Roadtrip

Thump-Thump. Thump-Thump. The gaps in the interstate highway come at regular intervals. The cruise control is locked in at seventy miles an hour and I briefly consider timing the interval and calculating the distance. I decide I don't care enough to put out the effort. My back hurts a little and I am tired. Not tired in a good way like after a workout or some other physical activity. I'm tired in that way you get from doing next to nothing for hours on end. We are traveling from here to there. The end points are both places I love. The in-between is the price I pay for the visit.

As I glance at the surrounding countryside, it occurs to me that we could just as easily be driving on a treadmill. It's like we're in a cheap movie and they keep repeating the same background: fields, some cows, a farm, more fields, a tractor, another farm. Small to medium sized towns pop up with regularity. I assume their spacing was probably somehow driven by the needs of travelers before automobiles. I'm grateful for these markers as they give me at least a little feedback that we are indeed progressing. Eventually, the little town I count down the miles to will be our destination but I try not to think of that right now. Instead, I watch the distance signs for the next town. For me, this drive is like climbing a ladder and these towns are the rungs.

I know people say you should focus on the journey and not just the destination. Every time we take this trip we have good intentions of doing just that. We started the trip with good conversation and then a little music. Bit by bit the conversation dried up and we had trouble agreeing on the music. The other passengers fell away to other interests. My son is in the backseat, sketching. My wife is next to me, doing something on her iPad. I am left trying think of something, anything to distract me from thinking about how tired I am of holding this steering wheel.

Perhaps this might be a good time to practice some mindfulness breathing exercises. For awhile now, I've been intrigued by meditation and I think I could probably benefit from it. I'm interested enough to read a little about it but not so much as to actually seriously try it. I remember an article I read about the physiological response the body has to taking steady deeps breaths in through the nose and expelling them from the mouth. It's supposed to help relieve stress. I shared this insight with my family once as a tool that might be helpful for all of us. Now, I find myself with nothing but time. It seems like a good time to practice breathing. Big deep breath, in through the nose, exhale through the mouth. And another. On the third breath my wife grabs my arm, wondering what I'm stressed about. I assure her I'm fine, just bored. She returns to her iPad and I resume normal breathing.

About a quarter of a mile ahead, I see a small lump by the side of the road. I perk up a little bit. Nothing breaks up a trip like inspecting roadkill. As we rumble past, I study the pile of fur. There's nothing distinguishing about what's left of this creature. I assume it's a raccoon just because it's almost always a raccoon. We're fairly close to my hometown, the place where I grew up, and it occurs to me that I've never seen a live raccoon down here. I've seen gophers and opossums and skunks and foxes, but no living, breathing raccoons. Raccoons are either really good at hiding or really bad at crossing roads.

I feel bad for the roadkill, especially in the springtime. I imagine the raccoon, emerging from his hiding place, sniffing the air and realizing winter is over. He's done it again! He's survived those frozen icy months with little to eat - living on the sheer determination that better days were ahead. And here it is, Spring at last. He must have felt absolutely giddy. I can see him, dancing his happy dance in the ditch - eyes closed, nose in the air, shaking and shuffling, a smug smile on his face. At some point he probably noticed that the grass beneath his feet had been replaced by pavement, but by then it was too late. He had danced himself onto the highway and his fate was sealed.

We pass another small town and I begin the countdown to the next one. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.