the chorus at the top of their lungs don't realize they're actually singing a Bob Dylan song—or at least, a song that Dylan basically abandoned in a trash can in 1973.
Honestly, the history of this track is weirder than the lyrics. It’s not just a country hit; it’s a century-long relay race.
The 1973 "Scrap" in a Burbank Studio
Back in February 1973, Bob Dylan was in Burbank, California. He was working on the soundtrack for the Sam Peckinpah movie Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid. You know the one—it gave us "Knockin' on Heaven's Door." But while the cameras weren't rolling, Dylan was just... messing around.
Among the outtakes was a rough, mumbled sketch called "Rock Me Mama." It wasn't a finished song. It was barely even a demo. Dylan hummed a melody and sang a chorus that sounded like something he’d heard on an old blues record. Then, he just stopped. He never wrote verses. He never released it. It was a fragment, a musical ghost left on a reel of tape that eventually leaked onto bootlegs like Peco's Blues.
For about 25 years, that was it. A 37-second snippet of Dylan mumbling about a wagon wheel.
Enter Ketch Secor and the "Audacity" of Youth
Fast forward to the mid-90s. A teenager named Ketch Secor—who would go on to start Old Crow Medicine Show—gets his hands on a Dylan bootleg while he’s in high school. Most kids are listening to Nirvana or Snoop Dogg; Ketch is obsessed with Dylan’s "trash."
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He hears that chorus. He can’t get it out of his head. But there’s a problem: there are no verses. So, with the kind of confidence only a 17-year-old has, Ketch decides he’s going to "finish" the song for Bob. He spends months writing an autobiographical story about hitchhiking from New England down to Roanoke and Raleigh.
It’s funny, because Ketch actually got the geography wrong. He writes about heading "west from the Cumberland Gap" to get to Johnson City, Tennessee. If you look at a map, Johnson City is actually east of the Gap. He knew it was wrong, but he liked the way the word "west" sounded. So he kept it.
The 50/50 Handshake with a Legend
When Old Crow Medicine Show finally wanted to record the song for their 2004 debut album, they had to deal with the legal side of things. They couldn't just release a song that used a Dylan chorus without asking.
They sent it to Dylan's people. Miraculously, Bob liked it. He didn't sue; he didn't block it. Instead, he agreed to a 50-50 co-writing split. It’s one of the most famous "long-distance" collaborations in music history. Two guys who had never met, writing a song 25 years apart.
But here’s the kicker: Dylan eventually sent word through his manager that he hadn't even written the "Rock Me Mama" line. He’d nicked it from a 1944 song by bluesman Arthur "Big Boy" Crudup. And Crudup? He probably got it from Big Bill Broonzy in the 1920s.
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So, when you’re singing "Wagon Wheel," you’re participating in a 100-year-old tradition of musical theft and transformation.
Why Does This Song Polarize People?
If you go into a "cool" bar in Nashville today, you might see a sign that says "NO WAGON WHEEL." It’s become the "Free Bird" of the modern era. Why? Because it’s too popular.
- The Old Crow version (2004): This was the underground anthem. It was gritty, fast, and felt like a discovery.
- The Darius Rucker version (2013): This changed everything. Rucker heard the song at his daughter’s talent show (the faculty band was playing it) and decided to cover it.
Rucker’s version went Diamond. That means it moved over 10 million units. It’s one of the best-selling country songs of all time. But for the folk purists, that massive success made it "uncool."
It’s a weird paradox. A song that started as an African-American blues phrase, was "mumbled" by a Jewish folk-rocker in the 70s, finished by a white bluegrass kid in the 90s, and turned into a global megahit by a Black country star in the 2010s. That’s about as American as it gets.
What Most People Get Wrong
People often argue about who "really" wrote it. Is it a Dylan song? Is it an Old Crow song?
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Technically, it's both. Dylan provided the "juju"—the melody and the hook—while Secor provided the narrative and the heart. Without Dylan’s 37 seconds of mumbling, the song doesn't exist. Without Secor’s verses, it’s just another forgotten outtake on a dusty bootleg.
If you want to experience the full evolution of the song, do this:
- Listen to "Rock Me Mama" by Arthur "Big Boy" Crudup to hear the 1940s roots.
- Find the bootleg of Dylan’s 1973 Burbank outtake (it’s on the 50th Anniversary Collection now).
- Play the Old Crow Medicine Show original version to hear the "raw" folk energy.
- Listen to the Darius Rucker version to understand how it became a stadium anthem.
You’ll realize that "Wagon Wheel" isn't just a song. It’s a living piece of folklore that belongs to everyone who has ever been "tired of movin'."
Actionable Next Steps
To truly appreciate the Dylan/Secor connection, you should track down the other "lost" collaboration between them. After the success of "Wagon Wheel," Dylan’s team reached back out to Old Crow Medicine Show with another unfinished scrap from the same 1973 sessions.
Ketch Secor finished that one too. It’s called "Sweet Amarillo," and it was released in 2014. It has the same DNA as its famous cousin—a mix of Dylan's ghost and Old Crow's grit—and it’s well worth a listen if you’re suffering from "Wagon Wheel" burnout.