Sunday, January 4, 2015

road journal 2002



And when you’re on the road chilling out in a clean motel room somewhere on route 81 in Virginia and you drink a beer and rest and lean over as you click through the TV channels looking for news on the Beltway sniper or news on the baseball playoffs or week 6 football scores and you’re stressed— you’re not sure exactly where you will go the next day so you grab your collection of roadside pamphlets and map-book and plot a possible course— you study the roads, the surrounding mountains, state lines, cities and towns but you’re too tired from driving all day in the rain and traffic so you leave it all there on the bureau for the morning….

Which comes like a dream. You roll out of bed, invigorated and throw open the door to welcome the October morning— its cloudy, cold and the leaves haven’t changed yet but it mesmerizes your soul; you dress quickly, grab wallet, keys and drive to gas station that keeps fresh coffee and flavored creamers. You pump the gas, a little nervous about that fucking sniper who has killed 8 people, random folks at gas stations and restaurants, but you pump up the truck, sugar down your coffee and the air instills a magical quality that absorbs you and makes it all worth while and nothing exists outside the road, only life; and at the motel you study your maps and you figure the cavern park will be a pleasant diversion and anything goes— anywhere is yours for the taking.

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