 |
| (not my photo) |
Some truck drivers are bullies…following vehicles in
the passing lane riding bumper to intimidate the poor lil’ old lady going seven
miles over the speed limit, instead of eleven, in front of him. Our culture
of speed has created a sense of entitlement to be furious and righteously
nasty to someone who is driving slower than you want to go—even if that person
is driving the speed limit, or a little above it. It’s maddening enough when
private vehicle drivers are aggressive and dangerous, but we should have a zero
tolerance policy for aggressive behavior by commercial drivers. And don’t get
me going on trucker games blocking lanes for miles at a time.
But, alas, the citizen driver is anything but
saintly. The greatest peeve is the turn signal: some drivers don’t even know
that you are supposed to flick that little bar to show they are turning; or
maybe it is the manufacturer’s fault, because there are a lot of cars whose
indicator signals do not seem to function properly. Then, of course, are those
drivers who assume that when they turn on blinker they have right of way to
pull into your lane, even though you are currently in their line of sight and
listening to their already blaring radio.
As travelers along the interstates we learned once
again to always check your surroundings. We stopped at the southern Virginia state line
rest stop for the night. Within three
hours time we were approached by strangers; one, who we saw depart a very used,
blackened window van, with Florida plates, knocked on the motor home door
asking for money. These Florida panhandlers were politely
refused, since we had seen them approaching several vehicles and harassing a
poor elderly man as he was trying to throw garbage away. Just as we were
contacting security the van pulled out, assumedly to go onto the next rest stop. Then, while Dave was securing the Jeep he was
taken off guard by a man, with a confusing dialect, who asked Dave if he was
the owner of a truck nearby. It was obvious to Dave that the man was attempting
to gain access into the rig. So, to those who read this blog, be a little more
aware of surroundings than usual on interstates, whether you are in a big rig
or a little volkswagon, because one can never be too safe.
So, on this first day of October we are beginning
the second leg of our journey home. Did
you ever hear the ditty ‘black as the inside of your grandfather’s hat’? A required fashion item for men during the 1950s-60s; my grandfather
had a grey fur felt Homburg with a center crown crease with a flat bowed
grosgrain ribbon on the band…men’s stylish hats seems to be on the shelf with
other antiquities such as women’s dress gloves and seamed stockings. Ah, and I
regress. So, as a child do you remember putting your father’s or grandfather’s
Homburg up to your face; perhaps you got a whiff of peppermint and cigar as
well as Vitalis, but opening your eyes in the bowl of that hat was like turning
off the stars is the skies… so dark, with nothing to focus on; that was what it
was like getting on the road this morning after a not so good night’s sleep at
the Virginia Welcome Center rest stop. Thank goodness the moon was still out and
there was no detrimental weather. |
| Allee (not my photo) |
As the day brightened and temperatures began to rise
we pass the familiar coastal plains we now call home. Long ago abandoned dirt
roads, allees, are canopied with stands of hardwoods and pines.
 |
| Cotton field (not my photo) |
Our corridor of travel gives us panoramas of errant
yellow pine trees growing among acres of
low-to-the-ground shrubs holding fast to its cotton bolls waiting for harvest,
stalks of grass with ripened milo that will be used to feed the cows and pigs
during the winter as well as the soy beans growing along side. Butterball-sponsored turkey hatcheries are
scattered along the byroads.
 |
| Family Cemetery (not my photo) |
Along the rural stretches of state routes
there are intimate family cemeteries sitting near the roadside; grave markers whisper softly
of bygone eras, when mothers, fathers, children, aunts, uncles and cousins
lived within walking distance of each homestead and worked the land and favored
Sunday morning church together for generations.
Arriving at our driveway mid-day on this sunny Saturday afternoon we are hearing of warnings and preparation recommendations for the nearing Hurricane Matthew. In the meantime, we will be off and camping on November 1st with the RV Club and then will continue on our way to sunny FLA.
 |
| LIFE IS SHORT; ENJOY THE RIDE |
No comments:
Post a Comment