The long way home

I am now convinced that the string of towns I have always seen on maps connecting cities like Detroit, Flint, and Grand Rapids do exist. Before, I may have believed that they were trivial villages set just-a-bit back from the interstates to give important people going important places something to keep them awake on cross state journeys. Recently, however, I seemed to have developed a penchant to eschew the interstate thoroughfares I formerly swore by, and search out the black-and-white signs denoting state or national roadways. I don’t think I will ever look back.

The difference between the fast-lane on the interstate and the winding lane through various small towns and villages is incredible. On the internet, all I do is tick down the miles until I reach my exit. On the back roads, I find myself spending a ton of time looking behind me. What did that sign say? What kind of tree is that? Was I supposed to turn there? Instead of being consumed with the destination I become lost in the journey. The journey includes making a turn on a road because it is heading towards the evening sun and you want to go west. The journey includes pulling off to see the world’s third largest beef-jerky store (for the record, if that claim were true, the fourth largest store would have to only be selling one strip of jerky). The journey includes heading a little out of my way because my map has a blue water way by US – 49, and US – 45 hasn’t done anything for me in miles. The journey is fantastic.

When I end up at the destination I find myself refreshed, encouraged and ready to start the next leg of my journey, this one without standing still. I am more connected to the world, because I know for sure that there exists a universe between my destinations not just the wormhole of the interstate. Sure I may have lost an hour or two by sitting at stop lights or wandering winding roads, but I would gladly take three hours of living over two hours of hastening to a place so I can start to live.