Highway Bound :: essays papers

Highway Bound Highway 40, is it a battleground or an interstate? It is a large mass of asphalt, dark rubber tire marks burnt into pavement, tons of fast moving steel, confusion, boiling anger, mental anguish and lost souls. I view the nations first federally funded interstate as a large mass of asphalt that stretches from North Carolina to California. I have personally spent many infuriating, intense and mentally draining hours on this highway, traveling in route between Durham and Raleigh. The memories of a thousand trips all seem to fuse into one long memory of roadwork, delays, chaos and horror. It takes strenuous efforts to confess and alleviate this burden from my shoulders. The nightmare begins as I navigate my pearl white Toyota Supra onto the Highway 147 onramp, denoted by an ever so familiar reflective green sign. My music blares a blissful tune as I sink the accelerator to the floor. Gaining speed, taking flight so that I can successfully merge into the never-ending column of vehicles racing towards their separate destinations. As I merge off of the onramp and into chaos I look cautiously over my shoulder, checking to make sure I am clear to get in. A minivan the color of the darkest midnight is the only obstacle in view. I merge successfully deciding the slow moving vehicle is well out of danger. No sooner do I slide securely into my lane upon the black asphalt than I notice that this family transport of safety is not really that, but a marauding mother hauling her troops into combat. The dark figure of the van grows larger and larger until it appears I am merely an obstacle meant to be trampled. I look down and realize that we are reaching sp eeds of eighty miles per hour, yet this minivan has virtually become a part of my bumper. I flash questioning glances behind me trying to predict the mad woman’s intentions. Unable to bring solace to the growing war behind me, I face forward concentrating on simply keeping my car between the bright, pure white line running broken down the highway. I keep my car within a few feet of the one in front of me, trying not to infringe upon danger but at the same time trying to keep mother murder behind me from laying on her horn.