Just another day on the road.
Eyes on the road. Windows down, warm wind twisting through the car. Bright sun shining, song with a gentle beat got my lazy right foot tapping. The open road ahead, my arm resting on the window. Can't help from smiling. Sway with the ease of it all. Green signs point north south and east. Yellow lines stretching on for miles. Power lines sag and taut, out in the country, they lead back into town. I drive past their direction, out into the spacious solitude of wild. Trees with little buds, grass greening on the shoulder. Hills rise and grow, mountains tower around me, inviting peaks and granite slabs to climb. Cars and trucks pass me by, somewhere to be. At the moment, I got none but the road ahead, heading west.
Clouds swarm and pass, storms can't go as fast as me. Roll up the windows, turn down the music. Listen to the rain. Watch the lightning stretch from night into earth. Reach the darkest center, keep on going. Skies lighten up ahead, keep on, find the sun. Roll down the windows, let the springtime in all around me. Smell the moistened ground, the living flowers, smiling again. Tap out a new song, sway with the pounding drumbeat, sing a few lines, look around. Trains thrumming next to the highway, numbers for the hobos to follow, share the straight line for a while. Turn away from the mountain, into a col, a blasted valley, look out to the north and south, new places to find. Someday I'll ride a horse across that plain, someday I'll climb that mountain, follow the ridge, a subtle crest of rock on top of everything as far as I can see. Look back to the road, open gray track to follow, wave to the truckers, watch the dusk take the light away.
Turn on the lights, take a drink of water, turn up the volume and watch the quiet sunset. Noiseless pinks and oranges cover the treetops, paint the sky, streak glare on the dusty 18 wheeler sides. Stars appear through the moonroof, moon shows up next, out the passenger side window. Clouds carrying the sunset thin out, cooked into oblivion. Enter the gloaming, take a last look at the shimmering asphalt, the sky is eaten by stormy sea grays and purples, brake lights glow alone along the horizon. The road empties out, everyone going home to dinner.
Historic district at the next exit. 3 miles to company, food and drink. Always that hesitation- drive all night? Miss the prairies and the hills, the grazing elk and the colorful landscape. Signal right and take the turn. Road narrows into streets, yellow lines splinter and buildings light up a town. Choose a pub with an old sign and a couple of tables. Park and grab the map and a book. Take a seat at the bar, order a draught and a menu. Greet the proprietor, ask for the kitchen's best, about their town. Take a sip and let the locals stare and sit down nearby. Let them drink you in and ask about that weather. Use your manners, don't eat too fast. Share some stories, refuse hospitality and get a water. Thank the cook and buy someone a beer. Spread out the map on the bar, varnish in layers as many years as the town's been around. Choose.
Let the engine turn, pull out and get some gas. Follow the business route back to the highway. Horizon spreads, buildings make a landscape in the rearview mirror. Next exit, no services. Just truckers now sharing the road. Pick the beat up on the stereo, sing for good digestion. Brown sign says state park 10 miles. Make some noise, shout and whoop for a song or two. Call a friend and wish them well. Signal right and turn, shut off the stereo. Old pavement hums under hot tires, birds whipper, the night smells like dewey heat, cool and full. Brown sign points to camping. Keep the lights on, pitch the tent, pull out the sleeping bag, a book and a headlamp. Close up the car, pocket the keys. Snuggle into bed, read a few pages, click off the light. Breathe out, push out the air and the day, breathe in stale nylon and open night. Just another day on the road.
Clouds swarm and pass, storms can't go as fast as me. Roll up the windows, turn down the music. Listen to the rain. Watch the lightning stretch from night into earth. Reach the darkest center, keep on going. Skies lighten up ahead, keep on, find the sun. Roll down the windows, let the springtime in all around me. Smell the moistened ground, the living flowers, smiling again. Tap out a new song, sway with the pounding drumbeat, sing a few lines, look around. Trains thrumming next to the highway, numbers for the hobos to follow, share the straight line for a while. Turn away from the mountain, into a col, a blasted valley, look out to the north and south, new places to find. Someday I'll ride a horse across that plain, someday I'll climb that mountain, follow the ridge, a subtle crest of rock on top of everything as far as I can see. Look back to the road, open gray track to follow, wave to the truckers, watch the dusk take the light away.
Turn on the lights, take a drink of water, turn up the volume and watch the quiet sunset. Noiseless pinks and oranges cover the treetops, paint the sky, streak glare on the dusty 18 wheeler sides. Stars appear through the moonroof, moon shows up next, out the passenger side window. Clouds carrying the sunset thin out, cooked into oblivion. Enter the gloaming, take a last look at the shimmering asphalt, the sky is eaten by stormy sea grays and purples, brake lights glow alone along the horizon. The road empties out, everyone going home to dinner.
Historic district at the next exit. 3 miles to company, food and drink. Always that hesitation- drive all night? Miss the prairies and the hills, the grazing elk and the colorful landscape. Signal right and take the turn. Road narrows into streets, yellow lines splinter and buildings light up a town. Choose a pub with an old sign and a couple of tables. Park and grab the map and a book. Take a seat at the bar, order a draught and a menu. Greet the proprietor, ask for the kitchen's best, about their town. Take a sip and let the locals stare and sit down nearby. Let them drink you in and ask about that weather. Use your manners, don't eat too fast. Share some stories, refuse hospitality and get a water. Thank the cook and buy someone a beer. Spread out the map on the bar, varnish in layers as many years as the town's been around. Choose.
Let the engine turn, pull out and get some gas. Follow the business route back to the highway. Horizon spreads, buildings make a landscape in the rearview mirror. Next exit, no services. Just truckers now sharing the road. Pick the beat up on the stereo, sing for good digestion. Brown sign says state park 10 miles. Make some noise, shout and whoop for a song or two. Call a friend and wish them well. Signal right and turn, shut off the stereo. Old pavement hums under hot tires, birds whipper, the night smells like dewey heat, cool and full. Brown sign points to camping. Keep the lights on, pitch the tent, pull out the sleeping bag, a book and a headlamp. Close up the car, pocket the keys. Snuggle into bed, read a few pages, click off the light. Breathe out, push out the air and the day, breathe in stale nylon and open night. Just another day on the road.
posted by Sara Haxby at
10:00 PM
