5/9/03
MY KENTUCKY TRIP - PART 2
8 PAGES

During my weekend in Kentucky, I was given an opportunity that few people are given. I had a real George Bailey moment. Well sort of. Instead of seeing how things would have been had I never been born, I got to take a glimpse into what my life might have been like had I made a different decision. About two years ago, I was presented with the choice to move to a place I'd never seen, embracing that need for adventure and constantly changing scenery and taking what I thought would be a dream job, or I could stay in a place that I hated with no job and no money and a feeling of stagnancy… all for a girl who I thought I might one day marry. I made the latter decision and I have never looked back. I have never regretted the decision or questioned that it was the right one.

But it's human nature to always wonder "what if." How might things have worked out had I moved to Vincennes, Indiana? At the time this decision was being presented, I had just started a phase in my life where I wanted to live EVERYWHERE. Live in one place for a couple years, work a job, meet people, make connections and then pack up and move on to another new place I'd never been. Experience America. Experience life. Keep moving and see everything that this country had to offer. After leaving LA, New Jersey was just the first stop in my budding adventure. But unemployment and the fact that New Jersey sucks really started making me feel stagnant after only a couple months. When I started sending resumes out of state, I could feel that excitement and wanderlust welling up again. And when I had my interview with the guy in Vincennes, I was charged up, ready to go. Who knew what kind of new things, new opportunities I'd be presented with. I'd be living right in the middle of America. The Heartland. A place I had always felt a connection to.

And I turned it down. Of course I wondered "what if."

I didn't get very far the first day I tried driving to Vincennes from Louisville, Kentucky. Looking at the map as I drove 70 mph, all I could see was a road named "Old Vincennes Road." I couldn't actually see Vincennes the city on the map. I had no idea how near or far I was. I just figured I'd follow the road to the end. It seemed logical that eventually I'd have to enter into its namesake. But I ended up somehow getting turned around when the road curved and I didn't realize that I'd somehow ended up back where I'd started. I'd had plans to meet the crew for dinner that night, so I put of my trip to Vincennes for the time being.

That next day, the let me out early because my work was done and there was very little else for me to do. So by 5 o'clock, I was motoring northeast toward the state line. It was a beautiful 75 degree day with no clouds in the sky. I had the top rolled down on my convertible and my Dixie Chicks "Home" CD blasting through the speakers. It wasn't long after I crossed the bridge into Indiana that I was in Appalachia and the words "bluegrass" suddenly made sense. Kentucky is apparently the Bluegrass state according to their license plate. Even though I was technically not in Kentucky at this point, I was still close enough geographically that I still felt like I was in bluegrass country.

I can't explain it. When you're driving around in these hilly, slightly mountainous areas with lots of green, trees threatening to overgrow the roads in some places, the fields blowing in the breeze… it just looks like bluegrass. You listen to bluegrass music and you say, "Yes." It just fits the area. And the "Home" CD has a lot of bluegrass music on it.

I got off the interstate about 5 miles into Indiana and made my way to Old Vincennes Road. I was determined not to get turned around again. I just started cruising, feeling the wind in my hair, the sun on my face and just letting the sounds of bluegrass carry me through the country. I was often alone on the two-lane road allowing me the freedom to just let my thoughts drift. I honestly can't remember a single thought that passed through my head for that first hour.

At some point I realized that I was almost out of gas, so I stopped at the first gas station and filled up. Around that point I looked at my map again and found Vincennes. There it was plain as day. I don't know why I couldn't find it before. It was actually north and east of where I was. As it turned out, Old Vincennes Road did NOT end up in Vincennes. Vincennes was actually at the end of US Route 50 which was about ten or so miles north of where I was. I found my way to 50 and started cruising.

By this point, I was at such peace with the world. I started thinking that there was only one thing that could make this whole experience just that much better. A cigarette. I've never been a smoker per se. I smoked a little more consistently for a period in college and then after that I'd have a cigarette here and there, sometimes socially, sometimes by myself in my apartment when I just wanted a quick fix. The good thing about not smoking that often is that when you do smoke, it gives you that nice little buzz that makes you feel almost stoned for a few minutes.

Well I decided that I wanted to smoke as I drove. So I pulled over at the next gas station and bought a pack. I always try and see if they have Kamel Reds, just about the most intense stuff that you can buy legally. I figure if I'm only going to smoke every now and then, I'm really going to SMOKE. They didn't have the reds, so I just got the regular Camels and a pack of matches. I got back in the car, tapping the pack against my hand. I pulled out the first cigarette, lit it and took a deep drag, just feeling the tingle go through my body. I started the ignition.

Before I pulled away, I did something that I do more of old tradition than anything else. Technically, I should have done this FIRST, but whatever. I opened the pack and flipped one of the cigarettes upside-down. Of course, that mean that that cigarette is "the Lucky." This is something I picked up from Mary Ann back in college. Back when I was still trying to woo her. The tradition, at least insofar as Mary Ann described it to me was that you smoke the Lucky last. And when you do, you make a wish on the Lucky.

Actually, it was the Lucky that finally allowed things to happen with Mary Ann so long ago. Standing out by the Charles River one night, smoking and drinking a bottle of Pinot Grigio. We got down to the last two cigarettes and I told Mary Ann how I felt about her even though she already knew. She gave me her Lucky and told me to make a wish. I did. And it came true that night.

In the 4 or so years since leaving school, whenever I've bought a pack of cigarettes, I've always made sure to flip that first cigarette around and smoke it last. Usually, I don't actually end up finishing an entire pack, so I never get down to the Lucky. And when I do, I don't think I ever really make a wish. What I do do is lend a thought to Mary Ann and those days. Even just the act of flipping over the cigarette in the first place makes me think back. Again, human nature. How can you not think back and wonder "what if."

After flipping around my Lucky, I was off again. About half-way through the cigarette I realized one more thing I needed to make this drive perfect. A Coca-Cola. In a bottle. After all, this was America I was driving through. Driving through the heartland, listening to the Dixie Chicks, I was feeling very American. And what could be more American than a bottle of Coke. So by the time I'd finished that first cigarette, I was approaching another gas station. I stopped in and bought a Coke. I lit up another cigarette and was on my way again.

I just don't understand how so few people can understand much less appreciate the simple pleasure of just driving for driving's sake. Just to drive with nowhere in particular to go. Just for the joy of roadtripping. Away from cities. Away from people. Away from everything. Just you and the road. I used to do it all the time in LA. I'd just drive to drive. I'd head out into the desert and find an old isolated road and just drive. Since moving to Jersey, I hadn't done much of that. So being out here in the open of Indiana was such sweet liberation. The road, the open convertible, the Coke and the gentle smoke-induced buzz. Only one word can truly describe it. "Ah…"

Sure I did have a destination in mind, but it wasn't like I had a specific reason to BE there other than to GO there. Plus, I wasn't taking the most direct route. After about a half hour on Route 50, I saw a sign for French Lick. I knew that name sounded familiar to me, but I couldn't remember why. I instantly thought of Alfalfa from the Little Rascals. But then I realized, nope, that's COW lick. I swear I'm not making that up. So why did that name sound so familiar. I hit me about thirty seconds later. Of course. French Lick is the hometown of Larry Bird. After another couple miles, the road forked. 50 kept on its direct route to Vincennes and the other route veered south towards French Lick. I took the detour.

By this point, I was sufficiently in the middle of the countryside. Small town, Hickville, USA. I knew that French Lick was supposed to be one of those nowhere towns. Larry Bird was a hometown boy who exceeded everything anybody from his town ever could have imagined. But I still was trying to imagine what the town would be like. Would there be a big sign saying, "Hometown of Larry Bird." Would the town be bigger because of the tourism draw of Celtic fans heading to their Mecca? Well, maybe not Mecca. Medina anyway. Would there be shop after shop, selling Larry Bird merchandise? Would there be a statue in the center of town? I wasn't sure, but I was excited to find out.

Turns out, there was none of that. French Lick was still just a one-horse town. Actually, I dare say it was even smaller than the town where I grew up. And I come from east bumblefuck Maine. There were no signs or billboards or anything that would indicate that this town was anything but just another pissant midwest hamlet. If somebody didn't already know that Larry Bird was from here, they'd never figure it out by driving through. Now granted, I didn't actually stop and go into any of the stores to see if they had jerseys or figurines or posters and whatnot. But somehow, I think the insides were similar to what I could see from the road. French Lick as ever seemed like just a small town that was going about its business the way it had always done. They were proud of their sons, but held none above the other. Within five minutes I had passed completely through and was heading back for Route 50. Bound for Vincennes.

With much of the road often to myself, even on this major thoroughfare across Indiana, I was able to let my gaze drift to the right and left a lot. Looking out at the rolling hills and mountains that just went off into the haze of the horizon, it made me wish I didn't have anywhere to be the next day. It made me wish I didn't have anywhere to be for several days. Honestly, it made me wish I didn't have any responsibilities at all to anybody or anything. I would have just liked to have parked my car on the side of the road and just picked a point on the horizon and just started walking towards it.

I had this feeling my first month in California. I lived in the north-central part of the state for the first few weeks and as I drove along, looking out at rolling mountains with nothing but grass and tress and dirt on them, I just longed to get out of the car and climb them. The thing about California though is that everything is fenced. I swear, the entire state has a fence around it. Not fifty feet from any road, the fences start and they span everything. Nobody wants you on their land no matter what. If I wanted to climb the mountain, I'd have to deal with the barbed wire first. Actually, one day I did just say fuck it and went through the fence anyway, but that's another story. In Indiana, actually pretty much everywhere I've seen but California, the land is open. Sure they have fences, but the fences are there to keep things IN, not to keep people OUT. Cows, Horses. They put the fences up so the livestock stays put. But if there are no animals to protect, the land is open. It's inviting. And looking out over that open inviting land, I just wanted to park, put on the emergency break, grab a pack and just start walking.

Instead, I kept on driving.

Route 50 turned into a freeway as it approached Vincennes. I wasn't sure what to expect from this faceless city. I actually wasn't sure whether I should even expect a CITY at all. Would it be a place like French Lick? Would it look like New Jersey, just an urban sprawl in the middle of the country? Or would it be a self-contained small city of its own? It was definitely bigger than French Lick. It had several exits from the Freeway. At this point, I realized that I perhaps hadn't thought this through completely. Once I got to Vincennes, where exactly was I going to GO? I wasn't sure what exit I should take. I didn't have time unlimited, so what was my best course of action to see enough to satisfy me before I left? I opted for the exit for Vincennes University. I figured if there was going to be any kinds of goings on about town, it would be near a college.

Vincennes was like a larger version of the town where I grew up. There were streets, a school, buildings and shops. The difference was it was spread over a wider area. But just because it got larger didn't mean it got BIGGER. There were no buildings taller than 3 stories. It was a weird thing to see actually. Almost anywhere you go in this country when you have a settlement of people that grows to the size of a small city or even a big town, it seems like the buildings get taller as well. There ends up being buildings with even 5 or 10 floors to them. But seriously, in Vincennes, nothing taller than 3 floors. And over the course of several miles that actually starts looking surreal. Corporate. Industrial almost. Like a large collection of warehouses.

Another weird thing about Vincennes is the way the buildings were spaced. In eastern America and most everywhere else I've been, when you have development, they make use of the space. You have one building right next to the other, separated by just enough room to drive a car or two in between. In Vincennes, it was like they realized they had all this space to work with being out in the middle of American and all, and so they didn't feel the need to cram. On any given block there'd be like 3 or 4 buildings with the space of another building or TWO in between so that you could actually see through the buildings to the next block. In between the buildings, it wasn't even paved. It was just grass. Actually grass which was overgrown. And add in the fact that it seemed as though a lot of the buildings were boarded up… It seemed like certain areas of the town were bordering on ghost-town. It was really strange actually. There were very few people walking about on the streets. There definitely didn't seem to be a proportionate amount of people to the buildings I was driving by.

So I drove through the town, looking for signs that would point me toward the University. I didn't see any and within 10 or so minutes I realized I was outside of the town proper and was out into the farm land again. I turned around and once I was back into "downtown", I turned down one of the side streets - Twenty-first Street or something. I saw a sign that said, "Lincoln Freedom Drive" or something with a picture of old Abe. I thought, that's odd. You'd think anything historical to do with Lincoln would be in Illinois where he was born. Well, about a minute later I ended up driving over a small two lane bridge over a river and into Illinois. I had driven across the entire state.

I turned around and headed back into Vincennes. There was a little town park right next to the river which I parked my car in. I walked across the grass and looked out over the river with a train trestle spanning it. The sun was starting to set by this point and the world was quite. Once again, I wished I had a camera. So many things on this trip I would have liked to have taken pictures of. But there was too much I wanted to see and not enough time to stop and look and any one of them for very long. That's always been the case with my road trips, something I'm kind of disappointed in. Lauren and I are planning a road trip for next spring and we're taking an entire month to do it. And I intend to do what I've never given myself time to do. Stop and look.

I drove around Vincennes a little more. It really was a self-contained little town. Much more so than the town where I grew up actually. It had a couple of little malls with national chain stores and restaurants. And in one of those little malls, I'm not sure, but I think I saw the company that I almost took a job from. I honestly don't remember the name of it. I never remembered the name after I turned the job down, but when I saw the name on the side of the building, I was pretty sure that was it. And yet, even now, I've forgotten the name. But I'm 90% sure that was the company. I had intended to stop into the little mini mall where this place was and just look inside the building through the window, but I didn't. I kept driving and then I ended up getting onto other roads and never found my way back.

I eventually found my way over to the University. So much like my hometown. We had a local college in Unity too with a campus and everything. Vincennes University was bigger with a more typical campus though. First I drove past the campus, looking down each street and at the storefronts on the main drag, trying to get an idea of where the action would be happening. I mean, with a college of this size in such a small town, there must be a bunch of things catering to college students because who else are you going to cater to? I saw one bar and from the drive-by, it looked pretty empty inside.

I turned around and headed into the campus. I parked my car, pulled out my cigarettes, lit one and started walking. I found myself quickly slipping into a role that I'd always wanted to play on one of these road trips - that of the wandering stranger. The guy who blows into town from who knows where and has that mysterious way about him. I was wearing jeans and a Pink Floyd shirt, my hair was windblown, I had about two-days growth on my face and I was smoking a cigarette. I know everybody else there just assumed that I was another student, but I just let myself absorb that role. I ambled casually like somebody who has nowhere to be and all the time to be there. There were a number of students out on campus, walking here and there, but none gave me a second look. There was some kind of comedy show going on at one of the student centers and many students were heading there. I wandered into another student center where there was a Starbucks. Nobody was there except the guy working the counter. I grabbed the Vincennes University newspaper and walked back out again.

I walked up to the street again. I decided to head down to that bar I'd passed. True it looked empty, but who knew what kind of people might be there. Again, playing the part of the wandering stranger, I figured maybe they locals would realize that I wasn't from around there and strike up a conversation. Smoking yet another cigarette, I ambled down the street. The air had started to take on a chill as the sun went down. In a house on the opposite side of the street, I saw two girls sitting in their living room. They saw me and waved. I waved back and kept on walking.

I walked past the bar intentionally, just casting a glance inside. It really looked dead in there, the only people inside were at least 40. No young college people. But then I decided, "fuck it," and continued with my role. I walked in and ordered a beer. The crusty old woman bartender asked to see my ID. I showed her my old California license instead of my current Maine license. She looked at it, looked at me and gave me a beer. I lit up another cigarette and drank my beer pretending to be interested in the basketball game on TV. I eavesdropped on the conversation of the other people sitting at the bar and laughed when they said something funny. I seriously had this idea in my head from watching one too many road movies where the people were going to ask where I'd come from and then we'd strike up a conversation and I'd wow them with my stories from life. Life outside this small town, the only life they'd ever known. But they kept their conversations to themselves.

I finished my beer and my cigarette, tipped the bartender and got up. It was getting late now and I really needed to start the long drive back to Louisville. I did have a call time the next morning.

On the way back to my car, I walked on the opposite side of the street, knowing I'd pass by the house where I'd seen the two girls who'd waved at me. I lit up another cigarette, ever the wandering stranger. All wandering strangers smoke after all. I passed by the house, but the girls who had been sitting in the window weren't there anymore. So much for the local girls asking the wandering stranger where he was from. Then I realized that this was actually a Sorority house. I'd originally assumed that it was an apartment. The next thought came into my head but I quickly pushed it down. But then I quickly just said, "fuck it" and turned around. I walked up to the house and knocked on the door.

Again, ever the wandering stranger, yet more movies were going through my head. The wandering stranger asks where a guy can find a good time, and the sorority girls say that he can hang out and party with them. To what end, who knows? Certainly not to the pornographic ends that those movies always lead to. I just figured I'd indulge the wandering stranger fantasy a bit and then get out before I treaded into dangerous territory.

Nobody answered the door. There was a mud room between the door I was at and the main entrance and my knocks were probably dying in there. I knocked louder. I walked over to the window where I'd seen the girls sitting and knocked on that. Nothing. I walked around to the side of the building to see if there was a door there. There wasn't, but there WAS a fire escape that went up to the second floor to a door that was open. Once again, I just said "fuck it" and walked up the stairs to the door. I knocked on the door and called into the hallway, "Hello?"

I could here a group of girls at the end of the hallway talking. They were all gathered in one room. One girl came out of the room and said, "Hi?" Ignoring how stupid this was surely going to sound and just going ever forward with the wandering stranger role, I said, "Hi, I'm just passing through and was wondering what there was to do in town." The girl was like, "Oh geez, I don't know." She turned around and headed back to the room saying, "Guys this guy wants to know what there is to do in Vincennes. I figured if anybody would know it'd be the Greeks." I followed her down to room where all the sisters were sitting around smoking and watching TV. "He's just passing through and is looking for something to do."

I could already tell that the answer was going to be "Not much in this god-forsaken dump." The movie scenes started flashing through my head again. "You can hang out with us if you want." Instead one of the girls said, "There a bar in the hotel down the street." She then proceeded to give me directions on how to get there. Nobody asked me to join them. Nobody asked me where I was "passing through" from. I stalled for time by clarifying the directions and just double-checking, "It's a hotel?" But still, nobody picked up on the wandering stranger cue. In the end, with dignity, I said thanks, took a drag from the cigarette and walked back out the door.

I made my way back to my car, walking by a bunch of frat guys jumping into the back of a pickup and driving away. I drove back to Louisville sticking to the main roads this time and making it a straight shot across the state. It still took me over 3 hours to get back. I was unexpectedly depressed. Partly, mostly because this had been a perfect evening and now it had to end and I was heading back into my normal life again. But also, there was a bit of bitterness that my little temporary fantasy hadn't panned out the way I'd hoped. I'd finally attempted the wandering stranger bit after how many road trips. And it hadn't worked. I wonder if it ever really works outside of the movies and folk music.

I flipped back and forth through the radio as I drove, eventually getting sick of the very country music I had been so in love with 5 hours earlier. I put in one of my CD's and listened to Classic Rock, Top 40 and Trance music. And my thoughts drifted from one thing to another. I wasn't sorry a bit that I'd given up that job in Vincennes. Well, maybe just a LITTLE bit. Above all, my tragic flaw in this life is going to be my curiosity, so I WAS curious about what my life would have been like had I taken the job and moved to Vincennes. What kinds of friends would I have made? What kinds of people would I have met? I wasn't able to pull off the wandering stranger bit. But I've never really been able to pull off the instant stranger attraction thing. I've always been more of a, get-to-know-me kind of person. Would I have fallen in love with somebody in Vincennes if I had stayed? Would I have had a bunch of fun and meaningless encounters with the very sorority chicks who hadn't indulged my fantasy?

The George Bailey-ness of the night was starting to wear off. I had gotten a glimpse of what my life would have been like. But as is the way with anything I think, it opened more questions than it actually answered. I don't doubt still that I made the right decision and got the better end of the deal, but still, my soul can never help but wonder "what if?" I know it'll always be that way until I die.