Few things stir our hero's soul like the open road. For out there are thousands of new beginnings and encounters waiting to happen. Adventures unseen and unexpected lay just around the bend. The launch of a road trip is a rebirth, a reawakening of the spirit, a chance to take control of one's destiny. The frontier myth is at the very foundation of American popular culture. Go west, seek your fortune and while you're at it, feel moved by the splendor and beauty of the homeland.
We join our hero back in the saddle ridin' dirty on 85 southbound, the wide vanilla skies drifting to pink and purple in the early evening. A sense of nostalgia creeps in; he knows these roads well, especially in the Volks. After years of pedal pushing on the Atlantic interstates together, it's time for one last ride.
Our country's travel infrastructure is made up of endless miles of concrete, regional gift shops, rest areas and fast food joints. The slab network can be ridden to the ends of the earth as we know it. Freedom exists out there, on the slab, just under your tires. Pulling in for a pit-stop our hero spies a familiar scene: a doughy belly spilling over elast-i-waist jeans, pumping petroleum into a fortified tank and slurping the last bit of nacho cheese off a fat finger. In the background, big rigs hiss and sputter like latent, dozing dragons. And he loves it. 2 dogs for 2 dollars? All over it. Extra relish please.
Re-juiced and feeling the caffeine kick of a cherry coke, our hero rejoins the pack, no momentum lost. Darkness now, but the urban glow of the Peach capital peeks over the horizon. He can't help what but wonder what the original ATLiens, Boi and Dre, are up to on a Sunday night. Flipping the road mix over to the FM dial, our hero tunes into J.D and Luda's hometown anthem bumpin' on 95.5 The Beat. Fitting.
Our hero exits the freeway and drifts through a quiet, green neighborhood to the home of his old college running buddy, Mo'Ladies Binz. He plops down on the couch to ideal results: U.S.A over Canada on the ice, Blue Devils over Hokies in Cameron. A couple Bud heavies and musings about the freak show that was higher education are followed by hazy speculations about their spectacular futures. The mandatory and traditional games of one on one pong follow but it's late and there are things to do tomorrow.
The mission is the 18th floor of a glittering skyscraper in Buckhead, a flacid flag the only indication of what's housed inside. Our hero takes the speedy elevator straight to the top, slips his documents through the glass window and hopes for the best. Suspicious looks. Interrogation. Not even our hero's charm and verbal spar can vault the unforeseen technicality. Invisible borders, made up by people, regulated with rigidity and incredible attention to detail stand tough. They tell him to go west but it's OK: he's got folk in Big Country.
Feeling slightly deflated, as if the wind suddenly died on the high seas, the drive back north is filled with mixed emotion. For nearly six years, our hero and the Volks have been a dynamic duo, rolling America's roadways. He thinks of the great ones and their steeds: The Lone Ranger and Silver, Link and Epona, Gandalf and Shadowfax. The trust, the bond formed through countless trial and tribulation. The shared experience. He turns up the pulsating, eight speaker sound- really makes it thump. He runs his hands over the smooth leather interior and gazes up through the sunroof at the star speckled night sky. Thank you. One more tank. One last cruise through the heart of Americana.
If he has to go to finalize things in Texas then dagnabbit, he's taking a plane.
4 comments:
How will the CozmikGangsta find the path less taken?
Robert Frost would argue that taking such a path makes all the difference and I agree. Everyone's journey is unique and life is too short to deny pursuing true desires of the heart. As me for me, I've always been my most successful in the face of adversity.
My choice was never the easy way and I'm aware of that constantly. It's an uphill climb, tough and grueling that at times leaves one with feelings of doubt, uncertainty or even inadequacy.
But high up on the mountain, beyond the cloud cover, the view is brilliant. You can look behind and see how far you've come. At the top, the ground is soft and fertile; the toil and sweat spilt makes the fruit sweeter.
To answer your question, I hope it's full of blood, tears and laughter.
its lonely at the top
but the echo is vast
like the sentiments of a moth
toward an ill fated flame.
the disillusion of light
even in complete captivity.
only when confined to a cocoon
does one stir such desires of freedom;
the heart is a tidal wave
on the wings of emotive frailty.
an effortless butterfly
floating on doubt,
in the air of discontent.
i stand
at the peak
somewhere
between heaven and earth
all the world
to be seen
below
the air
cool and crisp
it tingles
but just a bit higher
there is
none
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