The Travelogue: November 2007 Archives
The Long One Steel-colored first light above a lengthwise highway, rolling gun-metal hills beyond, a scene set off by a row of spindly and barren trees in crisp black focus. There's something comforting, regular about the standard tableau that I usually wake up to on the road, a simple chalk drawing dashed off by an art student. It could be anywhere in America, but it is one place: the far corner of the truck stop parking lot. This reverie, or contentment, or whatever you could call it, quickly fades away -- early-morning consciousness gets sharpened against the tall black gas-price digits on the flickering yellow sign. I've known this was coming for several days now, and this is not something I can put it off until tomorrow or the next day. This is what I've slept six grey hours for. This is the Long One. Tennessee Morning cracks open over Middle Tennessee like a giant farm-fresh egg. It bastes the mini-mall in gooey yellow sunshine, washing over the giant fluorescent Shoe Carnival sign. The letters blink a few times, then they're drowned, extinguished for another day. The sun soaks the Bread Restaurant, bleeding through the tall windows, and my laptop casts a long sundial shadow that reads 7 a.m.. This is where I sit now, and where I will sit for the next eight hours. This is my temporary office on this first Friday of the traveling season, where I'll catch up on writing and coding and e-mail.
Kentucky It goes in two directions, separated by painted lines or, in the case of American interstate highways, steel and shrubbery. The two directions are named "coming" and "going," two fluid concepts that depend a lot on which side of the road you happen to be on. Another key travel duality is order and chaos. Every traveller faces both when away from home. The chaos isn't necessarily a negative thing -- chaos is the surprise of a new discovery, the sweet shock of an unfamiliar experience that will be remembered far longer than ten thousand carbon-copy workdays. "Chaos" is just another name for "adventure." Pittsburgh Late Saturday night, in the temporary Saint Louis locker room underneath the University of Pittsburgh's Petersen Events Center, new Billikens head coach Rick Majerus rubbed his face crosswise and lengthwise, trying to invent things to say about a blowout win over Houston Baptist. Failing that, he diverted reporter questions towards more comfortable topics like food and politically-correct labels for ballplayers, and finally asked how things were going at his most recent employer, ESPN. "They got you flying first class?" "No, Coach," I replied. "I sleep in truck stops." A sideways look. "Who's your agent?" |
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