Highways and Byways

Today I fully embarked on my cross-country trip to Las Vegas, where I will be permanently living. After trying to figure out the best way to do it--sell the car and rent a truck, or hire a moving company--I decided to drive. It will take me four days and 2,500 miles.

Yesterday I got a bit of a head start by visiting my family in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. This morning I started heading west, which meant about 60 miles on State Route 30 (which was part of the old Lincoln Highway, the first transcontinental road in U.S. history). Because the road is only a two-lane highway (or is a byway? You never hear the word byway much, except when paired with highway) it was a little slower going, and went up and down and some mountains. But I love these kind of roads. If I had unlimited time, I'd drive the whole way on state roads, because, as efficient as they are, interstates are completely charmless.

Along these roads, especially in rural areas like southern Pennsylvania, you see the full glory of roadside America. Antique/junk shops, roadside taverns, extremely low-grade strip joints, tattoo parlors, auto mechanics, and cow pastures (along with their piquant smell). The speed limit slows down when you head into a town, where you can tell where you are by the sign on the post office.

And then there are the really oddball places, like Mr. Ed's Elephant Museum and Candy Emporium, just a few miles out of Gettysburg. I visited with my mom a few years. Not only can you buy all sorts of candy and delicious fudge, but there are thousands upon thousands of elephant statues and figurines. No, it's not Mr. Ed who is the talking horse.

Once out of Pennsylvania I went across the sliver of West Virginia that juts between PA and Ohio. West Virginia is one of the most irregularly-shaped states in the union, and this panhandle exists because Virginia, of which West Virginia was once part of, wanted frontage on the Ohio River. It occurred to me that if Michigan is shaped like a hand, so is West Virginia--it's a fist with the index finger and thumb extended.

That part of West Virginia is only 11 miles across, but it's not the narrowest state in the country, as a portion of Maryland is only 1.8 miles across. A world-class runner could cover that in about six minutes.

Then it was on to Ohio. My father and his family came from Ohio, but I've never had much love for it. It seems to have no distinctive features, and is only a place to be passed through on the way to get somewhere else. It's called the Buckeye State, but it should be called the Speedtrap State, as the highway patrol is rapacious there. I saw numerous cars pulled over, two in one 50-yard stretch. I imagine the state economy is fueled by the fines. Somehow I made it through without incident.

I am now in Cloverdale, Indiana. Outside my motel room window is a farm of some sort. When crossing into the state from Ohio, I immediately noticed a lack of police, which made me feel more welcome. When I think of Indiana I think of a few things. It is so named because originally it was to be set aside as Indian territory, but in an early example of white men going back on their word they kept it for themselves. Of course it is the home state of many famous folks, like Larry Bird, David Letterman, Tecumseh, James Dean, Steve McQueen, John Mellencamp, the Jacksons, Ernie Pyle, Booth Tarkington, and one of my favorite adult film stars, Bree Olson.

Mostly when I think of the state I think of my favorite Hoosier, Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. In his novel The Sirens of Titan he had a character say: “Indianapolis, Indiana,” said Constant, “is the first place in the United States of America where a white man was hanged for the murder of an Indian. The kind of people who’ll hang a white man for murdering an Indian —”said Constant, “that’s the kind of people for me.”