The appointment was scheduled for 3 in the afternoon and there was a whole list of errands to run before then. The initial plan was to drive to the nearest thing this area has as a city, drive through the city, and then back track to the appointment.
The more I thought about driving through all the stoplights, the more I disliked the idea. After all, I live in a county that has a total of five stoplights and they are all in the same town.....on the same street. That is when I made the decision to go about my destination with a different maneuver.
I left the house a little after noon, en route to the neighboring village with the 5 stoplights, and ran a couple of errands. From there I drove west until I crossed the state line into Missouri. The Mighty Mississippi is always a sight to behold and with the warmer temps, she was entirely free of ice. After making a couple of purchases, I headed back across the river and drove about six miles to a crossroad. There I was, at the crossroad of decision making. Go straight, and traverse the same road, or turn left?
I turned left and began a twenty mile journey along the river bottom, the road hugging close to the bluff. It was a fabulous day, the sun was shining and the temperature was unseasonably warm. I rolled the window down just a bit. I drove past farm houses of all sizes and colors and gazed across bare river bottom fields silently waiting to be planted. Every so often, a turkey buzzard would launch from the bluff to soar and glide on the warm air thermals rising from the valley.
The traffic was sparse. Maybe I met one or two cars, but I never had anyone ahead or behind me. The road was all mine. I gave thanks for the view and silently asked for a blessing on the car. If it gave up the ghost, I would be along side the road for a while. I asked for a sign, something I do a lot, to make sure my life was on the right track.
At the end of the twenty mile segment another decision needed to be made. Stay on the two lane road, or jump on the interstate. I drove across the overpass watching all the fast traffic and trailer trucks barreling down the 4 lane and never gave another thought to touching the brakes to slow for the exit ramp.
The two lane road began to climb the bluff. I smiled as I remembered the last time I was on this road. I was driving a school bus loaded with a ball team. Back then, the road was narrow and full of pot holes, but now it had been widened and resurfaced. As I reached the top of the bluff, I was thankful again for taking the road less traveled.
It just so happened that this road would take me directly to the place I needed to be at 3 o'clock. I still had plenty of time and eased off the gas pedal, again enjoying the now lofty view and the new pavement. There are two small towns on this stretch of road and I thought about how they were seemingly placed in an area that seems forgotten. Placed just far enough off the beaten path to be hidden from the masses. As more farm land rolled by I decided that being isolated was not such a bad thing after all.
The road skimmed past the first small burg and as I came upon the second town, a profound thought entered my head. This is the town where my father once lived. This is the town where he attended his first three years of high school. His father was a teacher, perhaps an administrator, and Dad had to move right before his senior year.
I wondered how hard that must have been on him. He had friends here, friends I never heard him talk about. He was just a young man, a teenager, when he walked these streets, looking ever so keen. I glanced down some of the side streets and realized that somewhere in this village there was probably still a house standing that he lived in. I thought it odd that he never talked much about his glory days. As the crow flies, the place he had to move to really was not that far from this place, maybe 20 or 30 miles, but I do not think he ever went back. But, eighty five years ago, a thirty mile trip was an all day road trip.
As I drove on, I came to the hill outside of town that begins the downward journey from the top of the river bluff. There are no curves in this part of the road, the hill is a straight shot down. The hill. That's when it hit me. There was a story Dad told from his high school days in this community. He and some friends drove out to the hill, one evening, where Dad got out of the car and strapped on a pair of roller skates. These were the old style steel roller skates that clamped onto the bottom of your shoe. After he made sure the skates were on good and tight, he held onto the back bumper of the car and down the hill they went. He always ended this tale with, "Man, were my feet hot when we got to the bottom!" I coasted down the hill, envisioning glowing red steel skate wheels.
While at my appointment I believe the sign I had early asked for revealed itself. I usually feel the need to share endless banter with this person I had to meet. But, while sitting across from her at the desk, I heard a voice tell me to "just be still". I did and the appointment was over in about five minutes.
I took the same road back through Dad's old stomping ground, wondering what other tales went with this small town and headed home. I arrived at the house at four o'clock. I had driven over three hours on two lane back roads, logged over one hundred miles and only used a quarter of a tank of gas. Taking the long way around turned out to be a 'sign' in itself.
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