On the road again - and changing time zones

   INDIAN CREEK, Ohio - The concept of an RV park right in a rest area along a turnpike is a good one. You pull in, hook up to power and have a safe, well-lighted place away from the diesel trucks and the car parking lots where people zip and out of the place all night.

     That said, it's still pretty noisy with the constant thrum of Interstate 90 in the background. But it was easy to pull in and should be easy to pull out as soon as this is posted.
     The Red Writer is starting Day 3 of my cross-country sojourn from Seneca Lake to San Francisco.
     And thanks to the diesel trucks that cranked up their engines at 6 a.m., I will be getting an early start on the day.
     Day one was a short hop from Watkins Glen (and Amanda Smith-Socaris' hospitality) to Lakewood, NY. There  I spent the afternoon and evening with lifelong friend Doug Hooper. My head is still spinning with all the memories our conversations turned up.
     Yesterday was a nearly 300-mile run from Lakewood to this rest stop, the last stop on the Ohio Turnpike before entering Indiana as I lurch towards the Chicago traffic miasma. I hope I can find the same interstate bypass as Admiral Fox and I took when we came east in June.

Indian Creek RV parking

     The hardest part of the trip so far - other than staying awake while driving mile after mile after mile - has been forcing myself to slow down and look at things along the way.
     When I stopped last night at 5 p.m. - way earlier than Adm. Fox and I generally would pull over on any of our usual road trips - I was rewarded by meeting some very interesting folks from New Hampshire, heading to Montana for a family wedding.
     We shared a glass of wine, good conversation and I suspect next summer we might rendezvous someplace in their home state of New Hampshire.

    It was a good reminder of the words I read on a stone placed near author Jack Kerouac's grave in Lowell, Mass. when I was on another road trip a few weeks ago visiting amigo Dan Sundquist and his wife Sarah in New Hampshire before catching up with and my two sisters, Evelyn and Anne.
     His words?
     The Road is Life.
     Thanks Jack...