I forgot about the road…
I like to take my time. To savor the sweet things. Unless they’re very sweet, in which case I eat them with vigor, quickly and greedily. The distinguishing mark of solo travel is freedom to choose when to go, and when to stay; when to smell the roses of adventure, unexpected encounter, and a new friend, and when to retreat - always in the forward direction - from thorns on the road. My journey has been mostly roses and I’ve been taking my time. After nearly a month on the road I find myself in Kansas, barely halfway across the country and only a quarter through my planned route. To make my anticipated return in early January, I will have to accept that integral component of a road trip - The Road.
The road is well laid but long. In places curving sharply and rising steeply, hugging hillsides - Falling Rocks - to summit the mountains. In places it is unyieldingly straight - a needle piercing through endless fields and rangelands - so monotonous can be the driving itself that the operator is either lulled to sleep or gazes deeply and carelessly at the scenery.
The more well traveled ones skirt cities or cut through them and offer skyline views, then factories and power plants and train depots. Leaving the cities, the scene degrades into a visual glut of strip malls and car dealerships, familiar big box stores and chain eateries - the commercial glue holding the country together, united in consumption. One needs never to feel himself a stranger when in every new town the friendly old shingles welcome him inside, for Customer Satisfaction Guaranteed and indifferent “Are you finding what you’re looking for?” asked by politely indifferent pimpled faces. Shoppers wanted, shoppers welcome, everywhere. Finally it fades away to a stretch of nothing, a brief respite of farms and smaller towns, before building up again in the outer rings of the next city. Coming and going the view is the same.
The path less trod is usually two-laned, bearing a plain state road marker, instead of the more elaborate blue heart/spade shaped interstate marker, and a speed limit ten to fifteen miles lower than its rushed four lane counterpart. This last feature allows for easy viewing and more detail is taken in at 50 miles per hour than at 70. And that is my problem with the road - it is an imperfect platform to get the sense of a place. It offers only the broadest outlook and only affords a few precious seconds of observation from that far removed view point. Doubly bad - at great distance and speed. From the car, the roses don’t smell as sweet. And the walk, talk and smell of the people is nowhere to be seen. Bumper stickers offer clues: “Kill All Hippies” over skull and cross bones in eastern Colorado. Signs do to: “Jesus Saves” in Kansas. Jesus Saves everywhere in Kansas.
Sometimes - even when it’s cold, raining, and snowing - I remind myself to turn off the hot air, open the window and fill the car with the smell of the land.
Sometimes I stop and have a look inside.
But every old barn, fruit stand, side road, and elaborate ranch gate merits further exploration. Even old grain elevators have a certain beauty. Inevitably, I’ll have to to put some of these treasures on lay away. Perhaps they’re sights to be seen on future trips. Slower trips. Two wheels? Two feet? Who knows.
Lots of ground to cover.