On The Road Again
Last week I touched on the topic of interspecies communication, having dealt harmoniously with wasps in my bathroom. This week I, again, experienced the efforts of two species to commingle peaceably: Semi-trucks and cars on the interstate. This time I was not a member of the obviously dominant species. I was alone, in the belly of a minivan—by no means the smallest car on the road, but definitively defenseless should the semis unite for a highway takeover.
I successfully white-knuckled it through St. Louis—well, almost through St. Louis. On the east side of the city, just after I caught a glimpse of the Gateway Arch, the 80 mph traffic suddenly stopped dead. An impressive maneuver if seen from the sky, I imagine. The two species inched along bumper-to-bumper for a long while. Tension eased. Boredom ensued.
I then drive through Illinois and into Indiana. Not yet ready to face the tension of driving through Indianapolis, I stop in Terre Haute for the night. The only other time I was in Terre Haute, I was about 20, and had hitchhiked from New Orleans with a friend, so he could visit his brother-in-law in the federal prison there. We stayed in a nice hotel—courtesy of my road-buddy’s sister—which confused the gentleman who drove us into the city. He knew these two youngsters hitchhiking with backpacks couldn’t afford these lodgings.
I don’t believe I went to the federal prison—if I did, I blocked it from my memory.
Now, I’ve been living without TV so long I don’t miss it. But the hotel has a big-screen model I feel obliged to try out. On the TV menu I see “Drag Racing.” For an instant I think I’ll get to watch a drag queen competition. The reality disappoints me.
The room temperature is set at 70°, which is conservative these days. There is no breeze, of course, because the window doesn’t open. So, a/c is necessary. But I’m cold. I raise the thermostat to 72.
But then there’s a problem with the bed. There is one sheet, and one bedspread/blanket/quilt that weighs as much as a Great Pyrenees. So, one either sleeps with merely a sheet, or flattened under the big white dog. Now, I like the weight of a blanket when I sleep—and at home I just open a window and get under a quilt. But in Terre Haute I’m confused. Using a/c runs against my grain.
In the morning, I am loose again. I drive through cornfields bisected by interstate highway and can see for miles. It reminds me of Big Sky Country in Montana, only not as tall.
Soon I am in the throes of Indianapolis traffic with a tightness in my ribcage that suggests I have TB. It’s then that I notice the giant spider on the visor—who is, doubtless, Arkansan. I quickly flip the visor up to hide the spider. I endure the morning sun blaring through my windshield—thankful the spider’s not venomous.
I forget the spider and drive like the wind, congratulating myself at the Michigan state line. But I have hours to go before I land in Muskegon.
I went to high school in Michigan, but never spent time on Michigan’s west coast. I am amazed. It’s magnificent! It looks like the ocean. Definitely worth the drive.
By the time you read this, I expect to be home in Arkansas—pondering a permanent move to the Great Lakes State. Who knows what I’ll decide. But I’ve determined, at age 70, adventure is the important part.