This morning, James and I were talking about how we used to "hit the open road" when we got depressed living in the city. Both of us at one time lived in Tucson, Arizona (although never at the same time). Even though we didn’t know each other then, we both had the same response to the concrete and 100 degree temperatures: we’d head up the Mount Lemmon Highway. These days it really is a highway, but back then it was a twisty, windy road. And it was tons of fun to drive.
I love to drive. There’s something incredibly liberating about getting in the car and just taking off. After, I got my first car — an attractive 1970 Ford Maverick — I went on many missions to find out where roads ended. I’d hop in the Maverick, crank up the radio, and follow a road out until it wasn’t a road anymore. Often, I ended up in some beautiful rural area. Sometimes I ended up in another state. My goal was to find places with no people and few cars.
These days in that part of the country, it would probably be impossible to find places with no people or cars just by taking a Sunday drive. Maybe that’s why I needed to move to the middle of nowhere. I now live in one of those places I kept driving to on those long afternoons.
As Robert Frost said about two roads, "I took the one less traveled by. And that has made all the difference."