northward

5-6 Sept.2010

Curving up the on-ramp to I-95, I left those souls of the fiery bath behind in rose colored lights and rose north and ultimately ‘back’ in a literal and divinely comedic turning point to my voyage across our United States. As I pulled the helm to the right and ascended the ramp, the city, she did, had one more surprise for me. As far as leaping faiths go, mine veered left to the concrete guard rail when I swerved to miss the stow-away amphibian that leaped in his, or her, own faith on to the steering-wheel in front of my face. Realizing that swerving was not in my best interest, I corrected my trajectory and continued my fleeting escape with now fleeting heart.

And, as fairytale a story I might tell, this frog was not a guest with whom I would be kissing and much less in lethal Miami traffic. When he hopped away trying each window and crevice for a chance to test his own luck on the road, I was relieved… until he once again flew across my trained road gaze and onto the window beside me. Nerves of steel saved me, but when he fell off and onto my arm I would have let his fate be the window had I not peered down into his crystalline eyes and seen the empty hopelessness of a lost Miami soul looking for his own north. I knew then that he too must ascend from the brimstony waters and hop on with me to Orlando, but when I arrived to set him free an hour’s search through the car for his poor soul produced nothing. Perhaps he did find his north because I never did smell him.

The rest of the road north was quiet. I entered Georgia in my thoughts. What had I seen this summer? Where had I been? Who had I met?

(this will be a video as soon as I get finished editing it, until then enjoi photos)

 

Northward I ascended, almost a straight shot of 650 miles from Orlando to Winston-Salem, North Carolina. Along the way, I stopped in Savannah, Georgia to see the fuss and found a city bustling with tourists and gawkers of all types. I didn’t stay but a minute and continued my journey through South Carolina.

When the day was done, I stepped out at my next respite at a friend’s house near Winston-Salem. The real southern treat, apart from the accent, was a family of smiling faces, eager to hear about my trip. I told what I could divulge of my thoughts thus far. How I’d run east like a bandit out of California to Arizona and discovered my mission, outlawing my way past the Southwest at dust billowing speeds with stops in Albuquerque for New Mexican cuisine and Dallas to banter wittily, holed up with a gang of meddlers in Tennessee, sat back and listened in Mississippi, and “played like young cats [the six-toed kind] in the dusks” of Florida.

 

After only a night’s stay in the superfluous southern hospitality home of my friend and a short guided tour of Winston-Salem, I have to be on my way. The Wild West calls to me and there’s no place like home.




.s.