In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Trains, Planes, and Automobiles.”
It is May 2012 and I have just finished my first year of college. My best friend and I had planned to road trip to her house in Boulder, Colorado and I would fly home from there.
I remember that day so clearly. It was raining as we drove away from the campus and her car was packed tight with all of our belongings. We waved our school goodbye for and turned on the radio. Country, of course, because we were in Texas afterall and there is really no choice, but to listen to country music.
A deep, drawly voice came through the speakers.
Somethin bout a Truck
In a farmers field.
The smooth tone and sheer manliness immediately caught our attention. It was unfamiliar to both of us, but we liked it. The hard thing about not knowing a song, is not being able to sing along to it when you like it. We were upset that we couldn’t sing along, but with 15 hours left in the car, we were bound to hear it again.
We pressed on through west Texas. For those of you who have never driven through the panhandle, you’re not missing much. Dry, flat land scattered with hundred of oil drills. Nothing really exciting happened, but we did hear that song again. And again. And again.
And each time we would laugh with excitement.
By the time we got to the New Mexico border, we knew all of the words to the song.
We drove through Roswell (where we are 90% sure that we saw an alien life form) and Santa Fe (where I had my first taste of green chili). Along the way we stopped in the middle of the desert in New Mexico. It was the middle of the night and there were no cars on the road. You should have seen the stars. It was as though more were being painted on the sky right before our eyes. We sat by the road for a good 30 minutes and just stared up at the sky in silence. Too scared to break the fierce quiet of the night.
The next day we finally arrived in Colorado. We rolled down the Great Sand Dunes, peered over the edge of the Royal Gorge.
The mountains were unlike the ones that I had seen in the Pacific Northwest. They were sharp and violent, protruding out of the earth like a blade.
16 exhausting hours later, we finally arrived in Boulder. We probably slept for the next 24 hours, but I wouldn’t have wanted to get there any other way. We would have missed the terrifying New Mexican thunderstorms. We would have never experienced that awkward incident at the hotel in Santa Fe when they gave us the wrong key and we walked in on a young couple. We would have missed out on all 200 times that we heard Kip Moore’s “Somethin bout a truck.”
Sometimes it really is about the journey and the destination is just a sad end to it. Although the trip is long gone, those memories will always remain.
And it always makes me smile when I hear those words come on the radio.
Somethin bout a truck
It seems that Kip Moore had it right all along. There is something bout a truck.
Or, in our case, a Hyundai Tucson.