Side-seat Driver

I stopped taking odometer photos (usually taken to document each stop) after the 202.9 mile mark of my 765-mile trek back home. Something happened after the first 200 miles and it was nothing but me, my thoughts, (and the audiobook version of “Freedom” – which I rather liked, maybe I am Franzen’s target audience, maybe I enjoy reading character studies of midwestern people after hanging out with midwestern people), and the road.

I might have been eager to hurry on home because I knew I wasn’t going to get to see the Fairmount James Dean/Garfield museum or stop at the Louisville Slugger Factory or maybe because I knew my trunk was full of more alcohol than I consumed in the first half of 2012. (Michigan has cheap wine and my dad likes to buy me six-packs of Kid Rock’s Bad Ass beer.) I know it isn’t illegal or anything but it’s not like my trunk has temperature control so there were many factors and varieties of grapes to consider.

When I arrived back home a little after 8pm on Thursday night, I was in a daze of highway hypnosis. I looked over at the passenger seat and saw:

• The spilled contents of a half bag of sunflower seeds
• 2009 edition of “the Next Exit”  - thanks KFW
• Three different kinds of chapstick/lip balm
• A notebook and pen (I can drive with my knees when I have to) with one entire page taken up by the scribbley word/s:  BERNE, IN
• Two half-empty bottles of water (plastic)
• Napkins from Arby’s and Love’s travel stops

I’m an experienced roaddawg, but I’ve noticed that as I get older, the road stays the same age – no seriously, I mean, my trips take on different dimensions (special thanks to B’s mom for the different dimension phrase). I don’t remember much from this one except: not taking phone calls (even practically hanging up on my own mother who was calling to check in on a traffic jam), texting and photographing while operating my vehicle at high speeds, and driving straight west into the setting sun - half-blind and fueled on curly-fries (especially dangerous considering the high-MSG content)! I was probably more dangerous out there than any trucker or teen-driver hopped up on speed, bath-salts, and fake gas-station marijuana, but I made it back all in one piece with only a dirty windshield to worry about. The road is truly one of my favorite miracles of life.