I lift my glass to those ‘good ole days’ when there wasn’t much to do but drive the gravel back roads, smoke cigarettes, and drink just about anything we could get our hands on. How we managed to survive it all is still a mystery to me.
My feet transfer the vibrations of tires touching gravel. The jarring shake of rut filled back roads move up my legs and out my arms then back into the steering wheel. I am in sync with my knobby tired, metal and glass steed as we speed through the perfect night.
The sky stretches out before me. A jeweled black velvet horizon surrounding a full moon that hangs brilliant; splashing a ghostly light into the countryside. The wood floors of ancient bridges rumble as I pass and the creeks and rivers catch the moon’s sparkle as they flow quickly beneath me and on into the darkness. The road comes alive for me while the rest of the world dreams. I move past cemeteries, where souls are frozen in place, longing for the freedom to ride along to oblivion. An old red barn built when the country was younger melts into its destiny. Brown brick grain silos stand godlike against the attack of time.
I roll down my window and let the cool night air blast away the anger, hate and dissolution that the sunlight brings. It mixes with the oven-like heater and I begin a dance with the night as the radio hums a low harmony and the soft glow from the dash lights mingle with it to create a perfect synchronicity.
These country back roads crisscross my path and stretch out into infinity. I travel through a landscape that is so satisfying and peaceful and I know that I am in control. I can choose my own destiny. Sometimes I think that if I just close my eyes and take my hands from the wheel, this could be…the end.
There you go again
LikeLiked by 1 person
Can’t escape the past.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I also had a youth of back country roads. I’m surprised at how many of those dirt roads in Vermont are unchanged.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Dirt, gravel, corn, wheat and soybeans. Just maybe a few more houses scattered here and there. Although a teenager can’t make money now by hauling hay or walking beans.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Dairy farms and maple trees for me.
LikeLiked by 1 person
The prominent family around our town owned a large pig farm. When we drove by his son would always roll down the window and say, “Can ya’ll smell that money, oh what lovely perfume.” Man did id stink.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I know the stink of which you speak. When I lived in Florida, there was a pig farm across from the Walmart. Deadly in 90+ degree heat.
LikeLiked by 1 person
No doubt, a hot windy day could carry the smell for a long way.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I really enjoyed reading this and it left me remembering similar times and wondering. The past is such an important part of where we end up and who we become. It could be he end anytime.
LikeLike
Thanks for dropping by and leaving your wonderful comment. True, the end could be anytime. Just one more reason to enjoy the now.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Well spoken and absolutely true.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Really interesting read reminds me of home.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks for dropping by. I think everywhere is pretty much the same, just with different names.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Yeah that’s true.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Love this! Great write, Jerry! The vividness of your words and the emotions in them AND the senses they ignite, take me back to so many rides of long-ago. I still remember vivid sites, sounds, feelings, people, etc. ….even what songs were playing on the radio.
I’m so glad none of your rides were…the end.
(((HUGS)))
PS…I’ve always loved rides (or walks) especially at night.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Some weird thoughts can pass through you when the world feels that comfortable.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Pingback: August 23rd 2019 – Weekly Roundup of Members Posts | Blogging Meetup