| My brother and
I left Schenectady and headed east. The thought of heading
east in America must be a relatively revolutionary activity - this
little country of ours has forever been westward heading since all
those little Pilgrims arrived so neatly on that little Rock.
The highways were just as I remembered them - the New York
Thruway and the Mass Pike - the biggest and most expensive
transportation boondoggle Massachusetts ever witnessed - until the
Big Dig - are fine, fast roads to travel on. A bit boring in
the middle, but the landscape somehow changed in my mind over the
years I've spent in Texas, and suddenly, the once mundane pine tree
lined roads, gentle cliffs of the Berkshires and the lists of town
names all took on a foreign feel - it was like I was visiting for
the first time.
The radio decided to play tricks on my head as well - for some
reason, every station - no matter the format - rock, butt rock, rap,
oldies - all decided it was 1993 again and played a Nirvana, Pearl
Jam, Dee Lite heavy rotation that seemed as surreal as it did almost
unbearable after a couple hours.
There was one small respite - like the blue skies overhead for
once this trip - I came across Journey's 'Don't
Stop Believin' and decided to let it simmer in the car for a
while as a sarcastic little ode to a simpler time. I didn't
think anyone could appreciate that song. Without fail, my
brother started singing along and tapping his foot. Since he
was driving, I was polite, left him to his muse, and quietly let the
song play out event free.
Continue your journey to Milford...
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