I drive.  I drive alot.  Often nine to ten hours in one stretch.

I love the open road, the feel of wind in my hair, the corn fields a sea of green and gold out my passenger window, the truck stops, the trucks.  Their fog horn honks that I pretend are because I am cute but I am sure are because I cut in too soon after passing.  The state cops lurking under every other overpass with their megaphone radar blasters pointed straight at me…

OK, I hate to fly so I drive.

But in defense of my claustrophobic, fear of heights, “if God had meant us to fly he would have given us wings” idiocy, I come from a long line of non-flyers so my air travel qualms are sort of genetic.  And to be honest, I like the privacy, the freedom, the on my own clockness of driving myself from A to B at my own pace.

I listen to books on tape that I purchase five at a time at my local Book Stall or pick up at Cracker Barrel and return free at any other Cracker Barrel in any state.  (A new discovery that works well if you like Danielle Steele and Nicholas Sparks. Or need a place to pull in for a pit stop and want to do a little shopping while you are there.)

My favorite new trend in books on tape are the classics read by A-list movie stars.  I just finished The Great Gatsby read by Tim Robbins, before that The Sun Also Rises read by William Hurt and have just started To Kill A Mockingbird narrated by Sissy Spacek.

I listen to satellite MSNBC, CNN, NPR, sports talk radio stations and catch up on all the important stuff  I have missed and need to start a good conversation at my next cocktail party.

No really, I listen to country non-stop for hours at the time, state to state, dawn to dusk and never get tired of it. Love Blake Shelton (and did before The Voice made him famous and adorable to those outside the country inner-circle). And given my road trips are usually through the states of Indiana, Ohio, Kentucky and West Virginia there is always a country station to tune in at a moment’s notice, day or night.

What got me thinking about all this, there was a commercial for children’s Christmas gifts on TV yesterday. (I know. My Halloween pumpkins are still on the stoop. Really??!!) It was called the “back seat entertainment center” for kids.  I’m sure it’s an HD TV, microwave and a bowling alley for the back of mom and pop’s SUV.

It made me think of the days I rode in the back seat on the way to Aunt Ruth’s house for Thanksgiving or the beach each August.  My entertainment was laying across the length of the seat, or better still laying on my back wedged on the ledge between the top of the seat and the rear window, and listening to the sounds of the front seat.  The static of the radio, big band tunes coming in and out with the spotty reception in the mountains, mom and dad’s low voices speaking in lazy, hushed tones which I would try to understand but felt lulled to sleep by. The stars and trees whipping by in a blur out the window. No seat belt, no child restraints, no toys, no artificial stimulation.

Just the safety I felt in a closed space, on a dark night, with the anticipation of family and warmth and laughter and love waiting down the road.

Maybe that’s why I am a road warrior.  For a few hours, or a day and half, I am in my own little world of no house phone, a cell phone only when I choose to use it or answer (love that out-of-service area signal) and I am able to take a few deep breaths, hear my own scattered thoughts, and keep pace with just me and no one else, except of course the others drivers. But that is the subject a whole other post…

Perhaps driving is a mode of travel that brings back memories of home and family.  Not the “rush and push and strip naked and redress and listen to the loud speaker give us your bin now we are boarding hustle and bustle of an airport.”

Put your thumb out if you see me pass next time.  If Blake’s not on, maybe I’ll slow down.