Maybe it’s just our lack of luck, but the promise of efficient commercial air travel has taken a noticeable turn for the worse this year. Successive trips to Arizona, Florida, and North Carolina were besieged by increasingly longer delays, the latter of which had us stranded first in a terminal and then onboard a big Boeing for nearly 12 hours in total. That’s not including a connecting flight, or the required early arrival to check bags and pass through security, or the commute home from the airport. Add it all up and the North Carolina nightmare consumed 19 hours. Had I driven, the trek would been less than 11—with stops.
Unlike Pavlov’s dog, David Conwill and I then flew to north Indiana for a series of groundbreaking features that will be unveiled in forthcoming issues. Almost on cue, our flight out was parked at the end of the runway for 30 minutes, long enough to obliterate the layover. Think “Run, Forest, run!” Two productive days in Nappanee, though, left us in a euphoric state, which only crumbled when the first leg of our return flight was grounded before takeoff by a “maintenance issue.” More than two hours later the problem was fixed. We were on our way, until the same issue “manifested” itself at 30,000 feet, forcing a diversion to Dayton, Ohio. By the time we landed —fortunately without incident —it was clear that, one, we’d miss a rebooked connecting flight; and two, we’d be stranded overnight at some far-off hub.
Monty Python sang Always Look on the Bright Side of Life. So rather than submit to more stresses beyond our control, we left the terminal, commandeered a one-way rental, and drove into the approaching nightfall. Our destination was a little over 11 hours away; a briefly frustrating fact considering we were roughly 10 hours from home that morning. Solace was found when we comically dubbed the trek “Our Cannonball Run” (Full disclosure: We had no intentions of breaking interstate records). The trek’s name left us delving into a litany of iconic road tunes that lyrically painted pictures of endless miles and a need to get somewhere quick. We narrowed our list of favorites to four. In no particular order:
Cannonball Run, by Ray Stevens:
What do you say when there are no words? (Beat it.);
Feel a song that’s never been heard? (Sing it.);
How do you know when you hear the call? (Answer it.);
What do you do when you’ve done it all? (Ball.);
Cannonball!
It’s not what you do it’s how you do it. Be anything you wanna be.
It’s not what you got it’s how you use it. You be you and I’ll be me.
It’s just a matter of style – you can’t fake it.
Mile after mile, feeling free.
If you’ve got the soul – you can make it.
Move ‘em out,
Let ‘em roll,
From sea to shining sea.
East Bound and Down by Jerry Reed:
East bound and down, loaded up and truckin’
A-we gonna do what they say can’t be done;
We’ve got a long way to go, and a short time to get there,
I’m east bound, just watch ol’ “Bandit” run.
Keep your foot hard on the pedal,
Son, never mind them brakes,
Let it all hang out ‘cause we got a run to make;
The boys are thirsty in Atlanta,
And there’s beer in Texarkana,
And we’ll bring it back no matter what it takes.
Off the silver screen, we settled on
Drivin’ My Life Away by Eddie Rabbitt:
Well, the midnight headlight blind you on a rainy night,
Steep grade up ahead, slow me down, makin’ no time,
But I gotta keep rollin’.
Those windshield wipers slappin’ out a tempo,
Keepin’ perfect rhythm with the song on the radio,
But I gotta keep rollin’.
Ooh, I’m drivin’ my life away,
Lookin’ for a better way, for me;
Ooh, I’m drivin’ my life away,
Lookin’ for a sunny day.
And finally,
Six Days on the Road by Dave Dudley:
Well, my rig’s a little old but that don’t mean she’s slow,
That’s a flame from my stack and that smoke’s a-blowin’ black as coal;
My hometown’s a-comin’ in sight,
If you think I’m a-happy, you’re right,
Six days on the road and I’m a-gonna make it home tonight.
Somewhere on the 90-mile stretch from Erie (Pennsylvania) to Buffalo (New York), the ordeal became another travel yields memory, like our trek in Hemmings’s 1940 Buick Century. Or that of Dr. Lee Harman, who purchased a 1935 Brewster Ford town car in Indiana and drove it to his Camano Island, Washington, home. In a moment of reflection while pulling into my driveway, perhaps the fouled-up flights are telling Dave and I that it’s time for another vintage ride road trip. All that remains is “To where, in what, and with which tunes.”
