Decompression on I-70

“You’re going to drive??” a couple of friends asked, politely raising eyebrows at the thought of fifteen hundred miles and nine states in three days, enclosed in a small space with two small children. Sure, it saves money, although perhaps not enough to make it worth my time, figuring gas prices and lost work days. No one else will have to listen to the four of us belting out “I love peanut butter – and jelly!” And no one will examine us or our luggage in a paranoid manner.

But really and truly, the reason I drive is to reconnect, both with myself and the land I love. Driving across America brings dozens of chances for small interactions with fellow Americans. Most friendly, a few rude. Mostly honest, a few cons. All part of the tapestry that makes up America, my America. I want my kids to sense how big it is, something a 9-year-old just can’t fathom from passing through the clouds above.

I heard of an explorer in Africa, nonplussed when, in mid-trek, his native guides insisted on sitting for one full day before proceeding further. “We need time for our souls to catch up with our bodies,” they told him. He had no choice but to wait for his soul to catch up too.

When you fly, your worries can make it past airport security and stowaway in the overhead compartment. Four hours later, you find yourself in the same state of mind, set in a different location.

When I drive, those same cares and worries just can’t seem to hang on the outside of a vehicle going 70 mph. Somewhere in the cornfields between Hays and Wichita, one by one they lose their grip and slip screaming off into the Kansas sunset, leaving you lighter as they go.



Like a deep sea diver who gets the bends if he surfaces too quickly, I need time to transition from my world to that of my relatives. It’s not like I won’t find stress and worries in plentiful supply there: the heart is the same, it’s just a different twang. But at least I don’t have to bring my own.

So at least for this trip, you can keep your Travelocity and Expedia. I’ll just decompress on I-70, and then I-64, I-57, I-24 and I-65 – for me, the Land Between.

We’ll stop when we get tired and ask if they’ve got a room, pool mandatory. After a peremptory inquiry about discounts, I’ll pay whatever they charge. Tomorrow I’ll wake up, eat their sugary donuts, drink their watery coffee, and drive on.

My soul is decompressing right on schedule.

(Note: I wrote this two weeks ago at start of vacation, far from internet access. Now I'm back ready to post again.)