The Story of the Road

I"m sure the road has a story to tell. Acutally lots of stories to tell. The problem is connecting with them.

I think about that as I stop on top of the mountain between Asheville and Knoxville for a break after a 2.5 hour run from Clemmons. While stretching the back and the legs and visiting the rest room, I become aware of a family, I think, doing the same. They are in two vehicles. One, a Lincoln with some age but still in good shape. The other, a pickup, loaded with furniture...standing 8 feet tall over the road because the load is constrained by a mattress or box springs on each side of the truck bed and one across the top.

What is their story? They seem happy. Headed for home? Headed for a new home? I will not find out tonight.

And what about all those truckers on the other side of the interstate? What are they doing with those brightly lit rigs idling in the parking lot? Where have they been? Where are they going? What is life like for them on the road? I will not find out tonight.

Tonight the story of the road for me is time. I've left Durham late this evening and anticiapte a midnight arrival in Oak Ridge. But that can only happen if I keep moving. So I will not tarry on this mountain top tonight. I will not hear these stories. Instead I will push down the hill, 5 miles over the speed limit, so I can arrive at my destination before the day is officially done.

I have a t-shirt that reads "The journey is the destination." If that is the case for me tonight, I don't have much to look toward. It's a push night. And push I will.

But this is familiar road. I've driven it many times. To visit family in Cookeville. To go to my job as advance man for the Rhymes with Reason. To return to my 2 year assignment in Huntsville. The road itself has not changed that much. Lot's has changed on it's edges, but even that has fixtures that remain this many years. The first view of the mountains as you leave Hickory. The pull up the hill after Old Fort. The Biltmore Estate. A Holiday Inn near Sevierville that has provided a comfort and shelter on occaision.

My pleasures of the evening are twofold: being able to cross the mountains with the sunroof open since the speed is low enought to let that happen and listening to gospel music on my iPod.

Those pleasures end. The speed limit comes back to 70 mph, too fast for the sunroof, and the plethora of radio stations makes it too hard to tune my iPod on the road.

My journey ends wandering around Oak Ridge looking for the route to the hotel. I arrive at exactly midnight, six hours and 24 minutes after leaving Durham. Basically 6 hours driving time.

I have not heard the story of the road tonight. I've only heard my story reflected back to me. Perhaps next time I'll hear the story the road is telling. But my story is there somewhere I suspect...at least in part.