Watching the map, it’s almost painful to see Maryland scrolling a mere inch below our chosen route. We’re edging in on the mountain roads of Pennsylvania, sitting tucked in between guard-rails and 18-wheelers. Out of the states we’ve visited, I think Pennsylvania (despite my mom’s beliefs) stays one of my favourites. It has moments of mountains and plains and rivers – just about anything there is to be desired out of other parts of the country can be found in this square state.
Life’s not quite as slow as it is in the Midwest, but the people are friendlier than they are in the coastal cities.
All these photographs I’d taken of snow and storm to instill jealousy in my friends, and everything pales in comparison to the blanket of winter that’s already fallen out here. I’m the jealous one, craving a soup-smelling home full of friends and Battlestar Galactica.
Maybe Pennsylvania is only so wonderous by comparison to the never-ending nothing that was Ohio, and maybe it’s just nostalgia…
They haven’t made a camera yet that would capture tonight’s sunset. Caught between buildings as I’m pumping gas in Bowmanville, Pennsylvania – stripes of crimson and orange like some garrish backdrop painted over the forest behind the rest stop.
Return to I-76 shivering – blasting hot air from the vents of the Saturn, listening to Jude Cole.
Sigh – we’ve encountered our first traffic since Thanksgiving Day. I’d almost forgotten the helpless amber feeling of being trapped in this wonderful car conveyence and going NOWHERE. Blinkers flashing as people race down the shoulders and merge on to one another. Is it just the loss of a lane? Is it an accident? Is it congestion or a jumper or a speed trap or merely the offchance happenstance of people unable to go over 30mph for too long at a stretch?
I miss the interstate with a passion.
