Odyssey

I feel naked. After a short night’s sleep, I just dropped my bride off at Philadelphia International Airport along with our only working cell phone. This morning I’m on my way motoring virtually from border to border across our great state of Pennsylvania. I have a gnawing feeling that it’s just not right to travel without a cell phone. Never mind that I did it for most of my life. I think I have a phone card somewhere in my wallet but am not sure where you find a pay phone any more. They all seemed to have disappeared. And how does anyone get in contact with me while I am in transit? It’s amazing how a novel accessory has become a “have to have” in such a short amount of time.



Once I leave the Delaware River behind and my Pennsylvania Turnpike EZ-Pass is electronically recorded, I set the cruise control a tad over 65MPH. There is little to do for the next five plus hours other than gaze at the unfolding panorama and think.


I think of my wife now flying high above me and picture her drinking coffee and doing Sudoku as we both independently transverse the state of Pennsylvania. (It’s too complicated to explain why in this little ditty, and yes, we’re ultimately both going to the same destination.) Even if she glances out the window of her Boeing 737 streaking high overhead, she would see little of what I am seeing other than glimpses of the rivers and mountains through the clouds.


The Keystone State has always been scenic and this morning she is in her finest splendor. That is still true in spite of the blob of truck terminals, factory farms, warehouses, bottled water plants, massive defense supply installations, and cold storage units that is slowly oozing across the pristine pastures and orchards of our great state. Even the signs and billboards (yes, we still have them) have morphed from simple “Howard Johnson’s ahead” to Starbucks, Sharro, and Powerball touting extravaganzas. The sea of traffic is amazing and I soon fix my thoughts on the passing assortment of state license plates along with the growing fleet of municipal waste rigs motoring across our land to some unseen dumping site.


As I proceeded from the Delaware Bay Water Shed on to the Chesapeake Bay Water Shed and then onto that magic point elevated over 2000 feet in altitude where water actually starts a journey toward the Gulf of Mexico, I am in awe of our natural resources. Yes, the Shad and Eels are largely a thing of the past but our tributaries and waterways are awesome. Proceeding through the mountains and especially through the Blue, Kittanning, and Tuscarora Mountain tunnels made me think of those who ventured through this land before those tunnels, this turnpike, and even motor vehicles.


In fact, it reminds me of a mid-state based acquaintance who has walked the breadth of our Commonwealth multiple times. His route—the old Lincoln Highway, US Route 30—parallels both our routes of travel. Other than spotting a black bear somewhere around Breezewood, most of his focus seems to center around the folks that he meets. His stories are fascinating to the point that I feel slightly jealous—stories of amazing locals, off-course tourists, and curious children and pets. Oh, my trek featuring tunnels and trucking terminals is interesting but doesn’t compare to the wonderful people that populate our great state.


Comparing the three treks across the state prompts some interesting thoughts. For efficiency, nothing compares to my wife’s runway to runway sprint of less than an hour soaring above our commonwealth. My five hour motor cruise is interesting but actually the sights actually become a bit boring toward the end. But my friend’s walks constitute treasures of humanity and relationships that few of us seldom take time to relish on our frantic dash from point A to B.


I am gently reminded that my rush to proceed as rapidly as possible through the clouds to my destination may be a bit self serving. There is a wonderful sea of humanity and relationships down here that can only be experienced and reached by “walking the walk” on terra firma. As my friend confirms, the few pulled muscles, blisters, and sweat are oh so worth it as he trekked and connected with one person at a time.