(no subject)
It may have been my roadtrip-happy father, or it may have been a crafty car commercial, but someone once told me that getting somewhere is half of the experience, half of the adventure.
I find myself to be painfully out of place, shy, or even awkward in numerous social situations. But that comment is merely a means to get to my point:
I absolutely love the drive home from anywhere, especially when I'm alone.
Coming home from a friend's house tonight, I took Scenic Drive. Winds along Lake Michigan past bungalows, holes-in-walls and mansions all the same, all set back in the woods, barely visible from the snake of a road. Speed limit of roughly 40-45 miles per hour depending on the section. Completely decrepit in terms of asphalt, seeing it probably hasn't had a road crew seriously work on it since 1982. Absolutely barren at 12:30 am, especially on an evening where it rained The rain sends everyone home a little earlier in a town that rolls up the floor at about 10:30 anyways.
I don't take the vehicle at ridiculous speeds. I like to feel the grip of the road under my tires, but recklessness is for meatheads and deathwishers. I simply enjoy hugging the turns, feeling myself slide in the seat a little as I accelerate around a bend, while always keeping watch for a small pairs of yellow circles: the inevitable, overpopulated, asphalt-frequenting deer population of the woods-suburbia known as West Michigan.
I like my music loud, windows down. I have the midrange set higher on my stereo, because I've found that too much treble is painful to my ears, and too much bass is just obnoxious. For the rock music I listen to, the bass needs to be up, but not enough to feel it three blocks away.
Scenic was wet tonight, but my vehicle handled just fine. No slips, no gravel issues... and there are gravel issues on that road. I found out less than a month ago that since it was originally paved in 1920, it has only been repaved once. Chalk that up to hard work in the olden days, chalk it up to state funding shortages, or chalk it up to anything else... the road is a joy to ride despite the continuous jostle from frost heaves, potholes and loose stone and sand.
I paid attention tonight to making sure my brights were down when the few (count: 3 on a 20-minute trip) oncoming drivers appeared. I try to be as courteous as possible, because I absolutely hate being on the receiving end of high beams.
While driving tonight, I remembered that feeling of being behind the wheel in its entirety. You are not at odds with the road; instead you sort of melt with it, and find yourself guided by nothing but that yellow line. Sure, it changes from a double yellow to a half-and-half to a single yellow at times, but as long as you stay to the right of it you should be okay, unle a deer or errant jogger complicate things.
That feeling of driving IS half of the adventure. I may feel out of place somewhere, I may feel unable to bond with someone I am supposed to, I may feel like I need to be more in communion with my tech-yuppie coworkers, I may feel like things aren't ideal, but I can always look forward to the drive home. Psychoanalyze that all you want, but that 5, 10, 25-minute drive back from wherever I was for the evening is not a chore.
Repeat: It is not a chore. It is therapy. It is enjoyable. It is personal. It's me. If you want to understand why the eff I am who I am, maybe it's a great place to start to remember that my drives are important to me. Moderation, oneness, time to think, time to react.
I press down the gas. I switch the brights on. I hug the turns. I change my musical selection to something different, depending on my mood. I switch the brights off. I cover the brake. I decide to take the long way. I pray that cop I just blew past isn't searching for a reason to pull me over. I turn the music up a bit more. I roll down the windows a bit more. I reach North Muskegon, slow down to match the speed limits. I turn down the music to match the change in road noise. I turn down my hiil. I reduce the music a bit more.... the neighbors are sleeping, you know. I pull into the driveway, turn off the car, keep the radio on until I finish the song, and I call it a night.
Just leave me alone with the road and my music. I assure you that tomorrow will be a new day, and I'll be back again.
Just, for tonight, please leave me alone with the road and my music. It's all I have sometimes.
I find myself to be painfully out of place, shy, or even awkward in numerous social situations. But that comment is merely a means to get to my point:
I absolutely love the drive home from anywhere, especially when I'm alone.
Coming home from a friend's house tonight, I took Scenic Drive. Winds along Lake Michigan past bungalows, holes-in-walls and mansions all the same, all set back in the woods, barely visible from the snake of a road. Speed limit of roughly 40-45 miles per hour depending on the section. Completely decrepit in terms of asphalt, seeing it probably hasn't had a road crew seriously work on it since 1982. Absolutely barren at 12:30 am, especially on an evening where it rained The rain sends everyone home a little earlier in a town that rolls up the floor at about 10:30 anyways.
I don't take the vehicle at ridiculous speeds. I like to feel the grip of the road under my tires, but recklessness is for meatheads and deathwishers. I simply enjoy hugging the turns, feeling myself slide in the seat a little as I accelerate around a bend, while always keeping watch for a small pairs of yellow circles: the inevitable, overpopulated, asphalt-frequenting deer population of the woods-suburbia known as West Michigan.
I like my music loud, windows down. I have the midrange set higher on my stereo, because I've found that too much treble is painful to my ears, and too much bass is just obnoxious. For the rock music I listen to, the bass needs to be up, but not enough to feel it three blocks away.
Scenic was wet tonight, but my vehicle handled just fine. No slips, no gravel issues... and there are gravel issues on that road. I found out less than a month ago that since it was originally paved in 1920, it has only been repaved once. Chalk that up to hard work in the olden days, chalk it up to state funding shortages, or chalk it up to anything else... the road is a joy to ride despite the continuous jostle from frost heaves, potholes and loose stone and sand.
I paid attention tonight to making sure my brights were down when the few (count: 3 on a 20-minute trip) oncoming drivers appeared. I try to be as courteous as possible, because I absolutely hate being on the receiving end of high beams.
While driving tonight, I remembered that feeling of being behind the wheel in its entirety. You are not at odds with the road; instead you sort of melt with it, and find yourself guided by nothing but that yellow line. Sure, it changes from a double yellow to a half-and-half to a single yellow at times, but as long as you stay to the right of it you should be okay, unle a deer or errant jogger complicate things.
That feeling of driving IS half of the adventure. I may feel out of place somewhere, I may feel unable to bond with someone I am supposed to, I may feel like I need to be more in communion with my tech-yuppie coworkers, I may feel like things aren't ideal, but I can always look forward to the drive home. Psychoanalyze that all you want, but that 5, 10, 25-minute drive back from wherever I was for the evening is not a chore.
Repeat: It is not a chore. It is therapy. It is enjoyable. It is personal. It's me. If you want to understand why the eff I am who I am, maybe it's a great place to start to remember that my drives are important to me. Moderation, oneness, time to think, time to react.
I press down the gas. I switch the brights on. I hug the turns. I change my musical selection to something different, depending on my mood. I switch the brights off. I cover the brake. I decide to take the long way. I pray that cop I just blew past isn't searching for a reason to pull me over. I turn the music up a bit more. I roll down the windows a bit more. I reach North Muskegon, slow down to match the speed limits. I turn down the music to match the change in road noise. I turn down my hiil. I reduce the music a bit more.... the neighbors are sleeping, you know. I pull into the driveway, turn off the car, keep the radio on until I finish the song, and I call it a night.
Just leave me alone with the road and my music. I assure you that tomorrow will be a new day, and I'll be back again.
Just, for tonight, please leave me alone with the road and my music. It's all I have sometimes.