ROAD TRIP TO NOWHERE
By DUNCAN
The bedroom was shrouded in darkness, and something bumped against my bed. The mystery of another day of life was about to start. I quickly opened and closed my eyes to check the neon green numbers on the nightstand alarm clock. Do I or don’t I?
I was still deciding whether to follow through with my plans at this early hour. Barney, the five-year-old Golden Retriever, was asleep, repositioning his body to be “at the ready,” anticipating the inevitable.
If I moved under the sheets, Barney would know I was awake. Like most canines, his agenda isn’t demonstrating love, although I believe the hairy seventy-pound beast adores me. “Man’s Best Friend/s” agenda concerns where the next meal comes from. When you think they love you, you realize they are in love with what you can provide: provisions.
Barney was lying on the floor next to my bed. If I moved or made a turn, it might lead him to believe I was getting out from under the sheets. If I move, he will be “at the ready,” with his tail wagging, his mouth open, masquerading his expression as if it were a huge grin, his eyes bright with excitement. He will pretend I’m the most important human in the world. But in reality, it’s all about F-O-O-D.
The night before, I had crammed a few days of clothing into a small brown fabric bag in case I decided to leave early in the morning. I could then decide in the morning if I hit the road. I hadn’t been on a road trip in months, and I thought it was time to get away from the hum-dumb, monotonous, and tedious world of the talking heads on television telling me what I should think. Truthfully, I didn’t want to think anything for a few days.
Politics, Social Media, Jimmy Swaggart, and the mainstream media have become a plague upon my libido. They infect my soul. A mature man (like myself) needs the stimulus of watching the world close up without filters and making my own decisions about how America is behaving. Forced smiles on every television channel bore me.
Of course, there is the economy. I’m told one thing on one channel, and I’m told something else on another channel. I know I’m buying a dozen eggs at $2.50 when they used to be under a dollar—the stark reality of the grocery store.
Who wants my attention? They all want my attention. There are fifteen thousand radio stations (15,445) and more than fifty (50) free-to-air television networks, including the “Big Four” ABC, CBS, NBC, and FOX. There are also one hundred thirty-three million (133,361,676) websites in the United States. Don’t forget the Blogs you can read. (including this one.) Blogs are a crowded market, too. Thirty-two million (32 million Blogs) are seeking our attention.
To top it off, I have over a thousand streaming channels on my fiber internet cable entering my home. All of them are just a Google keystroke away from telling me what they think.
What is it, “I” think? Have I lost the ability to think for myself?
Much to Barney's amazement, I pulled the covers back and set my feet on the floor. I’m at an age where I take a few seconds to allow my body to adjust to a vertical position. I said to myself,
“Gosh, I shouldn’t have had those cocktails last night.”
Then I think, “What a minute, I didn’t have any cocktails last night.”
I tossed the canvas bags in the 2007 Mean Yellow Pontiac Solstice Two-Seat Super Charged GXP Hot Rod. (Yes, I have readers of this Blog who just hate when I talk “Mean Yellow.”) They tell me, “I hate when you do that! Why do you do that? Just call it a car.”
There is always that last challenge when I start a road trip—the moment when I pull the seat belt across my chest, put the “CAR” in first gear, push the electric garage door remote, and watch the garage door slowly move to the ground in my rearview mirror. This is the moment of freedom.
I feel the same way a cowboy does when he mounts his strong, spirited, and swift stallion. I recheck my gear position and establish (in my mind) that I’m on my horse. I let the clutch out slowly and move forward—I am officially “On the Road.”
I started this trip wondering where I would end up. At times, the beauty of a road trip is not knowing what lies ahead. Years ago, a road trip meant deciding whether to go left, right, or straight at each intersection. I decided to head north. I had water on my mind. But I was also aware of Lake Cumberland and Kentucky Lake, south. A Mississippi River town is also a possibility if I head west.
No matter where I go, I use the super slab. Years ago, when I first started riding a motorcycle, I would go on a road trip with a handful of guys. The “Suber Slab” (Interstate highways) was a “no, no!”
We took the back roads of America. I loved the smell of the guy cutting his grass on a lonely two-lane road. The wind, the smells, the curves, the adventure of the next turn—it was all new to me. I was alive with the excitement of simply getting there. Getting there was as much fun as being there.
I remember a motorcycle trip where we headed to Nashville and rode through a little valley on a two-lane road at about forty miles an hour. We had Citizens Band Radios and could talk with each other as we went down the road.
All of a sudden, we smelled Barbecue. It was such a strong smell that we decided to turn around and see where the smell was coming from. We followed our noses. A small town off the main road was having a neighborhood gathering and had several fires going simultaneously. Ribs were on the grill—lots of ribs.
We pulled up to the event and sat on our bikes. A guy came up to us and asked timidly who we were. We each removed our helmets, and he immediately had a smile on their face. I vividly remember the look on his face when he saw our expression. The menacing look of two guys in full motorcycle gear may have been a little intimidating.
“We are on our way to Nashville, smelled the Barbecue and decided to see who was making that wonderful smell.”
“Well, get off your bikes and join us for some of the best barbecue ribs you have ever eaten.”
I’ll never forget the fun we had for an hour eating barbecue and talking to the locals. We offered a twenty-dollar bill for what we ate, and they would have nothing to do with our money. They said they enjoyed talking to us. Really. They enjoyed talking to us?
It’s always amazing to me when you stop and smell the roses; it can be an enjoyable experience. Lesson learned: Stop and look around. There is good everywhere.
About an hour into my trip, I decided to stop for breakfast. Normally, I stop at a Micky-Dee for an Egg McMuffin.
The Egg McMuffin is a breakfast treat for me. The sandwich is sold by the fast-food restaurant McDonald's. It was invented in 1972 by Herb Peterson to resemble Eggs Benedict, a traditional American breakfast dish with English Muffins, Ham, Eggs, and Hollandaise Sauce. I’m wondering when I last had Hollandaise Sauce on my Egg McMuffin. NEVER! I think the cheese replaced the Hollandaise Sauce.
I pulled off the Super Slab (Interstate 65 to Chicago) in Lafayette, Indiana. I decided I wanted a sit-down breakfast. I remembered a little Mexican Coffee House behind a Shell gas station, so I decided to see if they were still in business.
I walked into the place, and it was as I remembered—clean and comfortable. The first thing I noticed was the pickup trucks outside. Inside the pickup truck, types were dressed in bib overalls and baseball caps and sitting at the community table talking trash. The ring leader was an extremely big man with a belly to match his big personality. All four men turned and looked at the new guy who just entered the building, which was me. I smiled at them and gave them a minimalist two-finger salute as I touched my forehead. They nodded and began talking among themselves again. I passed the test as a nonoffensive or aggressive personality. You can’t be too careful who enters the space these days.
I found a comfortable table in the middle of the restaurant. My waitress, Contina, was as cute as a button. She was in her mid-to-late twenties, had solid black hair, was thin, and had a professional smile. She stood an appropriate distance from my table. This was my cue that this was going to be a respectful relationship.
She had a slight Spanish dialect in her voice. I made eye contact with her as I ordered my eggs. When I finished ordering, I used her name on her uniform. I do notice other people occasionally who never engage the staff. Who never look at the waitress or waiter. I know it’s not always comfortable for some people who might be shy, but I still notice they treat waitresses like non-persons at times.
At the risk of offending people who dislike a picture of food, I say, “Get over it.” I had one person tell me,
“If I need a restaurant review, I can always go to Yelp! I don’t need you giving me information about restaurants.”
This is the same guy who told me he uses coupons for fast-food restaurants. He also told me he got upset about a fifty-cent ($.50) upcharge on a five-dollar meal. He got so upset that he told the staff behind the counter that he wanted to talk to the manager about the upcharge. I listened and decided it would be futile to continue the conversation. No, I don’t know or don’t care what the outcome of his upcharge was.
The men sitting at the community table were thirty feet away, but I could hear every word the men were talking about. The Big Man spoke with authority as if every word was stamped with reliable authenticity. He had an opinion about everything. He would share his profound knowledge with the men at the table and the rest of the restaurant, whether I wanted his opinions with my over-easy eggs or not. I thought to myself. This is America, where we are in the world of Social Media. Social Media has taught us that everyone has an opinion, and it is now acceptable to share it. They can shout their opinions from the rooftops, and I must listen.
He reminded me of the father character in Cat On A Hot Tin Roof. Big Daddy Politt (Played by Burl Ives), I tried to shut his voice out of conciseness. I placed my finger on the volume control on my hearing aids and lowered the volume to the lowest level. He was dismissed. He was gone. I was on a road trip to escape the cuttler of politics, war, news, and current events. I wanted time alone for myself, and here again, was a loud, overbearing voice with an opinion.
It was time for me to leave. I was in no hurry; I had watched the other people in the restaurant turn and look at the community table as the conversation heated. They left the restaurant without the slightest look at the table of men. The subtle look on their faces told me they had the same feeling I had. We all came in for breakfast, and the Big Man was a distraction. I’m sure this might be a daily group of men who start their day by repeating the same stories over and over. Where do they get their opinions? What are they listening to? What programs do they consider credible? Look, I was not on my turf. I was a guest in this restaurant. I am a once-in-a-lifetime guest. “Roll with it, Duncan.”
I asked for my check, and Contina asked if I needed a coffee. I thanked her and said, “No.”
As I walked to the registers at the front. I passed two gentlemen sitting behind me in a booth. I had not seen them for a while; they were not in my field of view while I ate breakfast.
As I walked away from my table, I gave the man facing me a “Good Morning” and a small smile. He said something to me, and I realized he was talking to me. I stopped, raised the volume on my hearing aids, and asked him again, “I’m sorry I had my hearing aids turned down. Did you say something to me?”
Yes, Good morning. Are you a fan of Formula One?”
It was an unusual question. Why would he start a conversation about Formula One with me?
The person on the right asked if I followed Formula One Racing. I said a little, but not very much. I noticed the crash where the car went sideways and ended upside down, which gave me the credibility to believe I knew something about Formula One racing.
“Are you an official of Formula One?”
I looked at the two men and realized they were pals. I asked, “Do you two know each other?”
The man who stopped me did all the talking. The other fellow sitting on the other side of the booth was a very tall, thin man with a balding head and a T-shirt that had been washed way too many times. They both looked to be in their mid to late seventies. The man who stopped me also had on a T-shirt with a logo of some sort, but he also had on a brown checked flannel shirt open in the front. He wore expensive eyeglasses and was polished in the way he asked me questions. He was not afraid of asking questions.
“Yes, we have known each other for … huh … forty years, I think.
“Why do you ask me about Formula One Racing?”
Well, you have on a shirt that has all the logos, so I assume you either do or did have a relationship with Formula One.
As it turned out, they were looking at my shirt, which had racing patches and logos on the sleeves and front.
“You might be an official of the racing community.”
I had forgotten I had this very official-looking polo shirt on today.
I realized I must look like a guy who knows racing, and I was hesitant to tell him the truth.
“Well, let me put your mind at rest: My wife likes to shop at Goodwill. She brings home shirts all the time. I try them on. If they fit, I keep them; if not, she takes them back. I believe she paid two dollars ($2.00) for this shirt. I hate to disappoint you with that news.”
“Is that your Yellow Car in the parking lot?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you from, and where are you going, if I can ask?”
“That’s a good question. I’m from Fishers, Indiana. I’m on a road trip to nowhere. Do you have suggestions on where I should go for a few days?”
“What are you thinking?”
“Water.”
“Well, Lake Wawasee has a good-sized lake.”
“Have you been there recently?”
“No, not for a couple of years. But I’m sure a guy like you will find it interesting.”
We talked for about fifteen minutes, and I bid them a good day. I paid my bill. (About ten dollars.)
And I waived to them as I was leaving.
I climbed into my Mean Yellow and pulled out my cell phone.
“Google, take to me Lake Wawasee.”
