The Unexamined Road
The best memories I have often come from driving my car to far away places, driving up the 5 freeway to Seattle; to San Francisco; to Santa Cruz. While it’s good to have a driving partner, be it a navigator, spare driver or a somewhat attractive hitchhiker running away from her boyfriend, I find myself loving the lonely drive more and more. Not that I don’t enjoy having someone next to me, I do a lot, but there is something about the solitude that overwhelms me with a sense of calm. It is a calm that I don’t often experience.
I think in part, it is induced by the lack of dialogue. With no one around, you don’t really have anyone to talk to outside of the gas station attendant every 350 to 400 miles. Sure you may get a phone call here and there, but with reception up the 5 corridor still in its technological infancy; those are few and far between. When I drive alone, I don’t eat in nice restaurants or really take time to enjoy my food at Taco Bell or Subway. In a way I think I’m just trying to avoid interaction with people wherever I stop. Not necessarily in an anti-social way, but in a furthering of the solitude one with my car being the fortress of it.
That stillness of speech lends to an odd sort of interior monologue that never seems to stop. Sometimes it’s the creative part rambling about possible stories which at the time seem brilliant but without the ability to write them down, get lost in the shuffle. Other times I’m thinking back to memories that smells coming through my ventilation system spark. Still more times, I think back to that last time I drove through whatever stretch I’m going through at the time, thus creating a vicious cycle that seems to take over hours of my drive. Mostly though, it’s a time for introspection. The lack of social stimulus gives me a chance to put my guard down (though keeping it close at hand for the seven minutes it takes to eat my #8 combo from Taco Bell (it used to be #9 back when I was a kid)) and look at the person I’ve become since I last passed through.
At 18, I can say that driving up to Seattle was one of the best times of my life. It was the summer before college started and with no job, girlfriend or inhibition at the time, I had nothing to do but drive. It was the first time I’d driven alone up the coast and because of that, it was an entirely new trip. The road felt foreign to me in spite of the dozen or so times I had ridden it. The gas stations I had stopped at seemed to flash back to me in that déjà vu sense. Frequently I would pass the ones that my dad would pull over to religiously over the years just to try one a town away. I’d always seen that town but usually it was in passing at 75. I found little places like Yreka and Tillicum (no really) and stopped for no other reason then to top off the three quarters full tank. In Seattle I had the freedom to do what I wanted whenever I wanted. I wasn’t bound by the familial consensus of where to point the one car. Destinations were at my choosing.
I didn’t take the trip when I was 19. At the time I was dating Gina and was trying my best, and succeeding I might add, to screw my life up. When I was 20 however, I made the drive again. Looking forward to the power of decision, I partook in that solitariness that I had come to appreciate after dating Gina. Only this time, when driving up, I noticed that instead of experiencing places for the first time (obviously, but bear with me), I found myself with nothing going on in my brain (again with the bearing). Most of the time, I wasn’t thinking about script ideas or even sex; most of the time my mind was a bit of a blank. Of course, knowing that the careening of my brain was not known to cease, this was a bit unfamiliar to me. After the requisite moment of lucidity with respect to my sudden lack of brain function, I began to think about why my mind was unexpectedly quiet. It was during the course of that investigation that I started to question myself and the actions I had taken throughout my life. It was almost therapeutic to a degree, but mostly it ended up being unnerving. I suspect that being a twenty years old guy who some would have called headstrong had something to do with my apprehension.
The drive to Seattle is long. I’m not sure just how many of you have made the trek from border to border, but it’s about 22 hours with good traffic and since my ticketing for in excess of 100, I always make it a point to lock the cruise control on the speed limit. Tack on a few more hours for that, maybe one for the shitty Los Angeles traffic, minus one for being able to catch local San Diego radio stations up the 5 and you’ve got yourself at least a good 24 hours of pure self-inquisition. Maybe it was because I had lived in a world of semi-denial when it came to the kind of person I was and where my life was going. So standing on the shoulders of one giant, I examined my unexamined life just to make sure it was worth living.
24 hours of straight introspection. That’ll mess up pretty much anyone without access to valium. Multiply that by sleep deprivation, add in some caffeine pills and you’ve suddenly got one fidgety, fucked up fellow flying fast down the freeway. In the end though, that drive did more for my mental sanity that anything could have. Perhaps had I not started questioning myself, I would still be the cocky, somewhat withdrawn and jaded person I was for so long. I’ve still got that trait in me, and there’s no telling when I’ll be able to stamp it out, or even if I want to, but I think getting it in check was the most important part.
I love the lonely drive. It’s the best way to travel. You don’t have to deal with anyone else for the entire time you’re in your car. There are no expectations of others to fulfill. No one is there to complain that you smell bad. You can cut yourself off from the world with the click of a button. In short, you’ve got yourself, an open mind and nothing to do but drive.
I think in part, it is induced by the lack of dialogue. With no one around, you don’t really have anyone to talk to outside of the gas station attendant every 350 to 400 miles. Sure you may get a phone call here and there, but with reception up the 5 corridor still in its technological infancy; those are few and far between. When I drive alone, I don’t eat in nice restaurants or really take time to enjoy my food at Taco Bell or Subway. In a way I think I’m just trying to avoid interaction with people wherever I stop. Not necessarily in an anti-social way, but in a furthering of the solitude one with my car being the fortress of it.
That stillness of speech lends to an odd sort of interior monologue that never seems to stop. Sometimes it’s the creative part rambling about possible stories which at the time seem brilliant but without the ability to write them down, get lost in the shuffle. Other times I’m thinking back to memories that smells coming through my ventilation system spark. Still more times, I think back to that last time I drove through whatever stretch I’m going through at the time, thus creating a vicious cycle that seems to take over hours of my drive. Mostly though, it’s a time for introspection. The lack of social stimulus gives me a chance to put my guard down (though keeping it close at hand for the seven minutes it takes to eat my #8 combo from Taco Bell (it used to be #9 back when I was a kid)) and look at the person I’ve become since I last passed through.
At 18, I can say that driving up to Seattle was one of the best times of my life. It was the summer before college started and with no job, girlfriend or inhibition at the time, I had nothing to do but drive. It was the first time I’d driven alone up the coast and because of that, it was an entirely new trip. The road felt foreign to me in spite of the dozen or so times I had ridden it. The gas stations I had stopped at seemed to flash back to me in that déjà vu sense. Frequently I would pass the ones that my dad would pull over to religiously over the years just to try one a town away. I’d always seen that town but usually it was in passing at 75. I found little places like Yreka and Tillicum (no really) and stopped for no other reason then to top off the three quarters full tank. In Seattle I had the freedom to do what I wanted whenever I wanted. I wasn’t bound by the familial consensus of where to point the one car. Destinations were at my choosing.
I didn’t take the trip when I was 19. At the time I was dating Gina and was trying my best, and succeeding I might add, to screw my life up. When I was 20 however, I made the drive again. Looking forward to the power of decision, I partook in that solitariness that I had come to appreciate after dating Gina. Only this time, when driving up, I noticed that instead of experiencing places for the first time (obviously, but bear with me), I found myself with nothing going on in my brain (again with the bearing). Most of the time, I wasn’t thinking about script ideas or even sex; most of the time my mind was a bit of a blank. Of course, knowing that the careening of my brain was not known to cease, this was a bit unfamiliar to me. After the requisite moment of lucidity with respect to my sudden lack of brain function, I began to think about why my mind was unexpectedly quiet. It was during the course of that investigation that I started to question myself and the actions I had taken throughout my life. It was almost therapeutic to a degree, but mostly it ended up being unnerving. I suspect that being a twenty years old guy who some would have called headstrong had something to do with my apprehension.
The drive to Seattle is long. I’m not sure just how many of you have made the trek from border to border, but it’s about 22 hours with good traffic and since my ticketing for in excess of 100, I always make it a point to lock the cruise control on the speed limit. Tack on a few more hours for that, maybe one for the shitty Los Angeles traffic, minus one for being able to catch local San Diego radio stations up the 5 and you’ve got yourself at least a good 24 hours of pure self-inquisition. Maybe it was because I had lived in a world of semi-denial when it came to the kind of person I was and where my life was going. So standing on the shoulders of one giant, I examined my unexamined life just to make sure it was worth living.
24 hours of straight introspection. That’ll mess up pretty much anyone without access to valium. Multiply that by sleep deprivation, add in some caffeine pills and you’ve suddenly got one fidgety, fucked up fellow flying fast down the freeway. In the end though, that drive did more for my mental sanity that anything could have. Perhaps had I not started questioning myself, I would still be the cocky, somewhat withdrawn and jaded person I was for so long. I’ve still got that trait in me, and there’s no telling when I’ll be able to stamp it out, or even if I want to, but I think getting it in check was the most important part.
I love the lonely drive. It’s the best way to travel. You don’t have to deal with anyone else for the entire time you’re in your car. There are no expectations of others to fulfill. No one is there to complain that you smell bad. You can cut yourself off from the world with the click of a button. In short, you’ve got yourself, an open mind and nothing to do but drive.
We are all so very sorry...
