Recently we embarked on a road trip from Toronto to the end of America and back again.
We passed through endless miles of tawny and copper leaves on the hills upon hills of West Virginia. We only saw the night in North and South Carolina. We felt the Disneymania of Orlando. We grimaced at the roasting red bodies atop the serene South Beach in Miami. And we basked in the unforgettable, clear blue water of the Keys.
We saw alligators in the lakes of the Everglades and roosters roaming around Key West.
We even got a (free!) car park directly across from Hemingway’s house.
We saw some sparkling clean bathrooms in gas stations, as well as some horrendous ones.
We saw Walmarts and Costcos and tiny historical towns.
The epitome of cliches, we felt the sun on our face, and the wind in our hair.
There is something about road trips, about the patience required and the stillness, that makes one feel alive, liberated and free. That makes one turn inward and reflect and plan and have the peace and place to think. There is something about road trips , unlike any other form of transportation, that has inspired countless movies, music and paintings.
Planes may be convenient, but there is nothing like hitting the road.