The Endless Road

“The Americans have found the healing of God in a variety of things, the most pleasant of which is probably automobile drives.” ― William Saroyan, Short Drive, Sweet Chariot

There are souvenirs of memory from each and every road trip I've taken, slices of image and intensity that I carry about in my mind's eye, that remind me of the road, always the endless road ...

From my latest trip, only a week ago, these images are of flashes of lightning, on the horizon, that light up the Issan countryside, the low and distant grumble of thunder, and the pounding, ceaseless rain. It is the sensation I have of avoiding the left lane, where the puddles are forming so deep that they could cause us to hydroplane and throw us off the road.

And all along the way Tan and I are talking about family, and where we've grown up, the fights, the love, the feelings we've had, of growing up and going separate ways, of returning, of the ties that bind, as the rain pelts the windshield, as we surge deeper into the darkness.

Issan Map courtesy of The Isaan blog

Another flash of lightening illuminates the rice fields about us, and the low rumble of thunder follows some minutes later. We're not about to get hit anytime soon, but like any of heaven's fireworks displays, the threat is out there.

I feel like I've got to keep moving. Curfew, imposed by the military only that week, falls over the land at 10 p.m. All the 7-Elevens will be closed.

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These are the essential elements to a road trip in Thailand.

First, obviously, is the car, preferably a rental or something with a few miles on it, comfortable enough that you can chew away on sticky rice and pork sticks, or fried spring rolls. Food stands are everywhere. You can always stop and get more.

You should be able to move along the road at a good clip, able to pass the slow-moving trucks that slow down to a snail's pace on the uphills, and the tractors and motorcycles that hug the side of the road, contented in their crawling speed. Be aware of the invisible third-lane rule. Passing on blind curves and in no-pass areas is acceptable and encouraged. Speed limits are non-existent, as are police for the most part.

You should have a radio that can handle a revolving collection of CD's or that can hook up to your I-Pod.

There should be some significant mileage attached to the trip, and you should be far outside of Bangkok, in the wide open spaces of the northeast, the mountains of the north, or the forests that still remain on the Burmese border. The trip has to be a minimum 350 kilometers and anywhere up to 800 kilometers to be considered a true road trip.

Third, if you're lucky, you need the right traveling companion, who talks or doesn't talk as the moment requires, who'll shepherd the music, and point out the food stands. Who, if she can't drive, can keep you well fed on sticky rice and pork sticks.

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Other images skitter through my mind's eye, from long ago, before gas prices became a seasonal guessing game, the tail-end of my post-college road trip across the U.S., Canada, and Mexico.

It's the middle of the night, and there's not a lot to see in the darkness as we roll through the lower Piedmont of Virginia, the usual American highway junk architecture of gas stations which are largely closed at this hour, rest stops which are closed, and the occasional darkened house and restaurant. Trucks are in all lanes though, and I'm keyed into what I learned long ago about the use of lights and “truck chat,” flicking the high beams to signal that the truck driver can safely merge into the right lane ahead of you. The trucker indicates the reception of “truck chat” when he flashes his riding lights.

Graceland Ticket and photo of Subaru

I am traveling with two college friends. Bryan has “navigator” duties, in charge mainly in keeping me awake at 3 a.m., and Craig is fast asleep in the back of this small Subaru we've used the whole way. It's a tight fit, but it has served its purpose, taking us from east to west and back again. What are we talking about? What we will finally do after college? Where we'll be when this grand trip is over? These details are lost in the years.

Unfortunately, we've burned through all our summer earnings. We've checked off the last thing on our list, Graceland in Tennessee, honoring Elvis by laying a half-eaten fruitcake on his grave and then running away before any of his most rabid adherents notice. Now, it's more than a 1,000 miles from Memphis, Tennessee to Albany, New York.

I've reached my 500-mile limit. I get to toss and turn and pretend to sleep, staring at the morning light above me, feeling the car pass and merge, pass and merge, while Craig will get “navigator” duties. Bryan decides it's appropriate for a little Guns N' Roses wake up music.

As the first touches of dawn reach the sky, we speed along, with “Welcome to the Jungle” screaming through the speakers.

And when you're high you never

Ever want to come down, YEAH!

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There are the essential elements for a road trip in the U.S.

The car should be a rental, or one of those older models, which used to get 40 miles to a gallon, comfortable enough that you can chew away on McDonald's french fries and drink Mountain Dew, oblivious to the stains you might leave behind, to the tomato ketchup that might spill here and there.

Food will be hard to find, but it's best to stick to diners and other smaller local restaurants unless you want to feed the corporate beast.

You should be able to move along the road at a good clip, keep pace with the truck convoys that move along the nation's roadways like an army on the move. The police are everywhere (especially at speed traps on state lines and hidden behind trees) so don't put the pedal too far to the metal, and be aware that everyone wants to pass you eventually. Passing on blind curves is unacceptable, and there is no third lane.

Image courtesy of Retro Road Maps

You should have a radio that can handle a revolving collection of CD's or a hook-up to your I-Pod. Once you get out of the range of major cities, there's nothing you want to listen to on the radio.

It's a big country, so plan carefully, and know the secondary highways for the times when the interstates jam up. To be considered a true road trip, you should log at least 300 miles in one day, and should be topped at 500 if you ever want to get out of the car. Texas is impossible to drive through in one day, but you can pass through all six states of New England in a flash.

Finally, you need the right traveling companions, who will handle the navigator duties and keep you awake, and hand you the Mountain Dew as needed.

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Another colder memory comes to the surface of the mind's eye.

It's been snowing since the morning, and we're heading southeast to New Hampshire. Interstate 89 is horrific during storms, snow piles forming quickly on the upper elevations south of Barre. It's best to avoid the interstates on days like these, but it's Thanksgiving, our first back in the States since we moved from Thailand during the summer.

Down a Snowy Road - Hillsboro, NH

We've got a date with a warm house, a big turkey and the family.

We've got a Subaru Legacy, nicknamed “Bobo,” which has four wheel drive, and is equipped with Hakkapeliitta studded snow tires, “Hakkas,” given to us by Craig's father, that grip to the road like velcro. Other poor souls are in the ditches, like Matchbox cars thrown to the wayside via the whims of the angry Weather Gods.

There's a muffling quality to snow, much different from the pounding rain, but the challenges demand your attention. You've got to correct into the skid if the car begins to fishtail, and the elaborate ritual of unfreezing and de-icing the car is an art and science in itself, learned through repetition on cold mornings. But once you get moving and you're cocooned and moving through the endless frozen wasteland, it's like you've become invincible.

We've had our fill of Morning Edition on NPR and the early shows. Pink Floyd's “The Final Cut” is on the tape deck. The view outside has taken much of our attention, and we even see the Amtrak Vermonter train gliding through the white squall to our right as we move south of Burlington.

Tan is feeding me bits of muffin to supplement the coffee which by now is lukewarm. I can't keep crumbs from falling to my feet, but Bobo's an old car. He can take it.

The road trip rolls on ... into the whiteness ...