Thursday, June 15, 2017

Carefree Highway

I was driving to work today in my dad's old car. He's given it to Ted for the summer, but Ted doesn't drive stick yet so it's my car as I write. I'm fine with it. It's zippy, it has air and some of my favorite stations are programmed so just the touch of a button away.

This morning I unknowingly selected the preset for the oldies station and the song that got my attention was Gordon Lightfoot's Carefree Highway. I had to hold my breath to stop the tears that wanted to free fall because suddenly I was a kid myself sitting in the back seat on a road trip. I do a great deal of time travel in the car.


It's a cloudy day and we're all crammed to the gills in the car with our gear after a day of cross country skiing. We're wet and tired and happy. We're also hungry so we're headed to some dive bar where we'll enjoy a greasy reward for our hours on the trails. We'll laugh about how my brother wrapped himself around a tree at the bottom of a tricky hill. I'll get heat for chickening out. I removed my skis and traipsed down it unwilling to tempt his fate. We'll talk about the trails we'll tackle the next day before heading home, and we'll groan because my brother and I would rather go tobogganing or ice skating. We complain, but only until our gear dries and the snow flies and we start moving through the quiet woods.


It's as clear as yesterday though it happened several decades ago. It hasn't slipped away.

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