You can imagine how music impacts me as an old (and former) radio guy. I have some friends who need no music; they don’t desire to take a drive or give themselves time to stop and take pictures of the clouds when they align themselves in unique ways.
That sums up why solo road trips don’t bring me down (Yes, I heard ELO, when I wrote that sentence).
While Ellie doesn’t complain, she is vocal when I pull over onto the gravel shoulder and bail out without proper warning. She throws a fit, and the crying from the truck can be offputting. You can’t tell from her pictures, but that girl is loud. I’m quick to flick, capture, and then jump back in, continuing where I left off to complete the mission at hand.
I’m just as excited to leave my house in the morning as I am to jump back in after a day in the woods to go home. I simply like driving and listening to music.
In the day, while traveling around Maine and other states with my former partner in crime (but we were cops), we both lamented over many coffees that we really should have been over-the-road truck drivers. For a time, we both were going to get our CDLs to hit the open road when we retired from solving homicides and child abuse cases.
Driving for hours was our dream job; go figure.
We were fans of Will and Sonny on “Movin’ On,” but never “BJ and the Bear.” And, sure, we both wanted a Kenworth—long nose.
I digress.
What a day I had. Sun, wind, clouds, and, at one point, sleet coming down, hitting me in the face while the sun lit up the yellowing green beech tree leaves in the canopy above me.
And I was the lucky one who got to cut up deadfall trees and occasionally sip from a bottle of Coca-Cola I set on a nearby rock.
I can’t tell you how many times I put the chainsaw down and turned toward the lake, thinking, “I’m so lucky to be able to do this here today.”
So this is not about griping about my backache—but I have one. I’m grateful I can do anything here in Maine. Remaining upright for another morning is an incredible gift that I don’t take for granted.
I’m a sap.
The rediscovery of “I’m Doing Fine Now” from the band New York City led me down a rabbit hole of music last night after a shower and wardrobe change into softer clothes with no embedded woodchips. I heard it on satellite radio when I was motoring back home in some township or another as the sun set before me.
I marveled how the clouds’ edges were outlined in bright silver, as if the maker had done it just for me, for this trip. I know that’s not the case, but the feeling was prominent within this insignificant being piloting a sleeping dog while the stereo blared.
“I’m Doing Fine Now” isn’t about anything other than surviving and thriving after an unexpected breakup with a lady friend; I love music with that Philadelphia sound from the early to mid-seventies. But as a simple man, you can make any song fit your circumstances; do you do that? I wonder.
I whistled the tune in my after-dark shower at Chez Timmaay, and then set out to find it for an add to my iTunes account because I want to play it again, and, most likely, again.
Then, of course, I found Pasadena’s 1991 or ’92 remake. I added that, too.
As I shut my computer, I surmised that Pasadena would probably be the last remake of that song. For some reason, I found that depressing enough to allow me to fall asleep, but I’m doing fine now.
I’ll add both songs to the comments. Please just listen if you like. If you see me driving by you today, you’ll probably be able to hear it anyway; I like it loud. Ellie, not so much.
From the Jagged Edge of America, I remain a writer of unimportant topics. Thanks for taking the time to read them.
TC
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