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ON THE ROAD AGAIN

Writer's picture: aimgralnickaimgralnick

By

William A. Gralnick

This opening should have as background music the song, “Remem-mem-mem-rememba memba.” Remember getting ready for that summer vacation trip to the beach or the Catskills or Florida? The trunk was beyond full. The worst of thoughts was, “What are we going to do if we get a flat?” Triple-A was not going to empty the trunk to find the spare. Often times the trunk was packed with more than it could hold, so out came the twine or laundry pole rope to artfully loop through the trunk lock and fender. Don’t forget the “stuff” tied to the roof. Nor did the occupants get full use of the insides. Things were stuffed under the family’s feet and in any place that looked like it could hold something. Think Caribbean bus or Toonerville Trolly, though most of us didn’t pack our chickens or goats or sheep for the ride. Sometimes the dog was often thrown in for good measure.

Immediately the radio became a problem. First was who got to control the dial. Second was the volume; with the windows open, the faster you went, the harder it was to hear the radio over the wind slashing around the car. Then, of course, the ultimate frustration. At some point, the station you wanted to listen to disappeared into static, and you reached the outer limits of his bandwidth. Then someone had to go dialing around for the next strong signal, which might be acquired just as you were leaving its airspace. Once you got into “the boonies,” you often had to settle for poultry futures and preachers.

You gassed up, made your way, Trip-tik in hand, to the appropriate highway, let’s say US 1 for Florida, and off you went. There was no Maine to Florida I-95, so the drive went through towns big and small, passed attractions good and bad, and ate at food stops from kitchy to near poisonous. For better or worse, you got to see America, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Mostly if you were a kid, you didn’t care, but nonetheless, it was there for the seeing and doing. Then came I-95.

the ribbon of highway

It put many mom and pops out of business, their stores being replaced by gas stations and the remnants of what was offered before. But instead of mostly 35 or 45 miles per hour stretches dotted with speed traps in the person of small-town cops hiding behind billboards, you now whizzed along a concrete runway that looked little different one state to the next. We just finished such a trip. Here are some impressions, some goofy, because driving that ribbon of highway can make you goofy.

First, good and bad news. Trucks. Maybe you like Biden, perhaps you don’t. Incontrovertibly he’s right about one thing. America is on the move. I’ve never seen since Covid so many trucks en route to wherever. There were hundreds and hundreds of them, both ways. Goods were being delivered locally, regionally, nationally, and to the ports. The bad news is that getting in the middle of a pod of 18-wheelers is not good for the blood pressure.

America on the Move

Along with good and bad there’s sad. In every state, there are markers noting the deaths of state troopers or a local Sheriff’s deputy. State Troopers make everyone nervous, but few know the complexity, loneliness, and danger of that particular kind of police work. And in most states, the pay is just above lousy.

The other side of that coin is found in north Georgia, where pieces of I-95 are named after people you’ve never heard of. I get, let’s say, The Ronald Reagan Turnpike. “X” miles of an already existing highway with some guy’s name on it? Go figure.

Then there is maddening. Add that to good, bad, and sad. For reasons that seem to have no substance to them, traffic just stops. One type of example is the roadway from Richmond to Arlington, Va. There are construction signs. In many areas are huge pieces of equipment. The earth has been gouged for the coming of new lanes. What’s missing is workmen. Nothing, and I mean nothing is there that would grind our speed down to 20 mph for mile after mile.

Lots of Machines, No Workers

Maddening also are the slow ups because an accident of no great consequence has happened on the other side of the road, and hundreds of drivers slow down to take a look backing up traffic for miles. A traffic cop should be posted on the non-accident side with a whistle and a strong arm, waving people on and giving an occasional ticket for good measure. That’ll keep folks going.

Then there’s the traffic jam for absolutely no reason whatever. The cars just got tired? I don’t know. One sits in the traffic with one’s mind moving quadruple the speed of the car, thinking about this, imagining about that, controlling your teeth, so they don’t get ground into dust from frustration. Then comes a sign. “Caution. Bridge freezes before roadway.” Ah ha! A reason. Then you realize it’s four days past the beginning of summer.

Some random comments about states. Georgia: BORING! Though in north Georgia, you see stretches of Savannahs that look like the African plains but are hundreds of miles from the city, which takes their name. Another go figure. South Carolina. It wins the Flowers and Faith prize, and, of course, it has the world-famous Mexican Disney Land, Pedro’s South of the Border. Never been there; never will. The state does a nice job in some areas with beautiful plantings of flowers, and never have I seen so many in-your-face king-sized religious messages in my life. North Carolina lands between Georgia and South Carolina, while Virginia, is just a beautiful place.

The finale is billboards. They should all be burned down. They are useless. They fall into two types. There are those that trees and bushes have been razed so the sign could be put up. They are useless because around many the vegetation grows up and you can’t see the sign. In addition, even if you can see them at 65 or 70 mph (or higher for a lot of you…), you certainly can’t read the message. The other type is the one that is three or four stories high, one after another. Marching down the highway, they look like they’ve escaped from a sy-fi movie. They may serve some purpose to the 10 or 12 people who don’t have a GPS or haven’t otherwise done some ahead of the trip planning, like making a reservation for a place to stay. For the rest of us, they despoil the landscape, including the skyline.

It’s a stretch to read the signs…

My suggestion? Either fly or take more time and explore the highways and byways. America is still out there past the exit signs. All you have to do is to look for it—at least from my perspective.

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So friends, change is in the air. Bill’s next book, “George Washington Didn’t Sleep Here” is about to the birthed by the obgyn’s of books at the publishers. Stay tuned. And in several weeks this column may no longer be found here but on Bill’s website, williamgralnickauthor.com. We’ll let you know. Meanwhile, he says, it’s nice to be out of the car and in his own bed.

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