The Columbus road registry
I have driven on Majestic highways in the United States. Ohio’s I-71 isn’t one of them. There are 212 miles of it this morning.
Silence is broken by Mississippi Queen. 18% Gray asphalt slightly pitted rattles the car. Specifically a garage door opener from Amazon, the glove compartment, and an empty sparkling water can crushed on the floor. It’s twenty miles an hour in the school zone. No one pays attention at 6:42 in the AM. The interior smells of expensive cologne and leftover McDonald’s from the night before. The humidity builds up and my wipers go from helping to creating that annoying flubbery sound.
Sunbeams cut across the road. The telephone poles now become a high contrast while the rest of the sky fog up it’s exactly 6:29 and I accelerate to merge with the others.
My blind spot indicators broke over the winter when rear-ended in the half price books parting lot. It’s now difficult to confidently change lanes. Visibility is 2 to 3 miles in the middle of June.
Steering wheel makes an OK substitute for Neil Pert’s drum kit, tapping away to the spirit of the radio. Every couple miles presents a new traffic pattern. The sun lays shadows of the trees against the highway wall. The road gives way to shade, but there’s a clearing ahead.
Traffic is opening up. Enter cruise control at 6:41. Sudden fog; clear sky turns into the dark side of a rainbow; visibility drops to a half a mile and in the rearview mirror cars escape what looks to be a forest fire and then we emerge. There are no forest fires ever here.
A sedan a van and a semi all lined up red white and blue. It’s Ohio in the summer as quickly. Next come the fields and barns. Nothing out of the ordinary from just south of Medina down to north of Cincinnati; save for the capital, Columbus, my destination.
Golden hour begins to cast against every boring object. I signal two times and drift to the right exiting route 83 whizzing past the parked trucks to my right so that way I can make A ritual breakfast sandwich and coffee stop. With a “Have a good day” I “thank you” back to her and notice the thick blue-green eye shadow. With the window down the smell the engine oil burning covers the interior and outside of the Subaru; thankfully no smoke.
I pull out and head towards the highway. I stay in the slow lane to let a trooper pass me. The car says “viper unit tactical” along the back window.
I’m in Wayne County one minute before 7 AM.
Compared to the highways, I drove in Arizona, Ohio interstates are more like a boulevard just without all the stops.
Ashland County. One hour and 16 minutes until my destination.The sign for grandpa’s cheese barn sits off the road and a leftover from the roadside attractions of the 1960s.
One stretch of asphalt sounds like a distant truck horn under my tire. Underpasses I pass under, and I noticed the detail of the variations of paint and rust in the morning light. I find it extremely interesting and I hope that others do too.
Another grandpa’s cheese barn sign at exit 186 lodging at 186 and another food sign for 186 all the same restaurants as home plus grandpa’s cheese barn. I can see it off to my left of the distance.
Township Road 1153 and a coffee cup too hot to touch. Back to cruise control. Orange diamonds, yellow diamonds, one side saying construction the next 10 miles but nothing in front of me for at least four of them. Two rickety old billboards set off to the left on top of the field. Another road work sign. Still no construction. Exit 169 billboard informs me about Wendy’s 5 miles ahead and I pass in and out of a blasted out hillside to make way for the 71.
Every stop has service. There’s a Utah license plate. A new bronco towing an old bronco. I’m reminded that it’s a work zone. The car depths towards the Mansfield valley just past exit 169. Off in the near distance is a circus of restaurants, hotels and a lonely sign by itself it says “Adult“ in big black letters with a pink boarder. Roadwork has ended.
An oversized American flag waves in slow motion to the right of the highway. Columbus is 57 miles away in Cincinnati is 163 miles. There are extremely large farms in Minnesota. My wife’s mother grew up on 1000 acres. Ohio farms are tiny patches covered in crops, cell towers, and the occasional telephone pole.
Entering Morrow County. To my right is a billboard that says “advertise here” to my left, another with the phrase, “Holy matrimony is one man and one woman.” Another Cell tower and another overpass. There is no smell of oil in my car. I’m 39 minutes from my destination. Expected arrival is 8:18 with 40 miles to go speed is 74 miles an hour. Cruise control is set to 80 I am roughly burning 30 miles to the gallon with 160 miles left in my tank.
The road beige from use. Traffic a complete stop. It’s impossible to see what’s going on with traffic along the northern route. The smell of oil returns. There is that Silverado work truck again
Hudson Street is a quarter mile. 17th Ave. is one and a quarter mile and 11th Ave. is one and 3/4 mile. Another sign says end of roadwork. There was no roadwork. My exit is Main Street. The next overpass is looks like it was shot up with paintballs of rusty water. Two cars cut me off and a semi slams his horn everybody stops. The final 300 feet is the most dangerous of the entire trip. I arrive
Now, after a day of work I return to the road. Bright clouds filtered through my dirty windshield.
Don’t fool yourself. Technology is never meant to improve the lives of others. Its soul purpose is to dominate.