THE CHARM OF THE HIGHWAY STRIP
I don't live a crazy life. I’m not attracted to danger and rarely do things most people would deem ill-advised (other than having the occasional second Armagnac). I don’t climb mountains or free dive, I’m perfectly comfortable at sea level. But as I sat in Chicago traffic the other day—and there are few things like Chicago traffic—I was seriously considering completing a drive from the Catskills to Wisconsin in one day. I had already been on the road for more over 12 hours. To complete the trip would require another five or six. A eye-watering total of more than 17 hours of driving. Now that struck me as either diabolically brilliant accomplishment or just diabolical. I couldn't tell which.
Now I’ve driven 12 hours a day quite a few times. I’ve even pushed 14, which I consider my rough limit. For some reason long distance driving does not bother me the way city driving does. I’m not one for tunnels, merging, stop lights and back ups. Not that all highway driving is the same. Interstates with trucks are not good. Wide open Montana highways with 80mph speed limits are, naturally, very good indeed. And when you’re going to be fishing at the end of the drive then even better.
On this drive I had the companionship of Anjelica Huston reading the second volume of her memoir, Watch Me. Her life with Jack and their travels around Europe and Aspen were remarkable. This romance was shattered when I waited for gas at an Indiana rest stop, which was a truly depraved spectacle. For some reason the fact that all the windshield washing stations were empty of liquid made me absolutely livid.
In any case, nothing could go wrong as long as I was with Anjelica. And then, oddly enough, I drove by a sign for an exit that had just one town on it: Angelica. Isn’t it strange how that happens? In another year, on another long distance drive, I was pulling out of Miles City, Montana and listening to the great Dispatches, by Michael Herr. And at that very moment he described recruits he met in Vietnam who came from all over America, including…Miles City. Miles City! It’s a small town in a huge state in an even larger country, what are the chances? These are the strange coincidences that are more appealing when you’re alone, driving for hours on nothing but regular unleaded, coffee and Snyder’s of Hanover pretzels.
I finally made it north of Chicago and it started to rain and get dark. Not what you want. I was only three hours away from our cabin but I was losing my edge. If I held fast I would arrive around 1am. Anjelica’s book was over. I could hear cans rattling in the cooler. I took the next exit, drank a beer in the parking lot and checked into a Holiday Inn Express. As I was about to head up to my room a rather large young couple emerged from the door to the pool and walked through the lobby in their swimsuits dripping wet. I got in bed and before I passed out I wondered about the benefits of good decisions. The next day the driving was an easy three hours. I was greeted by the dog and looked forward to an early lunch with my parents. Even after 17 hours on the road the highway felt very far away.