Chapter 64: Return of the Mack
So I've backlogged this to yesterday since I did the most of the majority of driving that day. Over the past 20 hours or so I drove home from Biloxi. Let me tell you, Mississippi is a loooooong state. Anyhow, I made my way up through MS into Tennessee, and Arkansas for a couple then into the great state of Missouri, Iowa, and back to MN. I finally had to take a nap when I got back into the Land of 10,000 Lakes (not that I don't trust Iowa). So I took pictures along the way of my journey through Americana.
Little Spoon laments my departure
One last look at Hands On
My Minnesota Mara
Goodbye to Biloxi
Mississippi Miles
Cannonball Run spurs me on. God bless Burt Reynolds
Paul Simon and Elvis Presley are my Soundtrack
Picture this landscape, only hundreds of miles long...
I don't care who stayed in the Cape, I'm going to keep on truckin'...
A couple hours later, the only thing I gained were clouds
Iowa I think was the biggest pain in the ass because the roads were glare ice, and the map that I drew up neglected to tell me the four-lane I was on was going to change into two-lane for a couple of hours. And let me tell you, when you're rolling on a thing sheet of ice listening to Billy Joel to keep yourself awake (because you can sing along, hey, I'm not embarrased) and you see eighteen wheelers on your side of the road... you tend to get a little antsy. But, I survived a couple of mid-road donuts and counted 26 unlucky cars in the ditch which I was never a part of, thank goodness. I wrote a bit about this in my sketchbook, but I'll just share a tidbit...
It's strange that the way someone can feel totally at easy in the curl of a wave, or forty feet up in the air, I can feel that way when the grooves of the pavement no longer have love for my tires. As you go barreling down the highway, the sheen just takes over and you're in this strange free fall of *brake pump* *under-steer* *give it gas* *drive looking over your shoulder* *brake hard* but all the time there's this eerie calm washing over you because you know you've been here before, and nothing has happened. Do I feel invincible because I'm young... because I'm foolish? Or is this my gift in exchange for 24 long winters in Minnesota? Every time I've come home from the south, it has dumped snow on me and I complained, but deep down I believe it was trying to tell me that it forgave me for not being here and wanted to wrap me up in its cold embrace and tell me that I will always belong. When many would stop, some would turn back, and many would most certainly need a change of undergarments after making in their pants, I journeyed on. Because at the end of the journey, I would most certainly be... home.