The Road

Pulling out of the gas station with a fresh cup of coffee, in the rain.  A familiar song comes on the shitty old AM/FM cassette radio with the missing tuner knob, and I'm overcome with a disassociated sense of loneliness.  I have a bit of a drive ahead of me, and the combined sensory inputs, triggered by the song, take me back to the many hours I've spent driving somewhere else, with nothing but music and memories to keep me company.

The drive home.  No longer raining, pretty tired.  I've learned the destination is the journey.  The reason for the journey is rarely as important as the journey itself.  I once drove 26 miles to the New Mexico border just because it was 26 miles away.  I have since lived even closer to state borders and not felt the urge to drive to them for no other reason than to go there, but that day it was important.  Once I got there, it was completely NOT exciting.  However, the cop that didn't turn around when I was going 100 on the Harley made the trip not only worthwhile, but memorable.  Tonight, I'm at home on the road.  I'm comfortable.  I try to remember every aspect of the cockpit of my previous roadeating machine, the blue bomber.  The glow of the dash lights.  The position of my arm on the console as I rest my hand on the shift lever.  The contour of the steering wheel.  The position I rested my foot in as I drove.  My current truck is completely different, but achieves the same goal.  I'm driving down the road, at night, listening to music, following the headlights.  I pretend I'm in western Texas and try to imagine the road is heading west instead of south.  Then I picture I40 through northern New Mexico.  I remember the late-night burn from Virginia Beach to Atlanta.  I think about all the states I've driven through at night-just me, the dotted line, and the dashboard lights.  West Virginia.  Pennsylvania.  Wyoming.  Iowa.  Colorado.  Alabama.  The list is long, as is the road.  As are the memories.  The time spent at my destination was not memorable.  The unshakable feeling of sadness at the beginning, coupled with the contentment on the way home, remind me that the road is always my friend.  Travelling; no, transitioning-especially at night, alone, will always be a place I like to be.  Home is a concept, and one of my homes is on the road.