Hello from Room 218 at the Holiday Express Inn & Suites in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. With a bustling Interstate 81 in the background, I awoke this morning and didn’t know where I was. The room was completely dark except for the small alarm clock on the nightstand. After a few seconds, I remembered I was in the Keystone State heading back home to Western North Carolina.
It’s funny, when I rolled in late last night to check-in, I got out of my truck and looked around the property. “I’ve stayed here before,” I realized, though I couldn’t remember when that was. I think last winter. The warehouse across the street was familiar; so, too, were the rest of the generic surroundings in this commercial district of the small city. Indeed, I had stayed here before. Head to the room and drop my luggage on the floor. Take a hot shower and scrub off the grit and exhaustion of a long day on the road.
The next morning, I went down to the breakfast area and reached for the same items I always do while staying at a commercial hotel: hardboiled eggs, side of meat, Greek yogurt, cup of apple juice, cup of coffee. Consuming the meal by myself at a small table, I observed all the other folks doing the same around me. Young families. Older couples. Other solo travelers and the like. All of us vibrating dots of humanity bouncing off of one another in real time.
In truth, I spend a lot of time in hotels, and it’s been that way for many years. The open road has always been my home, my escape hatch from the rest of the world, even if it’s the rest of the world I’m immersed in once the truck is put in drive. Beyond assignments across the country, I have my immediate family in Upstate New York, a girlfriend in Florida, and soulmate friends scattered in-between. Gas stations, truck stops, diners, chain restaurants, hotels and motels are the brick-and-mortar anchors of my existence while roaming the high seas of highways and backroads.
Just now, I was taking inventory of the hotels I’ve found myself inhabiting over the past year. Places of brief slumber, roadweary respite and mediocre morning culinary delights. From the Rocky Mountains to the Atlantic Coast, the humidity of the Southeast to depths of Canada. Steamboat Springs, Colorado. Bristol, Virginia. Radium Hot Springs, British Columbia. Savannah, Georgia. Whitefish, Montana. Swedesboro, New Jersey. Edmonton, Alberta. Nashville, Tennessee. Keene, New Hampshire. Mill Springs, North Carolina.
To be honest, it’s all a blur these days, and happily. For me, both personally and professionally, the whirlwind of the road and things to do, people to interview, and deadlines to meet is the only existence I’ve known for the last 20 years since I left college and set out to be a curious journalist, one in constant motion with an endless quest to track down stories and the cherished faces behind these tales.
All of which circles back to this newspaper, the foundation of not only my career, but the everyday inspiration and stability to push ahead. This publication remains as vital and crucial to our society today, locally and nationally, as ever before. And you, dear readers, are what keeps the lights on, the ink fresh, and the ideas flowing by which we dive deep and bring to the surface words and emotions, information and conclusions that matter as much to you and us in the newsroom.
And as I cruise around America over this past year, I’ve interacted with fine folks from all walks of life: Montana to Maine, Carolina to Colorado. Cowboys and lobstermen, artists and doctors, nonprofit directors and restaurant chefs, school teachers and bartenders. Oh, and don’t forget: we have way more in common than we’re told from those high above us in power. We do. It’s the damn truth. Up on high, they know that a society divided means power for them, not us. We’re all in this together, come hell or high water.
A broken economy and health care system. Conflicts and wars overseas. Full gas tanks filled with most of a day’s paycheck for you and me. Yelling and screaming at those across the political and religious aisle. The threat of AI data centers and of our precious natural resources. The daily stress of this country and its current course stresses us out during the day and keeps us awake throughout the night. It’s pure physical and emotional exhaustion, with one question in mind: When will it stop?
When can peace and prosperity, compassion and cooperation become the norm? I remain an eternal optimist, as hard as that may seem to comprehend in this day and age. But, I am. I believe in the universal pendulum of time and space, of honest truth and positive change. I mean, hot damn, what else can you be right now? The change resides within each and every single one of us. Also, your neighbor isn’t the problem, and your local media isn’t out to get you.
I digress. Lower the blood pressure and sip the watered down hotel coffee. Think about the last 600 miles from Carlisle to my humble abode one-bedroom apartment in downtown Waynesville. Interstate 81 to I-26 to I-40 to the unrelenting road construction on Russ Avenue. But not before a tranquil jog on the New River Trail in Draper, Virginia. And not before a quick stop at my favorite roadside Mexican restaurant, Puerto Nuevo, in Abingdon, Virginia. Great salsa bar and kind servers.
And, like clockwork, lots of restless, heavy thoughts while motoring along. In the rearview mirror, my aunt’s recent memorial service in my hometown on the Canadian Border (the reason I headed home last month), my elderly parents back at their farmhouse and quality time we spent until I said goodbye and hit the road last Saturday, and all those trail runs in the backwoods of the North Country to cleanse my heart and soul (and then some).
Looking through the windshield, the ashes of my best friend (who passed away this past spring) carefully placed on my bookshelf and awaiting my return to Waynesville, the impending fall foliage of the Great Smoky and Blue Ridge ranges and the ancient transition from summer to fall with cool air and warm sunshine, and whatever else lies ahead. I’m game for it all, with my head held high to what’s just around the corner (you should be, too).
Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.