It was dark. It had been over an hour since I saw the lights of Danbury. During that time, it was like I was viewing my life from the outside looking in. Eighteen years had disappeared in a moment, and now even though those years were everything I knew, I had no idea what was next and I did not think about the future. It was strange, I knew my future would come no matter what. Music played. Wings Over America, Eliminator, Low Budget. 

I thought about the last day, the hours leading up to my departure. Tom could not understand why I wanted to travel at night and I thought of it as a way to keep traffic to a minimum, to keep from working the car in the heat of the day, and I liked stealth. Tom and I had gotten up and went for coffee. He told me that there was really good chrome paint at a parts store in town. We went there and bought some. We also went looking around a junkyard for no apparent reason. 38 Special’s One Time for Old Times played again and again on the stereo in the red 77 Nova.

Early afternoon, Tom and I went to my Aunt and Uncle’s house. Now I had to say goodbye to them and Amy and Bobby. It was so hard to leave them. Amy and I had fought with a vengeance over the years just as she and Brooke and Brooke and I had. When we thought about it though, we all loved each other very much. I am very blessed. Bobby was only twenty-one months old and I would certainly miss him. Leaving was overwhelming. When Tom and I returned to the Nova in the drive, the tears welled up in my eyes. “I know, it’s so hard”, he said quietly. I could tell in his words, he knew exactly how this felt.

Tom was tired. His job made him irritable. He could not seem to have a good time on this last day of mine in Connecticut. No matter what I thought of doing or how hard I tried to make light-hearted attempts at cheering him up, it did not work. After painting the rims of my car with the new chrome paint we went back inside. We took a nap. I had planned to anyway because I was to leave at midnight tonight. Sleep came easy to Tom, but not to me. When on the threshold of such a great solo expedition, sleep is impossible. I thought of how I had overcome so many hurdles.  Months ago, my car had been beaten into the ground. I did not let this stop me from my trip. Tires and windows were replaced with even better ones than the originals. I installed a Superior steering wheel at the helm and a fine split-bench/bucket seat to navigate from. A Panasonic car stereo that I rebuilt for good measure. In a few short months, I had come a long way.

I did not get to sleep. If anything, I got rest which counts for something. If the nap did anyone good, it was Tom. He was revitalized and a new man when he awoke. Tom’s refreshment came with a good idea. He suggested we go to the movie theater and watch Star Trek III The Search for Spock. I loved this movie! It became my most favored Star Trek Movie ever.

“My God Bones, what have I done?” asked Admiral James T. Kirk as he and his crew stood on the surface of the Genesis planet and watched their gallant Enterprise burn up as it entered the atmosphere in a massive fireball. It gave me chills as I sat there and saw it for the first time and it still does every time I think of it.

The movie ended at 11:07 P.M. We headed back to Tom’s house. Now, echoes of the day; saying goodbyes, the paint, 38 Special’s One Time for Old Times, all reverberating inside of my mind mixing with the heavy, moist night air. The air that I breathed reminded me of when I was much younger and my family would get ready for a trip down to the beach at Sherwood Island.  We would get up at around 4 in the morning and prepare to meet the rest of the family for the long road trip down to the coast. 

 Less than an hour before my departure brought a silence about. This was really going to happen now. Certainly, Tom and I would miss our being able to hang around together. We had no idea when the next time would be when we would see each other again. We were the best of friends.

11:45 P.M.

I got into the Dodge and turned the key……….. I thought at that moment of how I had not run my car since I had arrived at Tom’s house the evening before. I thought of how there was a noticeable oil leak that I had no idea of its origin. I heard stepfather telling me that driving a car to Texas with 109,000 miles on it was foolish…….and of course, that sweet 225 slant six engine of Victoria-Lynn started right up on the second revolution of her starter. When I placed my hands on the seeing wheel it felt like home, but new at the same time.  I felt like I was turning the handles on doors never touched before.  I could feel myself soaking in this feeling. Tom and I talked for a few minutes, long enough to allow the temperature gauge to move up to a normal area.

11:57 P.M.

Tom shook my hand and said that he would at least have the privilege of being the last person in Connecticut to see me (except the gas station attendant in Danbury anyway). I shifted into reverse and backed out of the driveway. I was underway and in a state of shock that my long-awaited mission was finally underway. I had planned this trip only forever now. 

The New Day Sunday, June 24th, 1984 12:01 A.M.

That faithful 225 made its friendly tip tip tip noise under the hood such as they normally do. The roadways were pretty vacant. I slid the tape into the tape deck that I had made at Tom’s house. When I arrived in Port Aransas, the tape would be named the 2279 Rock Tape since that was how many miles the odometer would acquire en route. Lots of Paul McCartney of course, mostly from the Wings Over America LP They all played on; You Gave Me the Answer, Go Now, Band on the Run, Magneto and Titanium Man, Listen to What the Man Said. By the time I was washed by the night lights of Danbury, ZZ Top’s Legs played. It seemed that I had somehow been out of it up until now. Numb really. My computer-like mind kept flashing back to the past fall, winter, and spring. Toys R Us, Lone Oak Campsites, Kennedy High School. Nights the previous winter, staying up all night every other night. Suddenly the flashbacks dissipated with the cutting-edge bright lights of Danbury, with its signs warning of the impending New York state. ZZ Top Eliminator songs played along with the city.

New York, The Empire State the sign read. I knew that it would be a long time before I would see Connecticut again. My real driving experience only went back to the previous fall. I had my license for longer than that but did not drive all of that time. I did lack experience. Sure, Waterbury was no picnic. It would be nothing compared to what was ahead. Traveling in the summer means that road construction is everywhere. I became very familiar with this over the next few days.

Everything was new. It was 1984, so concrete slab highways were still a thing. They had their own way of keeping you awake. 1:30 AM. This being my first journey outside of Connecticut, I was borderline paranoid about the noises that I had heard while driving along. I drove as one would if he were expecting a wheel to fall off at any second. Grooved pavement really spiced things up for me. This concrete slab grooved stuff made a noise like air escaping from a tire. I even got off an exit to walk around and make sure all was well at one point. 

The Southern Tier Expressway. I turned onto it, and my travel took on a sweetness. Although 17 was mostly a limited access highway, it had its times when the speed limits would reduce and you could find yourself actually driving through a small town. I found my new highway, New York state route 17, The Southern Tier Expressway. On this road, it was like a no man’s land. I was beginning to feel like I was the last person in the world. The road was a concrete slab and very noisy as the radial tire slapped the joints again and again. Every now and then, I would turn on the dome light to get a look at the speedometer. To my surprise, I was only traveling 45-48 miles per hour. I tried to speed it up a little. The feeling of belonging nowhere was the finest of new discoveries.

3:15 A.M.

The bright lights of the city of Binghampton, New York shook me out of my misty dream world. I had been watching my gauges, alert for any adverse occurrences.

I began to acquire a fondness for Route 17. Like the first trip I ever made in the fall of 1983 to Lone Oak with my car,  this was my next big open road. It was more than just the beginning of the journey. Route 17 slowed down for many towns along the highway so that you could really dip into their quaint naiveté but for only a moment and then blaze onto the next village hidden in the gentle mountain green. Crawling along at 45 miles per hour I was really enjoying my tour and even more so, wondered what was further on down the road. Although I was somewhat inexperienced with real traveling, I did not worry about where I might sleep at the end of this night’s travel. There was certainly a bit of excitement of sweet anticipation for where I would stop, where I would eat, whom I would talk to, and of course, the biggest one of all, seeing my father after four years. I shook my head at life’s ironies. Here I was an adult now. On the radio, the great WKBW in Buffalo filled my radio with a strength I never had the honor to have before.

It was the summer of 1976 in Torrington, Connecticut. The year of the Bicentennial. My Grandfather had given me a short-wave radio from 1962. He showed me how to hook this radio up and attach a speaker to it. There was a television antenna hanging off the attic ceiling. I hooked the radio to this. The radio was soon whisked away up to my secret clubhouse sort of thing. In the attic, there were 3 rooms. my friend Frank and I decorated this small attic room you could not even stand up in and had one of the coolest 70’s pads one could imagine up there and from the slanted wall ceiling hung one huge American Flag and posters etc.

Frank and I continued to listen to WQQW at night. We were very much into staying up late. Unfortunately at midnight, QQW would drop off from the airwaves. I really thought QQW was a very noble station at the time since during Hurricane Belle, they stayed on the air all night. I told Frank, “WQQW is a night station.” This really meant that after nine at night, I had heard them get serious and play some really heavy tunes, like Peter Frampton. QQW drops off the air on July 13, 1976. Frank being his old irritating self states, “I thought you said WQQW was a night station, and yet here at midnight, they sign off. We have no music now.

1680 is down at the very bottom of the AM dial. I take hold of the massive tuning knob and turn it counterclockwise to back up the dial. A voice. A sweet voice. A sweet woman’s voice. Music follows. Good music follows. We listen. I continued to listen to WKBW for many years like it was an old friend. Right now KB radio was warning me that it was raining in western New York. Sooner or later, I would see rain.

Campville, Oswego, Waverly. I pulled off the highway in Waverly just as the daylight was coming about. My projected stop was Allegheny State Park, but for now, this was a coffee and donut stop. The town was small and quiet. I sat behind the wheel, checking mileage, gas consumption, and oil usage. It looks like my car decided to take care of the mysterious oil leak that had plagued her in the weeks preceding.

I went inside the donut shop I was parked in front of. The woman inside hardly said a word. I was the only one in there. The aroma of coffee weaved in and out of my senses while I felt the calling of my vehicle from beyond the glass window. I did not understand that as a person of the male species, I would be one of those individuals that when traveling wants to do nothing but drive constantly taking in all of the sites at a comfortable 60 (or 48 in this case) miles per hour, stopping only when the gas gauge induces blackmail. I envied John Steinbeck. His wisdom and worldliness allowed him to hold great conversations with all he encountered in his travels. For now, deficient, I gave in and went back out to the Dodge. I would never learn about the silent woman, her struggles, dreams or family.  She was no more than a highway road sign or a kiosk I was passing.

I knew after looking at the map that if I were to sleep over at Allegany State Park, I would have to really drive for much longer than I had already. In other words, Allegany was not going to be. I knew that I was too tired to drive on for that long. Reality is a curious thing I was finding out.

The next town was Elmira. This was the first biggest town since Binghampton that I had encountered since cutting through the misty darkness of that lonely city in the wee hours of the morning.

It had begun to rain. I continued up route 17, perhaps even too far. I was tired. The day before spent with Tom was a long one. Hard to believe that was all within the last 24 hours. It amazed me at how one can disconnect so easily. My eyes were getting heavy. I decided that it would be best if I stopped to rest for a while so as not to risk falling asleep at the wheel. I pulled into a rest area. I got out of the car and checked the map in the rest area directory. I was 30 miles north of where I should have been. This proves I was not awake. I bought a Coke from the machine on site and took a couple of sips. I fell back into my faithful Dodge and cleared away the pile of maps and tapes I had already accumulated on the front seat. I then curled up on the front seat and drifted off to sleep.

I had tried several measures to make sleeping on the front seat of a 1972 Dodge Dart more accommodating before I left Connecticut. My best-failed idea was to remove the rear seat bottom, then push the front seat as far back as I could. Then I could insert the back seat bottom in front of the front seat bottom to make a double bed if you will. O.K. idea but in reality, it did not work. The seat would have to be jammed into place and this would cause the brake lights to stay on. Sleep here in Bath, New York had certainly done me some good because I was now alright to drive. Rain still poured down on this gray Sunday morning. Despite this, it felt so good to be doing what I was doing and I looked forward to the miles and days ahead.

For now, I decided that if I could make a 30-mile mistake, I could continue to make mistakes all day on a rainy Sunday. I resolved to find a place to get some real sleep. I consulted my ALA travel book. The book advised that 34 miles up the road lay a quiet refuge in the village of Alfred called Squirrels Nest Motel.

The book was correct. I followed a highway billboard to a very well-groomed the finest touch. I laughed as I thought of how this was a place that would have cringed should Tom, Gary, Steve, and all of the rest of us pulled into the parking lot in convoy fashion as we so enjoyed to do and packed down with guitars, amplifiers, and the rest, well, you know.

People received me quite well despite the look. Here I was eighteen years old and lucky if I weighed 125 pounds. My hair had just been permed the weekend before and this permanent did not take too well. My hair was certainly a mess. I had the beard that wasn’t. I had waited all of my life to grow a beard. I would not let a few bare spots stop me from having one. In the wonderous wisdom of hindsight, I unquestionably would have waited a couple of years. Despite my rude outwardly appearance and the tiredness that had worn hard on me by now, the proprietor was very courteous. She was a pleasant yet intense woman at least old enough to be my mother.

My well-tailored hostess led me into this small sitting room after making out the registration. There was coffee and pastry in this room against one wall. This room was apparently built or possibly remodeled in the early to mid-seventies. The ominous paneled walls and low drop ceiling made me wonder if it took one or two weekends to build this room.

We sat down in chairs across from each other. This woman had a talent that at this point in my life I did not understand. “I hope the rain does not amount to much”, she said as we watched the raindrops bouncing off of the window sill. She told me of terrible rains that had recently pounded the small village of Alfred, causing tens of thousands in damage. I was my usual polite self as always. This woman’s secret screening technique which I was totally oblivious to came to a close and I looked forward to retiring to my room and a real bed for a few hours of rightful sleep.

It was no big deal. My first motel room as an adult happened here. I was proud that I found such friendly accommodations for $24.95. It had one of those massaging beds which I knew, would not be necessary to put me to sleep. I climbed into crisp sheets and felt the weight of the blankets on me. My back ached in mild approval. I could still feel those p185 75r14 Goodyear Vivas running down the concrete slab of Route 17, (thump thump, thump thump, thump thump) almost like a heartbeat. I drifted off into a motion memory sleep. I belonged nowhere, and it was sweet.