I miss the road. The open road... the feeling of getting up in the morning with
a full day of travel ahead. Of course there's a destination. If not, what's the
point, unless you have company that enjoy that sort of thing, which I rarely do.
But there is that destination, whether it is a faraway friend, or a lover, or
perhaps your family. I wouldn't know about the lattermost, having lived within
twenty minutes of most of my family for most of my life. And if you're visiting
a lover, well, we all know that relationships end. If you're lucky enough that
it doesn't, then you've got some fond memories to keep you company when you're
lonely, or reminiscing. If you're like the rest of us, then the beauty of the
driving experience may be one of the treasures you retain once all else has
turned to dust.
Where else can you sit and listen to music for hours on end without feeling
worthless afterwards? You start out by hearing a few songs on the local stations
that bid you farewell. I remember most of the times I've embarked on the three
hour drive to see my friend Katie, I would always hear "Baker Street" by Gerry
Rafferty. I don't know why that is. But I thought of it like a blessing, like the
way Air Force pilots will put a cigar in their shirt pocket, so they can smoke it
on the way home if (when) the mission is successful. (This is done in some movies;
whether or not it happens anywhere else is a mystery to me. Let me know if you can
offer enlightenment on this subject.) Once I've heard "Baker Street," I'm assured
that I'm going to have a great time in Springfield.
Once you get going, you hear the stations drop out one by one until all that's
left on the FM dial are classical and perhaps jazz stations, and maybe one or two
"powerhouse" pop stations that refuse to die. That's when you get to listen to
the music you brought. That control is wonderful; it's like setting a soundtrack
for your life, which I've wished I could do many times, especially being the big
Nintendo role-playing game (namely, Final Fantasy) fanatic that I am. (More on
this later.) If you're driving in a congested downtown area, you can play Bad
Religion or Smash Mouth or some other music that's fast and is consistent with
the bustle of traffic. Driving through a more rural area calls for Bach or Fiona
Apple. You can also use music to remedy various ailments, the most notorious
being sleep deprivation. Unfortunately, it seems like some Pantera or Metallica
when I'm nodding off doesn't do much more than give me a headache, especially
since I've conditioned myself to fall asleep to the likes of Pantera, Metallica,
Megadeth, and even Slayer, back in the days when my wardrobe was primarily black.
Ah, yes, how could I forget the greatest road album of all time? "Flood" by They
Might Be Giants. Surely someone besides me and my brothers can understand the
beauty. I remember my trek with Joe to see Toby out in Missouri, which is a long
drive indeed. We began by listening to "Flood." I'd never heard it before, but it
didn't take long before I caught on to the lyrics and found how infectious it was
to sing the nonsense lyrics at the top of my lungs. (I've found that such an
experience is better by far when experienced with someone who can appreciate the
situation. When alone, I find my mind wandering, and when with someone who just
doesn't get it, it's even more lonely than driving solo.) We got to Missouri, and
one night we drove for an hour or so to a fireworks and general white trash
hangout called Reeves Boomland. We played They Might Be Giants on the way there
and back until the wee hours, at which point we found an out-of-the-way field
and detonated several pounds of fireworks.
Then there's the matter of road food. My old standby soft drink has been Sprite,
due to my uncanny luck in winning free Sprites from the blue caps. The odds were
1 in 6 gets some kind of prize, and through my last year of high school, the odds
must have been down to 1 in 2 or 3. But Sprite makes a good drink, always in a
bottle, never a can, because the only can-holding compartments available were a
cheapie plastic hanging cup holder that dangles from my door and breaks, and my
crotch, which leaves the can vulnerable to crushing when I shift, and me
vulnerable to a good deal of pain later in the day if I leave it there.
