On The Road

"They danced down the streets like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn..."
- Jack Kerouac, On the Road

The day before Memorial Day I hit the road with a mixture of curiousity and dread as I began the 3,200 mile drive back to my home in California. It's a long trip and I sadly did not have time to travel the back roads at a leisurely pace. I headed south from Ontario, NY towards Washington, DC on that first day, crossing Highway 104 - the highway of my youth and the first road that ever called out to me - and down Route 14 through the Finger Lakes.

I was not dancing like a dingledodie, but had some hopes of finding the occasional Starbucks for strength and speed. Would Kerouac have found some guilty pleasure in using a GPS device, at least for seeking the nearest trendy coffee shop? Perhaps, though I didn't grasp that concept until I was well along on the journey. Nearest Starbucks 50 miles? Keep driving, brother and salvation will be at hand. Indeed.

For there was something grand and wondrous about this trip, full of the mysteries of the journey ahead and true respect for the glorious and tragic history of our country each step of the way. My past was pressing hard on me, coping with the recent death of my beloved sister, seeing family members and some friends I hadn't seen in many years, being alone on the road. I was starting out in the very heart of the Iroquois Nation in New York, then south along the mighty Susquehanna River in Pennsylvania to our nation's capitol, then West past Manassas and Bull Run and South through the Shenandoah Valley and cradle of the Civil War. As I drove West, names and places that literally sing to our collective consciousness came and went - The Blue Ridge, The Cumberland Gap, The Natchez Trace, Davey Crockett, The Trail of Tears, Memphis, The Mississippi, The Ozarks, Oklahoma, The Chisholm Trail, Route 66, California. I tried, in at least some measure, to pay small internal tribute as I drove on with cruise control, coke, coffee, and an IPod. I even stood on a corner in Winslow, Arizona waiting for a fine sight to see.

Seneca Lake, south of Geneva, NY

In the Finger Lakes wine country - southern Seneca Lake near Watkins Glenn