My car has offered me freedom since I first acquired my own in my mid-20's. At the time, I lived far from my relatives while attending school. My univercity's city had vestigial public transit, only a bus system. The rail line would appear decades later. To visit my father in one city, my girlfriend in another, and my future in-laws at their home in another, would take me two days as a solo driver, though a marathon through performance with shared driving. By myself, I would only drive long distances in daylight or not much past supper during winter's darkness. That remains true today, after 47 years of marriage, as my wife defers the driving to me.
My car has remained my freedom. I go anywhere and everywhere around town at whim. Commuting during my working years got bundled into my work. Adjacent cities, maybe a radius of 150 miles, get visited with little planning. I've also done longer trips, those needing an overnight stay, though never two overnight stays. This task offers a challenge. I have destinations. A resort, different city, wife time someplace where we've not visited before, the National Parks with auto rentals, wine country east and west.
Until recently, as I reached my senior years, the territory traversed often captured my interest more than the arrival to a destination. Crossing into states I'd not visited before. Mountains. Farms. Roads that have no route numbers. I've stopped for coffee at convenience stores, wondering why somebody or their ancestors opted to settle in an isolated place.
Interstates have become the mainstay of destination connections. There seem to be two genres. Some states, particularly NY and PA, have created dedicated turnpikes. The NY State Thruway and Pennsylvania Turnpike each came about by intentional design. Not always what everyone regards as intelligent design. The Highway Departments determined where the exits best belong, often scores of miles apart. These connect to smaller roads, also operated by the state, to let visitors get to attractions or rural state colleges, often located a considerable distance from the limited-access highway. Tolls support them. So do franchise fees paid by businesses to market their travel services at designated rest stops.
The other format developed in a less planned manner. Roads already existed connecting places that travelers were already visiting. These thoroughfares received federal dollars for improvement. The upgraded, high-speed roads include more frequent exit ramps. Instead of dozens of miles, their town connections are usually a few miles. Towns each have their history, but most came as a consequence of federal land parcels, towns created by railroad construction, or land grants to establish educational institutions. These have an element of free enterprise cooperating with government. As a driver approaches each off-ramp, the Interstate Highway System posts a sign with where drivers can find a place to eat, stay, and refuel as needed. Most of these services come from regional or national corporations which either own or franchise the individual businesses. As a driver, I could get a sense of what convenience stores operated over that region and gasoline that sells regionally as well as nationally. The hotels are nearly always national, but occasionally an independent inn in a more remote area will pay a fee to have its motel on the interstate sign.
The hotels have figured out that motorists overestimate or underestimate how much distance they can safely cover. Reservations can be made by cell phone from the convenience store or gas station before the anticipated stop, or we've just stopped and asked for a room. Sold out rarely happens. Drivers need little more than a bed and some coffee to enable the next day's drive. Since most interchanges have multiple gasoline options, the price stays regionally competitive. Along the way, signs indicate attractions. I've found a few wineries or distilleries to lightly sample as I stretch. I've made spot decisions to stop at a university I've seen play sports on TV. The wineries in particular often situate their vineyards a few miles from their interstate, enabling a few minutes of leisurely motoring without traffic or teamsters getting their rigs as far as possible before union or ICC rules force them to drive off to where they can sleep in their modern truck cab for the required hours.
As I get older, my tolerance for time behind the wheel has ebbed. To attend a vital family event, I drove five hours along the Pennsylvania Turnpike, coming and going. I found the drive tedious, probably a consequence of central planning that the less planned interstates avoid. Monotonous scenery. State rules limit billboards, which often provide quick visual respites that benefit drivers. Few buildings to see from the roadway. Tunnels, four of them, offered welcome relief. Since the Turnpike connects secondary roads, I exited once time in each direction to find a place for lunch. These regional centers, small towns that function independent of metropolitan areas, each had convenience stores and familiar name restaurants a short drive from the interchange with easy access back. While the state franchise fast food at the rest stops, it does not sponsor lodging. Most of the regional towns will have the familiar motel chains or motorists can identify them online by either exiting or letting a passenger access the options on the cell phone.
I found the driving tiring, something I had tolerated much more easily during my school years, driving a similar route and beyond. The thrill of getting there, those stops at wineries or shopping malls instead of regional convenience stores, did not happen. No family eateries like I encountered often at Interstate Exits, which I drove from the airport to the western National Parks. No bridges with gorges, no railroads running parallel to the interstate. Just a conduit to get me to where I wanted to be as quickly as a car can cruise control at speed limit. Something planned by bureaucrats and technocrats. Functional. Beauty and meaningful visual interest not included in the plans.
