Before I had any need for a sense of direction, I traveled this road. From a young age I was a passenger. During my youngest years I graduated from car seat to seat belt, and then backseat to front seat. As I grew even old I earned the right to drive myself.
All these years later, now age 26, I’m spending tonight within an earshot of the road I’ve known all my life. The twist is I’m nearly 2,400 miles from home.
Interstate-90 is a transcontinental highway that stretches from Seattle, Washington to Boston, Massachusetts. Inbetween, there’s an exit to Cleveland, Ohio, my hometown.
Growing up on the west side of Cleveland, this was my road to Browns games, Tribe games, Cavs games, even games for that indoor pro soccer league team. Field trips were down this road. High school graduation was down this road. I’ve been to weddings down this road.
But later in life, 5 years ago, I took a bicycle along side a small portion of this road in the opposite direction, into Seattle, as part of my own transcontinental trip. And now I’m walking across it near Snoqualmie Pass, heading north for Canada.
While decades passed before I redefined this road’s meaning to me, for the most part this road has remained unchanged, all the while hiding its wider reach in plain sight.
PCT Mile 2,390.8.
