On the Road (Again)

Over the past few years, I’ve driven the Northway dozens of times. I’ve braved the open roads in every type of weather imaginable– clear skies to torrential downpours so heavy I couldn’t see the flashers from the car 10 feet ahead of me. I’ve driven it alone and with friends, with time to dawdle or in a rush, with great tunes coming from my radio, and once, in an unbearable, droning silence when my radio just couldn’t last any longer. Now, I’m not going to bore you with proper road etiquette or anything like that. I guess this is just my musing, from the best of my memory,  as I enjoyed the drive on I-87 today.

My view from the passenger's seat

The ride has been “my thinking time.” It’s almost five uninterrupted hours where I can bounce thoughts around in my head, or just get into the driving zone. It’s been therapeutic, it’s been relieving, it’s been exciting. No matter what it’s been, it’s been one of the most influential experiences I’ve had in the Adirondacks. After all, most of my views of the Adirondacks have been through the glass of my windshield.

I can recall my first impression of the Adirondacks, as I made my first trip up to Plattsburgh. I was in that in-between state of sleep and wakefulness, as my mother navigated through the mountains. I can remember the enormous gray shadows of mountains looming in the distance behind a light fog, their summits rounded  like the bellies of sleeping giants.  It didn’t impress me much, but the dozens of rides since then have changed that.  I love, love, love driving through the mountains now; it’s so familiar, yet so new each time. I’m amazed by the changes the forest makes as the year transitions.

I remember sunny, cool, autumn days when the forest was on fire with the gorgeous colors of fall foliage and the view looked like something off a post card. I tried once, with little success, to capture the awe-inspiring vistas on my camera phone. Autumn is always my favorite time of year to drive through because, honestly, what better time is there?

I can still feel the sticky humidity of summer drives where I rolled the windows all the way down, turned my music all the way up, and gave thanks to the trees when their shadows provided a cool relief from the sun’s relentless beating on my car. The smell of summer is always so rich and fresh, intensified as I zip by the road markers and the grass and earth baking under the sun.

I can recall the most atrocious snowstorm during an evening two years ago, and the only time I ever went off the road in my lucky old ‘98 Dodge Stratus. The feeling of having the open road to myself in the huge Adirondack Park as evening approached wasn’t so great,  nor was the frustration of losing my cell service every time I called 911 to ask for help. That was the only time the road ever betrayed me. Its black ice was undetectable, unlike the dent left in my door as a reminder that even a slow crawl in a snow storm can be too fast.

But today, as I made my way back to school from my hometown four and a half hours away, the ride was different. Usually, I am the driver, but the untimely death of my beloved car meant that this time I caught a ride back with a friend. As the passenger, the ride was so familiar, yet still unrecognizable, like a family member you haven‘t seen in years. I thought back on all the time I’d spent racing along, counting white lines pass by. I overlooked all of the landmarks I used to gauge my distance in favor for the details I missed out on while I was focusing on the road, like the waterfalls that gushed out exuberantly from the craggy rock walls lining the road.

It was an incredibly different experience, and it reconnected me to how beautiful the park is, even when it’s muddy and the sky is gray, like it was today. I loved coasting over miles and miles of pavement and being able to just enjoy the environment. It gave me an odd, wonderful sense of satisfaction.