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|
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.
The Road is Life.