Interstates are great things, especially when it’s necessary to cross a state like Kansas or Missouri. At least that’s what I used to think, and still do, if I’m in a real hurry. Assuming you stay awake long enough, the destination is counted off in endless mile marker ticks, with a few rest stops thrown in to break the monotony along the way.
You might even luck up on a cookie-cutter McDonalds for $1 sweet tea, which is always a nice break. Or maybe the Love’s skewered hot dog with beads of sweat from no telling how many days is more your style. They’re a dime a dozen on the interstate and truckers must love them. They may not be Subway fresh but they’re sustenance and they’re available. Personally, I think I’d choke down licorice Twizzlers or turkey jerky before I’d order one, but surely somebody does.
Before we knew better than to attempt a two-day haul from Alabama to Wyoming, we made that dream vacation, stopping at Topeka for the night and then driving 19 hours to Jackson, Wyoming. That’s right. 19 hours. All in one day. I’m not proud of it, but it’s there. That included an east-to-west interstate passage across Kansas. So no one can ever again impress me with single day mileage.
We were bent on the destination and took no side trips. We missed Eisenhower’s Library and the Pony Express Trail and Kansas City Barbecue. We never slowed down over the Continental Divide, not even for the stone bust of Lincoln at the highest spot on I-80, and we certainly didn’t side trip it to Independence Rock, a resting place for Oregon Trail travelers 180 years ago. We obviously didn’t believe in rest at that time and had no peripheral vision at all. We were on a mission to have fun. And we did have fun, but mostly after we got there.
If I had it to do over again, I’d stretch the same trip to 3 or 4 days and then I’d take every interesting side road and touristy stop along the way. I wouldn’t just wonder where that arrow-straight Kansas Hwy. 83 led as we sailed by the exit. I’d take it right to the Buffalo Bill Cultural Center and actually learn something about local lore. I’d talk to people and smile more and I can guarantee I wouldn’t stumble into the predawn chill of a Wyoming dude ranch like a zombie in crumpled capris and sandals because it was a whole lot warmer 19 hours earlier in East Kansas. And I don’t think I’d still consider Kansas a flyover state.
Growing up, we took a vacation every summer, but interstates didn’t always connect just right so we spent a lot of time on slower roads. My parents also believed that travel is education so I personally walked through the state capitols of Alabama, Mississippi, Florida, Louisiana, Texas, and Tennessee. Did you know that the Texas state capitol building is actually taller than the U.S. Capitol? That bit of useless trivia is a direct result of taking side roads, and just look how much richer and more educated I am for it. I now know for a fact that everything is bigger in Texas.
Peering down into that massive but impossible-to-fold-back-up state map, my mom navigated to all sorts of side attractions. Nothing was too obscure for us. We veered off I-10 to Sewanee in Florida to see alligators and Spanish moss and Stephen Foster’s old folks at home. We took in views of Houston’s seaport from the top floor of the San Jacinto Historic Site and we tramped through every inch of the USS Alabama. All we didn’t have for our road trips was the 12-foot-long boat of a wood-paneled station wagon that I longed for, which was a real problem in my Brady Bunch wannabe years. But even in the Ford Galaxy 500, even cooped up in the backseat with an annoying older brother, the fact that we were pretty much forced to get out of the mainstream because there was no mainstream was one of those blessings in disguise.
Side roads and sidewalks and bicycle trails—just about anything that runs alongside a main thoroughfare is an adventure in fresh air and small things. The first thing those byways do is make you slow down. Speed has its reason for existence. I’m not suggesting that being in a hurry is always a bad thing, but neither is slowing down. You might even chance it and roll the window down. And if you’re really retro, pack a picnic lunch. From personal experience, I can report that Shiloh Battleground has an excellent setup of shade and concrete picnic tables, as does just about every stop along the Natchez Trace Parkway. Just don’t forget the shoestring potatoes and Chips Ahoy.
Side roads don’t always run perpendicular to the highway. Some of the best side roads just sidle along beside the main road, giving space for things other than cars. I don’t think Tishomingo County has a budget line item for the set of ruts that parallel Hwy. 25, but those ruts are well maintained anyway by shirtless, caps-on-backward, teenaged boys bent on 4-wheeler speed, but not necessarily safety, zigging and zagging in and out of the Mississippi briers and kudzu in a cloud of red dust. In violation of probably every traffic law on the books, those caked-with-clay ATVs spend most of the time teetering on two wheels with a rider on the back clinging to whatever is still attached in a near-death dangle. And then they do it all over again. That’s some kind of side road.
More tame bike lanes that more well-funded cities can afford give roadside space for bicyclers in spandex shorts and well dressed walkers of fancy groomed dogs. Fairhope comes to mind. Those byways are quiet and serene, with sunsets that you just have to stop for before making your way back to the bay house or condo or overpriced hotel room. Still, it’s a side road of sorts that leaves you feeling better for making the effort at leaving the road.
It’s all about leaving the road. Taking a side step. Taking a side ride. Breathing something other than recirculated car air conditioning. Feeling something other than tired and focused and burdened. Losing a few years and checking out the Indian mound, maybe even climbing all 220 lighthouse steps.
Making memories. And making time, in all sorts of ways. Sometimes the fastest way to get somewhere isn’t the best, and time is better made by actually slowing down.
Are we there yet? I sure hope not.
