On The Road Again

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ON THE ROAD AGAIN

By Walter Mills

I made a business trip to Erie, Pa. on the still-cold shores of Lake Erie

last week and discovered I don't much like traveling alone anymore.

There was a time when I was younger and single that I loved the open road

and the highways, and I often set off across the country with everything I

owned packed in the back of my car.

In those days I would drive six or seven hundred miles at a stretch and then

pull over into a rest stop for a few hours sleep in the front seat before I

drove on. I didn't dawdle along the way or sightsee; the road itself was all

I wanted, and some new, undefined experience at the end of the journey.

On my trip to Erie last week I drove in a cold rain on I-80 with trucks

blasting past throwing sprays of water too heavy for my windshield wipers to

handle. By the time I passed Snow Shoe my daughters were on their way to

school and the local radio station faded out about the time my wife was

putting away the breakfast dishes. With each mile marker I passed I grew

sadder.

I guess it all depends on which way you're traveling - away from those you

love or toward your dream. I've heard it said that wherever you go you still

take yourself with you. I don't think it's true; I think sometimes you leave

your self behind.

I stayed in a nice hotel, a Marriott off I-90 on the outskirts of town. I

unpacked my things and went down to the indoor pool and swam a few laps in

the body temperature water. I sat in the sauna with a man about my own age,

though to me he looked much older. He was a traveling sales rep, up from

Mobile, Alabama and he didn't like the northern territory he was assigned.

He had stayed in this same hotel so many times that he knew all the

employees, he said, and he talked on in disjointed fragments about his job

and the weather and a Carl Hiasson mystery novel he was reading.

He talked to me, not like someone with whom he was carrying on a

conversation, but like I was someone who was passing him by so quickly that

I was only an echo on a radar screen. We were like two truckers heading in

opposite directions on the highway at night talking on our CBs for a moment

until we moved out of range.

I thought he was a man who had left his identity back in Mobile and he had

just sent his too-quickly-aging body ahead without bothering to include the

spirit that animates our flesh.

By the next afternoon I was on my way home; the weather had changed and the

sun was shining down like a blessing. As I drove south towards Pittsburgh I

picked up a good rock station out of Youngstown, Ohio on the car radio. When

it faded a Pittsburgh station kicked in and I rode it east until the

Johnstown broadcast came in clearer. All the songs were good songs and all

of the trucks seemed to be heading in the other direction.

By the time I got to the Centre County line I checked my watch and saw it

was almost time for school to let out. My older daughter would be packing

the books in her backpack and standing in line for the school bus. Her

little sister would be waking up from her nap.

Johnstown faded and I could just pick up the hometown station. An old

favorite road song came on the radio, Janis Joplin doing "Me and Bobby

Magee." I would be home in time for supper.

(The above column originally appeared in the Centre Daily Times and is

Walt, address your emails to wmills@vicon.net)

_______________________________________

Walter Mills columns also appear regularly Saturdays on Recipes Du Jour www.recipedujour.com


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There was a time when I was younger and single that I loved the open road and the highways, and I often set off across the country with everything I owned packed in the back of my car. In those days I would drive six or seven hundred miles at a stretch and then pull over into a rest stop for a few hours sleep in the front seat before I drove on. I didn't dawdle along the way or sightsee; the road itself was all I wanted, and some new, undefined experience at the end of the journey. On my trip to Erie last week I drove in a cold rain on I-80 with trucks blasting past throwing sprays of water too heavy for my windshield wipers to handle. By the time I passed Snow Shoe my daughters were on their way to school and the local radio station faded out about the time my wife was putting away the breakfast dishes. With each mile marker I passed I grew sadder. I guess it all depends on which way you're traveling - away from those you love or toward your dream. I've heard it said that wherever you go you still take yourself with you. I don't think it's true; I think sometimes you leave your self behind. I stayed in a nice hotel, a Marriott off I-90 on the outskirts of town. I unpacked my things and went down to the indoor pool and swam a few laps in the body temperature water. I sat in the sauna with a man about my own age, though to me he looked much older. He was a traveling sales rep, up from Mobile, Alabama and he didn't like the northern territory he was assigned. He had stayed in this same hotel so many times that he knew all the employees, he said, and he talked on in disjointed fragments about his job and the weather and a Carl Hiasson mystery novel he was reading. He talked to me, not like someone with whom he was carrying on a conversation, but like I was someone who was passing him by so quickly that I was only an echo on a radar screen. We were like two truckers heading in opposite directions on the highway at night talking on our CBs for a moment until we moved out of range. I thought he was a man who had left his identity back in Mobile and he had just sent his too-quickly-aging body ahead without bothering to include the spirit that animates our flesh. By the next afternoon I was on my way home; the weather had changed and the sun was shining down like a blessing. As I drove south towards Pittsburgh I picked up a good rock station out of Youngstown, Ohio on the car radio. When it faded a Pittsburgh station kicked in and I rode it east until the Johnstown broadcast came in clearer. All the songs were good songs and all of the trucks seemed to be heading in the other direction. By the time I got to the Centre County line I checked my watch and saw it was almost time for school to let out. My older daughter would be packing the books in her backpack and standing in line for the school bus. Her little sister would be waking up from her nap. Johnstown faded and I could just pick up the hometown station. An old favorite road song came on the radio, Janis Joplin doing "Me and Bobby Magee." I would be home in time for supper. (The above column originally appeared in the Centre Daily Times and is copyright © 2000 by Walter Mills. All rights reserved worldwide. To contact Walt, address your emails to wmills@vicon.net) _______________________________________ Walter Mills columns also appear regularly Saturdays on Recipes Du Jour www.recipedujour.com