On The Road

Thomas Browne once said, "Be able to be alone."

I wasn't sure what to expect when I pulled out of my driveway at 6:15 on Tuesday morning. All I really knew was that I had a long trip ahead of me. I wasn't even sure how long. I had the numbers of course. 2,100 miles, 36 hours. Seven full states, and good-sized states too. But three 12-hour days of driving was something I couldn't quite wrap my head around. I just knew that I needed to do it. Alone.

So I hugged my parents goodbye, internally thanking them for not putting up a fuss about letting their little girl take off across 3/4 of the country by herself, and left.

You can drive all the way from New York to California on Highway 80. I got on at the eastern edge of Pennsylvania, and didn't get off until central Wyoming, where 287 took me up into the mountains. Such mountains. I first saw them in September of 2008, when my family drove through Grand Teton en route to Yellowstone. Jagged, snow-covered peaks rising high and fast, their sharp summits piercing the clouds. No other mountains are quite like these. They are the young gods of the Rockies.

There is something indescribable about seeing the Tetons after three days of driving through some of the flattest country there is. Don't get me wrong, corn is great, but it gets kind of old after, oh, a thousand miles. Once the Appalachians petered out in western PA, fields were about all I saw. Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa. Corn, corn, corn, wheat, hay, corn. Next came the empty straightaways of Nebraska, the ones Jack Kerouac's Dean Moriarty takes at 110 mph. I didn't go quite that fast. And then dusty, scrubby Wyoming slowly turned into hill country. Then the hills were speckled with tableland, then cut through by canyons and gorges. Then they got bigger and bigger, and suddenly I spotted one with snow on top.

From there on there were just mountains beyond mountains, as far as the eye could see.

I thought of Lewis and Clark, coming through the seemingly never-ending Great Plains, cresting their first peak in eager anticipation of what might be on the other side, and seeing this. An impossible expanse of range after range, each higher than the last. My reaction was significantly more excited than I imagine theirs to have been.

On wound the highway, further up and further in, as C.S. Lewis once put it. My GPS counted down the minutes as I took in one breathtaking view after another. I reached the final pass, which took me high up into the National Forest, where everything was covered in snow. I rolled down the window just to remember what winter feels like. Then down into Jackson Hole and the park's entrance. The ranger at the ticket window was the first person I'd talked with face to face in over 24 hours. It went ok. He asked for $25.00 and I told him I was an employee, and he said never mind about the $25.00. A few minutes later I rolled into Colter Bay Village and stepped foot in Grand Teton National Park for the first time.

So. How long was it? And what was it? Well, it was 2,100 miles and 36 hours, just as I knew it would be. But now I understand what those numbers mean. They were, and will forever be, a piece of my life. Three days spent almost entirely alone. Days spent listening to music, mostly folk, and hearing Kerouac and Harper Lee read aloud by Matt Dillon and Sissy Spacek, respectively. Days spent staring through my windshield, getting pissed off by trucks passing other trucks and the innumerable stretches of "road work," complete with orange cones and closed lanes and reduced speeds and no workers to speak of. But there was no one to complain to. So I got over it and kept on driving. They were good days.

To be honest, I don't remember much of what I thought about. Which is sad, since there were some good thoughts. Perhaps I'll have them again someday. Perhaps not. It doesn't really matter much. I enjoyed them at the time. But I held on to at least one important thing. This trip reminded me of a truth I had nearly forgotten: solitude has its own, strange beauty to it.

I think everyone should take a good, long, meaty solo road trip at some point in their lives. It's good for the soul. Some tips: Don't be afraid to forfeit hotels for campsites. Make it a game to see how long you can stay on cruise control without breaking. Discover the rough satisfaction of chewing on beef jerky. And start each day early enough to see the sunrise.