I see in the near future a crisis approaching that unnerves me and causes me to tremble for the safety of my country. . . . Corporations have been enthroned, an era of corruption in high places will follow, and the money-power of the country will endeavor to prolong its reign by working upon the prejudices of the people until the wealth is aggregated in a few hands and the Republic is destroyed.
- Abraham Lincoln
September 7, 2001 - Somewhere in Ohio
A family of locals just invaded my solitude, only moments after the sun set over Wayne National Forest, and I truly started to come to grips with my surroundings. All but the immediate vicinity was masked in darkness, here and now being the only reality I could perceive. I had even begun to pace a bit, talking to things the way that I do when I'm the only one around to hear, when a bright blue mid-size pulled up quickly and what seemed like dozens of them erupted from out of the car like a tightly regimented army of circus clowns. They grabbed their necessities for a night spent in the wilderness - tents, food, and Game boys - and made their way down the trail, blazing with flashlights and whispers.
"Whole family, huh?" I asked one of them as they scurried past my tent and into the woods.
She flashed a toothless, exhausted smile that told me more than her simple answer of "Yup." And she followed the rest of her clan down the trail, glad with the knowledge that I would be the last unrelated person she would see for at least the next twelve hours. It was the end of the week, and she was away from her world for a night.
I crawled into my tent and listened to turkey calls echo through the pines, waiting for gunfire from locals and staying low to the ground. I missed the safety of Nish's Porsche.
Leaving the hospitality of James Dean, I headed east days before. A right turn in Salt Lick took me to Cave Run, or at least as close as I could get without paying a cover charge. I opted for the primitive campsites, which at the bargain rate of free were much more in my price range. I had the place to myself, save the rare passing car and oft buzzing mosquitoes, as I laid in my hammock and watched the stars come out until I retired to my tent for the evening. After a few hours of sleep, I woke to the sound of a nearby owl as nature called. I stepped out of my tent and followed my shadow to a nearby clearing where I had to squint as I looked into the glare of the moon. I'm not quite mad enough to bay at it just yet, but I'm beginning to understand why coyotes do.
In the morning, I stuck to back roads again, preferring a slower pace with more to see than the billboards offered by time saving interstates. The drive from North Carolina to Kentucky had proven glorious through beautiful vistas and quaint little towns. And as I meandered through the small boroughs of Kentucky, I was offered the same exhilaration and education on the American Dream.
Along any given highway or by-way, a bevy of societal wants, needs, and dreams are exposed to passing eyes, and I'm ashamed at how often I don't notice it. From manors of brick to houses with vinyl siding to doublewides on open lots, the route to happiness is bordered by lovely and livable, elegant and convenient, material and natural - the spectrum of lifestyles concluding that happiness is truly graded on the curve.
I'm always amazed at the difference in dreams in a melting pot of hope and despair. Some find happiness in the house and some find joy in the home. Some find peace on a patio over a 15 by 12 patch of Chem-Lawn special, and some find it when there is no grass in sight. Some chase balls over fields of green in electric cars and day-glo pants. Some chase ducks through fields of grass with automatic weapons and day-glo vests. And some just drive by and try to make sense of it all.
I soon passed through a larger city, a collection of haves and have-nots at the core of civilization. I passed a certain video store, a corporate giant I've often heard described as the blue and yellow devil. Cars lined the parking lot, as consumers paid for movie rentals at just under the cashier's hourly rate. A block away, an independent video store sat dormant, empty shelves and an "out of business" sign duct taped to the door, the final task for the small businessman who can no longer compete for his livelihood.
As I looked for a place to stop for lunch, I noticed a sign for Aunt May's Diner, another independent business offering home-cooked meals and fresh-baked pies. At one in the afternoon, the parking lot was empty, and the same sign that hung at the video store hung at Aunt May's - "out of business" - unable to compete, unable to do what I love on my own. A growling stomach took me a few more blocks where the competition laid in wait. Though I was hundreds of miles from home, the same restaurants were here, promising the same food, the same price, the same environment, and the same everything I could get at Anytown, USA: Burgers, tacos, subs, pizza, chicken. I wondered how different life would be if every fast food restaurant was owned by a person instead of a corporation. What if we had never seen the golden arches, the Colonel, or the pig-tailed Pippi look-a-like? I wonder if America could do without the familiarity. I decided I could and kept driving until I found something I didn't recognize.
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