My route takes me west for a few hours to reach I-65. I’ve gone this direction many times before, when Abby and I go to Cincinnati a few times a year to get away.
As always, I get the feeling I’m forgetting something. It takes a while, but I remember what it is when I reach down to itch my leg – bandages and Neosporin.
I’ve swapped out bandages a handful of times since my little meltdown with Abby’s office door. Of course, I can more than survive today without a bandage, since I’ll be in the car and it won’t get infected. With no doctors around, I need to be extra careful.
Something else I wish I had brought is my CD collection. With no radio, things are pretty quiet and boring. Abby has a few CDs stashed around her car but they are dreadful. I’d rather sit in silence than hear sappy love songs.
I’m not a big music person, but like everyone else my age I have thousands of songs on my phone. It doesn’t matter how old I get, I always listen to the songs that were playing when I was in high school and college. My parents do the same thing, always listening to music from the ’60s and ’70s. I guess we all like to re-live the days when we were young and rebellious.
I’m about an hour outside of Cincinnati when I see a long bit of construction. I don’t know about other parts of the country, but driving on Ohio’s highways is a never-ending battle with construction areas. By the time a road is finally built, they tear it down and start re-building it again.
My wife and I haven’t been this way in several months, and large concrete blocks are set up for what seems like miles on the left side of the road.
I’m in this construction zone for about five minutes before I see it, a car headed towards me on the other side of the highway. The concrete blocks leave no way for me to get over unless I find a gap up ahead. I slam my foot on the pedal hoping to find such an opportunity. I begin honking my horn too, just in case they aren’t paying attention. It’s hard to see over there because of the concrete blocks, but just as we are getting ready to pass each other I see it’s another black car. It looks similar to the car I saw yesterday, maybe not quite the same but similar.
I try to get a look at the driver but we go by so quickly I’m not able to see them. Without being able to get over, my only chance of heading in that direction is if there’s an exit ramp. There hasn’t been one in a while, so I think one should be close.
Even though I’ve been on this road several times, I have no memory of where the exits are. I speed up even faster hoping to find any opportunity to turn around, but it never comes.
After fifteen miles, I finally approach the exit ramp I desperately wanted, but decide it’s no longer worth it to go back. They are long gone by now. I remain optimistic I’ll see another car up ahead though.
It turns out my optimism was wrong. I never see another car in the more than seventy miles left to Cincinnati. This large city, which usually has thousands of cars on the highway and thousands more driving through the streets, is completely deserted. I guess I should start expecting this, but it still has me in disbelief.
I’ve seen my tiny little hometown deserted, and I’ve seen Chesterfield, a large city in itself, wiped out. Cincinnati, though, is one of the top five largest cities in Ohio, and probably up there on the US city population list as well. Yet, everywhere I look I don’t see a single human being. This kicks things up to a whole new level of weird.
I look at my gas gauge and see I still have more than half a tank left. Of course, I don’t really need to worry about running out of gas, because I have four gas jugs sitting in the trunk of my car. I can pull over at any moment and refuel.
I consider driving through the downtown area, but I can see enough of what I need from the highway. There’s nobody here; everyone has packed up and gone. Wherever they went, I hope I’m headed in the same direction. Are they going to Mobile, Alabama too?
After driving a while longer, I reach the bridge that takes you over the Ohio River and into Kentucky. I admit I’m worried that I’ll somehow burst into flames the moment I leave Ohio. With the way these past couple days have gone, nothing would surprise me.
Is it just Ohio that’s missing everyone? I can’t think of a reason why an entire state would need to be evacuated. If that was indeed the case then why was I left out? No, it couldn’t be that.
When I drive over the state line into Kentucky, I don’t burst into flames. I’ll have to save death via spontaneous combustion for another day. I think about the last time I left the state and realize it’s been far too long. Abby and I enjoy traveling, but we haven’t been out of the state since our trip to Italy almost a year ago. Seeing state borders brings back a flood of good memories. The only time I’ve been out of Ohio is for vacations or doing something else fun.
After driving a while longer I realize I’m starting to get hungry. Since there are no fast food options today I pull over to the side of the highway. In the backseat I have everything to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, as well as crackers and a bottle of water. You’ve never lived until you’ve eaten lunch by yourself in a car parked on the side of the highway.
When I’m done, I get out to stretch my legs. I take my fully loaded pellet gun and step out of the car. It’s sunny and cool, and I look forward to the hot and humid weather I’m expecting in Mobile.
To keep myself entertained I take some practice shots at a nearby stop sign. I seem to have a natural gift with this thing. I look around for birds or any other moving objects but don’t see anything. I could go exploring in the woods, but I don’t think I’m ready for that much adventure. The last thing I need is a run-in with a bear when I only have a pellet gun for defense and zero tree-climbing skills.
Instead, I shoot the sign a few more times and, once I’ve had my fun, head back to the car and drive off. I think about anything I can do to make this trip a little more enjoyable. After all, I can do whatever I want to anything I want. If I had the desire to break into a bank and take wads of cash, I could. If I wanted to stop at a liquor store and start drinking and driving, I could do that too with no fear of getting pulled over.
Thinking about it, alcohol would make this trip more enjoyable. I’m not a big drinker but from my experience alcohol makes everything more fun.
Other options I have for the anarchist in me are burning down buildings and stealing sports cars. These are things I would never do in a million years under normal circumstances, but with nobody here, why not? Could be fun.
I decide I’m going to have some adventure in the next town I find. All of my crimes up to this point have been out of necessity; it’s about time I make the most of my unique situation.
Sure enough, almost as if by fate, I see a “Cracker Barrel 2 Miles Ahead” sign. Cracker Barrel is a little restaurant that was a requirement for all of my family trips. I have no plans of going there today though; it’s only an indicator of a town ahead.
I start getting excited like a little kid who sees the entrance sign to Disney for the first time. Moments pass and I take the exit ramp to a town with infinite possibilities. The Cracker Barrel is just off the road. This restaurant chain, like McDonald’s, always seems to have the best locations right off the highway.
I look across the street and, next to the exit ramp back onto the highway, there is a gas station with a carry out. My eyes light up. This store looks very inviting for my destructive purposes.
I don’t even bother going up to the next traffic light to make a U-turn. I drive right through the grass and a flowerbed that this quaint little town has so happily provided to welcome its guests.
I look in my rearview mirror but can’t see what kind of damage I caused because of my dented trunk. I pull into the gas station and park the car right next to the mini-mart’s front door. I reach for the ax, but decide the pellet gun might be more fun.