![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Interstate 90
11 January 2008 02:13Interstate 90 terminates somewhere in Millwaulkee and feeds traffic to the yankee North in Minnesota and the Dakotas. The four lane hi-way is a central vein connecting Rochester, MN to the outside world.
The road is a straight shot through farming country side, and as such is boring, lacking any scenery-except for billboards advertising the "Spam" museum in Austin, MN.
I figure I've driven on I-90, roughtly 434,432 times, and for as many reasons as trips: visiting family, road trips, La Crosse runs, attending UW-La Crosse, the list can go on.
The memories of those trips, and the reason for traveling, crossed my mind, as once again I sped at close to the speed limit, to relay my computer from my father.
Times were different then, are now, and will be. As if nothing has changed, and everything has changed. I no longer cart feather headdressed in the back-seat while wearing 10lbs of make-up singing to Madonna on the CD player with the top down... that sort of thing. The moment, the period, is defined, when the car enters the on-ramp, and takes off-down concrete asphault turf.
I'm always going somewhere. Going. Moving. Experiencing. And despite the familiar billboards, I recall mundane markers as where I got picked up for speeding, places I would stop to catch up on sleep, speed traps, areas of deep philosophical thought....... but that road is a marker, and each time it signals the past, and the future present......
Oh, and my home computer is back up and running.
The road is a straight shot through farming country side, and as such is boring, lacking any scenery-except for billboards advertising the "Spam" museum in Austin, MN.
I figure I've driven on I-90, roughtly 434,432 times, and for as many reasons as trips: visiting family, road trips, La Crosse runs, attending UW-La Crosse, the list can go on.
The memories of those trips, and the reason for traveling, crossed my mind, as once again I sped at close to the speed limit, to relay my computer from my father.
Times were different then, are now, and will be. As if nothing has changed, and everything has changed. I no longer cart feather headdressed in the back-seat while wearing 10lbs of make-up singing to Madonna on the CD player with the top down... that sort of thing. The moment, the period, is defined, when the car enters the on-ramp, and takes off-down concrete asphault turf.
I'm always going somewhere. Going. Moving. Experiencing. And despite the familiar billboards, I recall mundane markers as where I got picked up for speeding, places I would stop to catch up on sleep, speed traps, areas of deep philosophical thought....... but that road is a marker, and each time it signals the past, and the future present......
Oh, and my home computer is back up and running.
