One of life’s greatest pleasures, and one I often forget
until the nights warm up, is a long drive on a summer’s evening. I was reminded
of this when I drove back from Williamsburg after moving my old roommate. I got
on the road after nine o’clock and dusk was beginning to fade from memory. The
first part of my trip home involved an hour long sprint on the highway, me
frowning at lousy, dangerous drivers and wishing the limit was a little lower
than seventy so my windows could be comfortably open.
Once I got past Richmond on 295, I relaxed onto Route 33,
and the whole atmosphere changed. The road became two lane and the traffic
thinned, meandering at a gentle 55 mph. Some evenings are so quiet, high-beams
can be used without fear of blinding other drivers. This is the time that I
actually enjoy myself, and the three hour drive home doesn’t seem so bad.
Traversing the lonely stretch, I started to notice all the little things I
missed in broad daylight: the sound of crickets, the high wail of frogs when I
passed a country pond, the stars, shadows formed by a near-full moon. A strange
desire to kill the headlights and experience night travel as it used to be
tempted me; never to be done, of course, but always beckoning. The lightning
bugs twinkle in all the trees. I truly love that drive home.
My dad always warns me that I should take the bigger
highway to avoid the surprising turns and unseen deer. But I always risk the
back way with its snake curves and blind hills. The experience can’t be
replaced. My favorite part of this particular drive was the sickeningly saccharin
scent of sweet corn, blooming in the fields. It is the comforting smell of
summer in the rural parts of our country. And it follows you for miles. Sometimes,
I blared music to keep me awake; other times, I just let the insects serenade
me. No matter how late it was when I walked through the door, I had a smile on
my face. There are few things more beautiful than several uninterrupted hours
of contemplation and communion with nature.
