The Drive, Part 1

I left Kentucky for California in a Volkswagen Beetle with the back seat packed up to the horizon of my rearview.  Belted in the passenger seat was my guitar, and the radio was my highway companion.  It might have been 2015 or 1968.

I wasn’t heading west in search of stardom; in fact I can only play a few songs all the way through.  I wasn’t headed west for the weather, although it doesn’t hurt.  I wasn’t headed west to make any sort of statement.  On the surface it seems I have very little in common with the hippies of yesteryear.  What I do have is a thirteen year old mortgage, close proximity to parents on both sides, an active church home, a loving wife, three kids, one in college in the area, and a secure job.  Deep roots.  What kind of man pulls those deep roots and moves his family across the country?

That question crawls deep under a dozen layers of excitement for now, but the road is long.

Spring in Kentucky is beautiful.  The earth is covered in bright greens speckled with bursts of flower colors.  Tall forests follow the bumps of the hills and knobs along the highway.  The sun lights their tops and reflects reminders of the recent rains.  Only a fool would leave this for the desert.  A fool in search of the promised land.  

Tennessee and Missouri both match Kentucky’s wonder and adds miles of rolling pasture and elevation.  I stop at each state’s welcome sign to take a picture and stretch my legs.  The seats of the modern Volkswagen bug are actually quite comfortable, but even sitting on dandelion fluff must get old eventually.

I mindlessly eat from a paper bag, and at times realize the radio has been scanning through staticky stations for miles while my mind was far away.  I think about important things like why  doesn’t everyone use cruise control, and what life must be like for a semi truck driver.  Occasionally, the speakers would catch my attention with a song I love and I would crank it and sing loud.  Songs on the radio are somehow better than the same song on a cd or playlist.   I suppose its the surprise and spontaneity.

The clouds rolled in somewhere in Arkansas threatening an afternoon shower.  The sun hid then shone then hid again.  It was during the hiding that the question wormed its way to the surface and I had doubt.  The dark said there’s no going back.  The things you love are behind you.  Ahead is the unknown.  It would have been so much easier to stay put.  What the hell were you thinking.  Where are you going?  You’re too old for such nonsense.  The dark said you’re scared and my eyes glassed.  

I slipped away for a moment, then the sun broke the clouds again and with a burst of light pushed the dark.  It said follow me, I’m headed west, too.  Ahead is mystery and the thrill of taking life as it comes.  The bright whites mingled with the dark blues and grays and the clouds made an image.  Driving along that highway in Arkansas, high in the sky outside my car window, I saw a face in the clouds.  You might expect me to say that there was Christ chasing away the darkness and giving me a sign, but that’s not what I saw.   As clear as could be, there was a young Tom Petty with glinting sleepy eyes and a pursing smirk assuring me that everything is alright.  

I never thought to stop for a picture as proof, but you can’t make this stuff up.  I laughed out loud, brushed the single tear away, turn up the radio, and sang along:  Runnin’ down a dream, that never would come to me...