The Passage is the Journey

I love driving. I especially love driving long distances. This is something I didn't really know about myself. I should have. Speed. Music. Meditation. Control. Yes, I do in fact own the road. Deal.

It all came together for me this past weekend. I made a driving cd for myself. Welcome to the 20th century! A good driving cd must take into the account a need for a good rhythm section. The beat has to vary however because too much of the same thing could cause road hypnosis. I am a bit of a classisist at heart so my disc has a good sense of form--kind of an AABBCCAA type of structure. Yes, I am alone a bit too much. Being a bit anal comes naturally.

There is a new overpass leading into the Sault. An American style highway. I don't like it. I was looking forward to passing familiar landmarks. The turn off to camp. The giant Loonie at the side of the road. Shinwauk Hall. The railway bridge that has 'This Is Indian Land' written on it even though for years people have tried to wash it off. It just keeps getting rewritten. It needs to be there. Instead of these signposts leading me home I found myself travelling way too fast, too far from the river, too close to the hills and unable to orient myself. When the highway finally reached the end I was there. In the Sault. I felt cheated. I had missed out.

I started thinking about childhood drives. When my family would travel past Sudbury, we would invariably stop at the Big Nickel and have lunch--smoked whitefish from Clarence's fish and bait shop--and take photos. We would bring visitors there. It was a landmark that everyone stopped at. Yes it was kitsch. It was familiar kitsch. It was a part of our collective experience. The Big Nickel was special. When the new highway was made I remember cheering it. It really did cut the travel time to Ottawa not having to pass through Sudbury. Now I think about what has been lost. I haven't once visited the Big Nickel since the new highway was built. My children have travelled the highway many times and not once have we stopped at what used to be for me a trip highlight. I'm sure it would be a highlight for them too. I can't even see where the Nickel is now from the road. It's like it has disappeared completely.

I have a friend who comes from New Brunswick. When I first visited her, I was in awe that we had to travel over a covered bridge to get to her home. She lived on an island. The bridge was lovely. A few years later when I visited again, we drove past the bridge. A new highway had been built. The old bridge was rarely used. I remember thinking what a shame. When her dad drove me off the island for the last time he turned off the new highway and drove slowly over the bridge. I remember feeling like I could burst out laughing or burst into tears at that moment. I knew that some things would never again be the same. Such is progress?

When I left the Sault yesterday, I made a point of not taking the new highway. I drove over the old path soaking in the landmarks that would be all too soon relegated to history. The beach where we would sneak out to at night with bottles of alcohol and cartons of smokes deftly stolen from our parents' cupboards. The trees that had stood the test of time. Ugly. Knotted. Beautiful. The diner that made the best grilled cheese sandwich I have ever tasted. The bridge separating the reservation from the village. The farms. The cows. The giant Loonie. The river that has always been a part of my life.

Driving home I started to think about how much I enjoyed the travelling. The journey. I also started to think about how much joy I would lose if the journey became sterilized by bypassing all the communities that helped to bring the road to life. The journey is made all the more special because of how the highway connects disparate people. The road shows us how we are all connected even though we stand unique and individual with our Big Nickels, road side blueberry stands, giant apples and the like. The super stops one finds on the larger highways don't have the same heart. A McDonalds grilled cheese will never compare to one made at a small diner in Echo Bay.

Do I want to stop progress? No. Do I want to hold on to the past? Perhaps. More importantly however, is that I want to remember and be reminded how unique we are. In some ways, I believe that it's our differences that bring us closer together. When we strip away our individuality and reveal only what is the same, we become more isolated. Alienated. So far apart from each other that no highway can bridge the distance.