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The Open Road and The American Dream
The window is down. Chile Peppers are on the radio. I got an open bag of chips and a cold Red Bull. The open road stretches ahead with no other vehicles in sight for as far as I can see.
I’m happy. There is no other place I would rather be than right here behind the wheel of my pick-up, cruising through the American landscape.
What is it about the open road that I love so much?
It’s the whine of high-speed rubber over hot asphalt, the warm summer air blasting past my open window. It’s an open sunroof and sunshine on my shoulders. It’s my bare foot on the pedal.
It’s a straight-arrow two-lane cutting a line through the red desert. It’s a leathery hitchhiker. It’s a rattlesnake on the road.
It’s the smell of diesel and the sound of idling truck engines at a humid rest stop in Texas. It’s the rhythmic “cli-click… cli-click” of my tires over the seams in the Lake Pontchartrain Bridge at night. It’s railroad tracks and the Colorado River through Glenwood Canyon.
It’s the blue-black horizon of a prairie thunderstorm up ahead. It’s the grill of an 18-wheeler emerging through a wavy mirage. It’s the sparkling ocean appearing for the first time around the bend.
The open road is fleeting nostalgia. It is independence. It is freedom.
The open road is the American Dream. The traveler is in control of his way forward, unconstrained by the schedules and expectations of others. The highway is rigid and unchanging, yet it enables the freedom of the journey. The driver stays on the paths provided but controls his route, his pace, and his ultimate destination. The open road is a symbol of opportunity for those who are willing to drive optimistically into unknown and unfamiliar landscapes.
My life is the open road.
