Early morning fog on Zoar Road

Cold air over warmer ground usually produces fog and photo opportunities. Having recently downloading Instagram on my cell phone, I thought I’d start playing with it. This is one of the first images. Click on the photo to visit my account.

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See you on the highway.

Brent

Motorcycling through Autumn

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I have a few favorite roads near my home—curvy, over hill and dale, and alongside a scenic river. These roads are perfect for motorcycling, but especially in the autumn.

The sun seems a little brighter, and the sky more blue as golden leaves fall from the trees. The wind on my face is crisp and refreshing. The motorcycle purrs along waiting for the throttle to be twisted. But, it is not to be.

The moment is surreal, not to be rushed but savored. This is motorcycling through autumn, and I am pacing myself, taking it all in to refresh my spirit.

See you on the highway.

Brent

Roads that intrigue

Are you intrigued by roads? Highways that seem to go off into the distance? Are you compelled to see what is down this road or that one?

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I was talking with a friend about differences in roads. He lives in Montenegro, Europe. I’m here in the Cincinnati, Ohio area of the USA. It was my first Facebook video chat, and it was wonderful to finally see his face and hear his voice.

Goran says travel in Europe is quite different than the USA. The roads there are not like the United States where highways can be straight as an arrow, like out west, and you can see for miles. European roads are through mountains and valleys. The curves can reduce speed and require more time to travel. Our conversation gave me pause for thought about highways and roads, and their intrigue.

I have been known to turn down a road because it looks interesting. Where does it go? Where does it connect or come out? What will I see along its path?

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Does it have lines? Lines? Yes, lines. Major highways and most roads have lane markings. But those rural country roads like Halls Creek Road (top photo) have no lines. To my knowledge and according to the Warren County map, it is such a minor road to serve the locals, that the county has not given it a County Route number. It is only known by its name. And of course, it meanders along Halls Creek, from whence its name comes.

What about gravel roads? Well, I’ve never seen anybody attempt lane markings on a gravel road. Would be kind of silly, wouldn’t it. But, that gravel road goes somewhere. A friend in Nevada, J. Brandon, says, “We have state routes that are gravel!”

That’s the intrigue of roads. There is a history and a purpose. And, they carry us forward to sights and sounds we might never have seen before. Roads are much more than a convenience for travel, they connect people to places and other people. They connect history and stories. And of course, they take us on our adventure.

If you want to get somewhere as fast as possible, take the interstate highway. But if you want to see anything, take a road less traveled. See where it leads.

See you on the highway.

Brent

Magnificence of Solitude

The highway disappears over the horizon in the desert.
Someone built this highway, but there are no houses along its path.
No other vehicles are visible, nor have been for some time.

Mountains in the distance. Sagebrush and cactus along the road.
A summer thunderstorm refreshes the earth to the west.
The rains wash off the dust and release the aroma of the desert.

The solitude is magnified, magnificent and spiritual.
Not only am I traveling alone. I am alone on the highway filled with euphoria.
My peace and well-being conjoins with the smallness of my existence.

See you on the highway.

Brent

Stop light racing

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The stop light at the top of the hill
holds back the two lanes of cars and trucks
ready to race forward.

The street below the light is empty when the light turns green.
Dozens of cars speed forward,
each trying to get ahead or out maneuver the others.

Down they come, changing lanes and passing.
The street is filled with moving masses of metal and glass on rubber
while drivers remain anonymous.

At the bottom of the hill,
they bunch up again at the next stop light.
The street behind is nearly empty.

At the top of the hill, the next bunch of cars anxiously wait to launch.
The process repeats itself from stop light to stop light.
Nobody wins.

See you on the highway.

Brent