The songs are written.
The bags are packed.
Four wheels, one radio, and a full tank of gas.
About three hours in I feel the knots in my shoulders start to relax. I start to daydream.
This is the time I love.
When we’re far enough into “nowhere” that the phones won’t work. The radio dial spins without stopping. All you have is the sound of the wind and the open road. This is my happy place. Running on hope, prayers, and the kindness of strangers.
Facing the world with an open face to share art and ideas.
For weeks on end these four wheels become my home away from home. It’s peaceful here. With my pillow and my partner and all the familiar creeks and bumps. The roads that have now become familiar. The smells. The rhythm of it. An oasis in almost every city – friendly faces we’re so happy to see. Family made through music. It’s easier to embrace this higher calling away from the busy-ness of everyday life.
The sun starts to set and the sky evolves into an impressionistic painting with delicate blends of pink, blue, purple, and white. A familiar song comes on the radio. He leans over and turns up the volume a bit. We’ve been so quiet the last few hours I half forgot he was there. I’ve been lost watching the sky and letting my mind wander to the place where new songs are born.
It’s peaceful here, humming along on four wheels.