The Open Road

November 26, 2008
Every other weekend it seems a news report flashes telling the tragic tale of how a couple sweet little teenagers smashed up a car on some dismal highway. The message is clear: the road is an unsafe place.

I guess I’m just crazy, because that’s the only way to explain why I’ve never felt safer then on the road. I’m not a very good driver, and I imagine I never will be but sitting in shotgun and rolling down the road is just a few chocolate sundaes short of paradise for me. So long as I’m not driving I’m in heaven watching the scenery speed out of control and blur into an abyss.

In a way my mind is speeding just as fast as the car as my mind glides through an ocean of ideas inspired by the one little cottage we just pasted or that creepy old mansion on Salt road.

It might seem unconventional that the safest place in my world isn’t even a place; but it’s much better. The road is an infinite number of places, it could be the desert sand of death valley or the ice roads of Alaska, as long as I’m in a car radio blaring and scenery passing, I’m content.

If I could ever find a way to I’d love to go on a long road trip to Los Angeles. Although I might not be as excited about the city as I would the drive down there. The empty open lakebeds outside the city are an inspiration to anyone. Seeing one of the desert’s powerful thunderstorms, that would be simply nothing short of amazing.
I enjoy the rain on the road here enough as is, to see the thunder crash in a purple split second, all while listening to the millions of raindrops beating down on the car; isn’t that amazing? You can have your late night coffee shop; I’ve got all the inspiration I need.
I love the noise of the tires gliding through the wet pavement, slicing it at high speed, and the soft whoosh of the windshield wipers as they do their job fearing not for the storm ahead of them. I love the tiny blue mailboxes that seem to dance as I glide past. I love the little lake by the cemetery that looks so malevolent out in the storm. I love the lone hitchhiker on Main, who seems unafraid of the storm despite the fact his is completely alone.
I suddenly begin to wonder: Why is he out here? Where is he from? Where is he going? What is his story?
The ocean of ideas collides with my brain and wires form to connect the creepy cemetery and the hitchhiker together. A complex web of small road inspirations forms and soon I have a story to write.
My safe place is not like anyone else’s, it’s fast, it’s loud and it’s exciting. To be honest it’s hard for me to write in a library or other house of boredom. I know it might be dangerous, I know that I am crazy, but I love the open road.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

Site Feedback