These clouds were so dramatic
I asked Leigh to grab the
Travel Diaries Continued
It’s 9:15 p.m. Central time as I sit in a Comfort Inn in Joliett, IL. We left New York State at 10 a.m. It’s always hard to break from the routines that we feel become so important that we can’t leave them. By the time we hit Erie, PA, I was feeling better, leaving behind, the office, daily chores at home, writing, recording and editing of my weekly radio show, looking forward to moving forward at 65 mph to new states, new sites, new adventures, new people. We stop for gas in Ohio, pay with a credit card at the pump, jump in the car and go again. I like the state. It seems soft and gentle compared to the Appalachian foothills of where I live. The Ohio hills are very small and rolling with large fields of corn and hay. It’s calming, except for the traffic around the cities. Things start flattening when you hit Illinois. But you only see the top most epidermal layer from the interstate. The interstate has one purpose – to get you where you’re going in the fastest, most efficient manner possible. I love it. We hit a traffic jam in the loop outside Chicago and travel 50 mph bumper-to-bumper for 20 miles, losing time but it’s okay. Years ago I would get uptight. Now it doesn’t matter. We travel at the speed we’re supposed to and will arrive when it’s meant to be. Besides, with all the hours on the road, I’ve had time to think. And an idea came to me, something that would give this trip a whole new twist. I continue mulling it over as we move forward in long line and rows, like ants moving around the ant palace that is Chicago. At 8:45 we arrive at our Comfort Inn in Joliett. We unload, stretch, fix a drink. Leigh orders a pizza that turns out to be $14 for a small, but it’s very good with a slightly crunchy crust and onions and peppers that are not overcooked. We turn the clocks back an hour so we are eating at 9:15 and not our 10:15 eastern time.
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I think a lot about the books that I’ve read and have influenced me. Actually, every book we read influences us. I devoured fantasy and science fiction as a kid, sitting under a large lilac bush that had a small opening beneath it. The dirt was packed solid and I would crawl in with a book and read on summer afternoons. It was like being in an intimate, sweet smelling cave. I read Isaac Asimov, Ray Bradbury, Richard Matheson and dozens of others. But tonight in Joliett I pull out Richard Brautigan’s Trout Fishing in America and started re-reading it. I was totally hooked on Brautigan when he was the in guy in the early 70s. I loved his style and the way he married crazy images, which seemed to combine 1960s Haight-Ashbury hip with Montana mountains and streams. I read sentences and see similarities to my own. So was I influenced by that style, or our personalities similar and we think in the same kind of images and metaphors? Brautigan was a troubled man and killed himself in 1984. His body was found several weeks after he died of, apparently a gunshot wound. It brought an end to some good writing. Our destination is Colorado. We probably won’t make it that far tomorrow. I put the book down, fix another drink and work on my idea. Something that will tie the trip and The Perfect Song together. * * * Click here to read Chapter 12 Skip to a specific chapter below:
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