My mind wanders and I start recalling Friday’s drive. Heading into Crow Agency to find a thick fog in the valleys with the hills looking like islands on a gray ocean. The sun pushing enough light through occasional gaps in the thick clouds to cast odd shadows and help blur the line between earth and sky. I thought the Beartooths had topped my scale of beautiful but there was this one last sight.
By Kearney (Nebraska) I had been so thoroughly educated on the definitions of plane/plain that I decide exploring the upper register of my speedometer might be a good idea. I find several other vehicles to play a multi-hundred mile game of “Magnet”. By Lincoln…the red, white and blue strobes in my mirrors indicate that I might just have won so I pull over to see what prize the official has for me.
I hit the Mass border around 10 am several days later. The Berkshires welcome me with green, forested mountains and humidity like you read about. The storms to hit later are following me from New York. Grey drizzle welcomes me into Boston.
Over the course of the trip it was stunning to learn that I had been mistaken that left lanes were for passing. They are an opportunity for people to be able to thoroughly investigate their surroundings as they travel and have those following them do the same. I also found out that service area parking lots aren’t for parking but are places for children to learn to walk, play tag and ensure drivers experience roller coaster like thrills at 5 miles per hour.
More importantly, I confirmed that I love road trips.