"Life is a highway. I want to ride it all night long."

I remember a night last September. A Friday.
Meredith and I were going somewhere in Downtown Atlanta for the evening. We got off 85 onto Spring St. at about 6:30 and as we crested the first hill I expected to see Atlanta rush hour looming before my eyes. But as the car came over the hill my breathe was stolen by a surreal sight. As the sun set behind us, I saw before a straight street, up and down hills, with not a car on it. And as I watched, I saw every light before me sequentially turn from red to green. And not a car in sight. The road opened up to us, and only us, and for the longest of minutes we were alone in a city of five million people.

True Story.


Everyone complains that there is never a bend in the road. Never a bend in their road. That they can see it stretching out to the horizon. What they mean, of course, is that they can see what their future holds, and that they don't like it. That they want a change but can't seem to escape their monotony.

Well, my life for the past forever has been a turning serpent of a mountain road. I've sped up and slowed to a crawl. I have worked my way through the gears of my existance with scary accuracy and even more terrifying indifference... release the gas, hit the clutch, slip it down to second and accelorate back into the turn...slam on the brakes as I come up on a slow moving semi... begin again in first...turn up Tom Cochrane on the radio as I work her back up to fifth...ignore the rearview...maybe the sirens won't catch up...

But now I find that I want no more of that. I am tired of the bends in the road and the thrill of the uncertainty inherent. Show me that horizon. I have had my days of fast cars and hairpin tunrs.

Once more I find myself seated next to Meredith. Beautiful Meredith. And as we crest the hill together I see nothing but every red light ahead of me suddenly change to green. I turn off the radio, take her hand, and set a leisurely pace forward as the sun sets behind us.
There are no cars on the road but ours.

Maybe over the second or third hill Spring St. will turn, or another car will merge into our lives. Until then, kid, its all ours.

Flip the switch from standard to automatic transition. I've got more important things to do than drive.