Passing Signs on I-79

As a kid, I hated the ride in the car. The journey in the four-wheeled vehicle was just a use of transportation in order to get to the place I wanted to be. The quicker I got there, the better. This doesn’t mean I love people who fly by at 90 miles an hour; it means that the whole concept of “enjoying the ride” was, to me, a boring time period of signs and trees.

Now I am two hours away from home and from my boyfriend, which some days feels like thousands of miles. The idea of going to this university wasn’t an attempt to run far away from my family but the art program that is offered and what it could do for me and my interests. This two hours away deal at first was quite scary to think about over a long period of time. I recall several of my first visits here this past spring spent in the car asleep. Now that I look back on it, it probably wasn’t a good idea to sleep in the car for it made the trip seen longer and endless but when morons at universities decide to schedule events at 7:30 or 8:00 in the morning when they are well aware of the fact that many of their applicants aren’t townies, you have no choice but to get some shut up on the early venture towards Erie.

I’ve gone home several times since then. About every weekend I either hitch a ride with a fellow student or I have sweet surprise of John showing up and taking me back. This two hour adventure has taught me a lot about the highway, people, cops, and myself.

Several times I have driven John’s car on the way down or up for the sake of his alertness or to make the deal even. While driving I’ve noticed how you “bond” with other vehicles on the road. You name them like “Little Cavalier” or “Green Van” and you follow them for miles and miles at a consistent speed while others zoom by or lag behind. Then you sadly see your new found friend click their turn signal and you say goodbye to your traveling buddy. “Goodbye, Mr. Ford 150.”

Halfway through the trip your radio fails to pick up local stations you receive at home and instead decide to pick up the closer ones that cover the area of Erie. Unfortunately, the choices are few and scattered. I’ve found about 8 country stations, 2 or 3 oldies or rock, and then just fuzz.

Conversations never cease to amaze me as well. On the trip up with my parents, one minute we may be talking about those pesky relatives to how windows vary in cars (depending on which parent I’m with) (you take a stab at which is which).

We mustn’t forget about the other kind of fuzz, the law, cops, law enforcement, or the police as many know them as. You’ll occasionally see a victim pulled over and cast aside to receive their punishment. It’s always a good idea to be alert all over the road, you never know when it comes in handy.

And in two hours, if the conversation is quiet or while driving the passenger is reading a book he bought for extra entertainment, your mind can think about anything. I’ve hit quite a lot of topics in the old noodle while riding along. From the future to fire drills, you can ponder about it all.

I don’t mind the trip as much anymore and feel like I have adapted to the traveling idea of hours in a car. Maybe it’s an acquired taste or comes with age. I guess it has made me a better traveler. Sure’ I’d love it if Edinboro was just an hour away or so, but some things come with a price (mostly two dollars a gallon).