In partaking upon this adventure, I knew what I would see if I stuck to the Interstate…
In the words of the Five Man Electrical Band circa my year of birth in the AD, 1970:
Sign, sign everywhere a sign
Blockin’ out the scenery breakin’ my mind
Do this don’t do that can’t you read
the sign?
So, there I am, driving North up 35 from Austin towards Dallas and to Kansas City and beyond, and there are literally signs everywhere.
And it repulses me.
I get a sick feeling just looking at the endless rows of billboards, and at the massive big box stores with their signs too, looming hauntingly over the interstate as they seemingly force their will upon you.
I can’t help but to envision the right inside jacket cover of Pink Floyd’s masterpiece double album, The Wall, and it’s Frankenstein-esque characters, vividly drawn into life and into my childhood nightmares by British Illustrator Gearld Scarfe, his visual representations depicting the teachers, the mother and the girlfriend of our tormented young hero Pink, their scowls menacing as they perch overhead and 🎶poured their derision upon anything he did🎶 as Pink desperately tries to build a wall around him, hoping to shield out the terror.
Yes. It invokes that much angst in me.
I guess my own terror and fears that still lurk deep inside, are sometimes personified in these signs. These signs of our time.
In the capitalism that is consuming America.
The more More MORE!
In my own inability to escape it.
In my desperate attempt to do so anyway.
And yet I surreptitiously applaud these same feared successful businesses for making their way in a harsh environment, in how they reach across the entire Nation, setting up 1000's of shops just off the Interstate Highways that traverse our major metropolitan areas.
Yes, I admire them.
They drive American innovation.
They are exactly the types of businesses that created American exceptionalism.
But…
Sign, sign everywhere a sign
Exit here for McDonald’s!
Exit here for Starbucks!
Exit here for Motel 6!
Exit here for Hobby Lobby!
Exit here for Chili’s!
Exit here for Home Depot!
Exit here for Discount Tire!
Exit here for Walmart!
Go ahead, sing it out loud with me! It feels good!
Blockin’ out the scenery breakin’ my mind
Do this don’t do that can’t you read
the sign???!!!!
Man.
I couldn’t get off the Interstate fast enough.
Thankfully, just North of Dallas I found my first chance to do so.
I took Hwy 60 North to Lake Eufaula in Oklahoma, and the signs quickly faded into oblivion.
I could feel the stress melt away from my neck and shoulders like a warm energy field flowing downward from the top of head, lowering past my ears and my neck and all the way to my feet, my vice-grip like pressure on the steering wheel becoming noticeably diminished, relaxed.
One of the things I can tell you about driving 70mph down the Interstate while pulling an Airstream that is 8 feet wide, with concrete barriers on one side and fighting the wind and the cyclone-like drag and pull created by the massive 18 wheelers as they fly past you on the other, boxing you in with mere inches to spare on all sides, is this:
That shit.
Is nerve-racking as fuck.
But wait! It’s even better when TWO 18 wheelers, one on each side of you, act out a scene from Mad Max 2, and it's Lord Humongous on one side and his gang of marauders on the other, each trying to squeeze the life out of me. Their heavy cargo loads drifting and dancing in the aluminum containers, encroaching on my space as their seasoned carriage drivers, all of whom seemingly wear sleeveless t-shirts and REAL trucker hats, sweat stains under their armpits, hair encompassing their massive arms and shoulders as if they were direct descendants of the elusive Big Foot, sitting high in their thrones smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee from a 60oz Pilot Truck Stop jug, all the while texting on their phone as they navigate towards their big-box delivery destination, unfazed by the chaos reigning in my mind just mere inches away from them.
Gods of The Asphalt they are.
Devils more like it.
Hey man! Look over here! You see me and my Airstream, right?
Stop that shit!
That text can wait until you stop for your bi-monthly shower at the next Pilot!
You’re going to squish me like a bug you fucking redneck!
(Yes, I am profiling again)
Get off of this Godforsakin’ highway, man!
Delivery drones are the future!
Let me live and travel in peace!
Fuck you!
Aaaaaah!
Shit! I stressed myself out again just writing that.
OK. Take a deep breath.
Where's my Calm app?
Lake Eufalua.
Sandy beach.
Toes in the water.
Jack chasing rabbits and fetching sticks.
Sunset to the West.
Glass of wine.
There ya go…
Calm.
Now, after finally exiting The Real Highway to Hell and getting on 69 North, I realized after a few miles down and experiencing a newfound peaceful existence within myself, that I would be avoiding Interstates at all costs from here on.
And Lake Eufaula, once I finally arrived, and set up camp, was incredibly peaceful.
And it was about this point, that I could start to see the Mid-West take shape.
And it looked like the America I always dreamed of.
And I began to experience a sincere feeling of happiness.
It’s about damn time.
-S.C. Sanders
AMEN! I have 7 camping trips scheduled this year. Ready to get away and relax! Thank you for your beautiful words.