Through the Windshield

To paraphrase a quote attributed to the Duke of Wellington: “I don’t know what effects these cars have upon the rest of traffic but, by God, they frighten me.” A very apt observation for taking a road trip on Interstate 95. Consider for example my experience just a few days ago. FTJ567 a black Honda with a dent on the front fender, driving inches from the rear of my car. I was travelling at a comfortable 72.5 mph, in the fast lane no less, and this barbarian had the audacity to try to intimidate me in my VIP007, a freeway hardened tough old Jeep. I did not surrender, held my lane made the thug take the slower lane to pass, making sure I gave him “the look,” a wide-eyed grimace and a snarl as he passed.

Then, moments later, I hear the sound of auto exhaust diarrhea. XGH413, a ghastly orange Dodge Charger with darkened windows, obscene tailpipes making this hellish noise cut in front of me. Adding insult to injury the deranged driver proceeded to dive bomb a respectable grey Toyota Camry BJY569 driven by a woman with a child seat in the back seat. I ask you, where is a state trooper when you need one?

There were moments of short-lived contentment. Ahead was VMU841, a silver green Rivian, one of those new electric toy cars. It reminded me of a smaller version I had as a child. I kept it in a shoe box under my bed and steered it around my bedroom for hours. Well, actually until the batteries ran out. Such pleasant memories, enhanced by the lush green trees on either side of the road. Their soaring cathedral-like presence set against the blue sky of Virginia. Such are life’s precious moments. So precious it inspired me to reach for my John Denver cd and slide it into the player. There I was singing along “country roads take me home, to a place I belong” when VMU841 hit the brake lights and traffic in both lanes ground to a stop. 

We were in the middle of nowhere, no road work ahead signs, no lanes closing, no indications of trouble any ahead. Maybe, I mused there was an accident or an overturned vehicle, a semi tractor trailer spilling its load onto to highway. Turning off the music, I sat listening to the purr of the engine, VMU841 began a slow crawl forward. For the next two miles we crawled, on occasions, suffering the stench of diesel exhaust from the trucks in the slower crawl lane. What would the scene look like when I got there? Would there be ambulances, tow trucks and fire engines at the scene, the flashing lights of the police cars, the jaws of death the complete highway drama.

After what seemed an eternity, the traffic started moving faster, and just like that back to full speed. No accident, no drama, no crumbled vehicles on the side of the road, no overturned semi, no emergency services. It was baffling. When you have eliminated all reasonable possibilities, one has to accept the improbable: some important dignitary decided they wanted to grab a burger at McDonalds so they closed down the Interstate, a herd of sheep decided to cross the road or an extra-terrestrial mass illusion that there was an accident. It all sounds far-fetched, but in the next hour there were two more traffic crawls with no apparent reason for either of them.

All this non-drama and time wasting made me thirsty, besides gas is cheaper in Virginia, so it was a good time for a fill up and a coffee. A blue sign on the side of the road told me a mile and half at the next exit my hopes and dreams of revitalization could be realized. In front of me, travelling at a slow 50mph was TRZ428 a white Acura, it exited ahead of me. At the end of the exit lane, much to my chagrin there was no sign of the promised fuel, food and refreshment. Just signs pointing in both directions. Not sure where to go I followed TRZ428. About a mile down the road, TRZ428 turned off onto an unmade road between two fields of corn. Rather than feeling deflated my spirits were elevated. Through the windshield I saw heaven on earth, rolling fields of fenced pastures with cattle grazing, white farm houses perched on the brow of rolling green hills, silos reaching to the heavens, beauty in 360. Time to revive the John Denver cd, “life is old there, older than the trees younger than the mountains, growin' like a breeze” John what happened to Eden, when and why did we leave? Who was the snake that tricked us? I drove slowly on the empty highway, rolled down the window to breathe it in. I should mention VIP007 has rolldown windows, no remotes, is a manual 5 stick drive and starts with a key, in other words, a real car.

Not sure how far I drove but sometime later, I came to a gas station circa 1960. On a tall metal poll was the word Esso, and off the road to the left a low-slung wooden and stone building with a porch. I got slowly out of my car, gently stretched and strolled over to the building, climbed the three steps catching a glance at the old license plates nailed to the wall around the windows. On opening the door, a bell rang followed by a whiff of wooden timelessness. Inside, the store offered a potpourri of travel memorabilia, magnets, pocket knives, flags, along with automotive accessories, fishing supplies, snacks and a small deli counter. Off to the far right there were a couple booths for dining. Behind the counter stood an older man with a shag of grey hair wearing a flannel shirt.

“Good morning, sir” he said in a soft Virginian accent, “how can we help you?”

“I need some gas,” I replied “but do you mind if first I look around.”

“Be my guest” he replied.

It wasn’t that I was in the market for memorabilia or automotive supplies, it was just the sense of being enveloped in a kinder, simpler time and place. The feeling I imagined, that took impressionist painters like Van Gogh, Monet and Cezanne to search out the colors, light and airs of the French countryside in another century. A need to capture and experience a place and time that was dissolving away. I bought an egg salad sandwich and a cup of coffee at the counter and sat down in a booth. On the wall were framed fade pages of newspaper stories from decades past and a silence, broken only by a truck driving up, the sound of the doorbell tinkling as a well-built middle-aged man dressed in jeans and boots came in greeted as a long-time friend by the man behind the counter. They struck up a conversation, small talk one finishing the other’s sentence, interjected with gentle humor. After he left, I got up bought $20 of a gas, a dusty postcard and thanked him. Time to leave Eden.

The next couple of hours heading to Washington DC were a monotonous blur of colorless traffic travelling at 65 mph broken by occasional slowing. Gradually, the interstate became busier, wider and the traffic more aggressive. HTB139, a red F150 truck with jacked up wheels and spiked hubs roared by me, followed by UHK524 a black sedan made by a company called Genesis. ZYU288, a silver Hyundai Ioniq, traveling at over 80 mph whizzed by in the slow lane. The driver looking tense his eyes pinned to the road as he hunched over his steering wheel. A sense of dread came over me, I picked up my phone, found Google Maps and punched in an address in Washington DC. The lady told me to stay in lane, that I was 5 miles from the Tyson Corner intersection. A chill went down my spine, for those not familiar with Tyson Corner, a word of warning, it is traffic hell. A network of half a dozen freeways meshing and weaving with high-speed nightmarish traffic. You have no choice but to put your life into the hands of the Google Maps lady. Approaching Tyson’s Corner, the interstate widens, multiple signs to interstates 95, 295, 395, 495 and names of cities Baltimore, New York, Washington appear, making no sense, except to the Google Maps lady. I was now a half a mile from my turning, where was the Google Maps lady? 

Then came her voice instructing me to stay to the right and follow signs for 395, I was in the left lane heading for Baltimore. It was now or never, kicking on the gas pedal I willed VIP007 to make a death-defying dash across the lanes, between cars. Gripping on to the steering wheels, glancing right and into my rearview mirror. I made the split at the intersection, now the Google Maps lady was telling me to stay left in the right lane for seven miles on 395. What is she rambling about? I meekly obeyed. The road took a wide turn down what appeared to be a long multi lane on ramp, then onto a freeway. Where was I? Had I made it? I looked down to my phone and there were the welcome words seven miles to some turn off. I looked down periodically at my phone counting down the miles, finally I saw the exit sign and eased off, accompanied to the sounds of the Google Maps lady telling me to go straight and then make a sharp left half a mile down the road.

You are probably thinking by now my trauma was over, no it wasn’t. Washington DC is one of the most byzantine traffic designed cities anywhere in the known universe. At the sharp left, half a mile up the road, there were not one but three roads to make a left turn on and it was impossible to tell which road sign was on what road. I threw caution to the wind made my turn and waited to hear the Google Maps lady voice. Remarkable, I had made the right choice, a couple of more turns on smaller residential-like streets I made it to my destination, U-Haul. Now, all I had to do was help my daughter pack up the trailer and move her.  Once more to venture out into the fray, to paraphrase an old Latin saying by Horace “Dulce et decorum est in patria pellere, it is sweet and fitting to drive in one’s country.”