Before I began my life on the road, I planned to avoid interstates.
I would meander down the backroads of small-town America to get a flavor for what “real America” was like.
I’d shop at local mom and pop stores. I’d eat delicious food at local restaurants, I’d have real conversations, meet interesting characters and immerse myself in these towns.
My goal wasn’t simply to reach a destination. The journey itself was to be my destination.
Well, that has not happened.
Instead, I’ve been racing from destination to destination in a somewhat desperate attempt to find good campsites, decent groceries and mild weather.
It’s not quite the extended vacation I had imagined.
On my way out of Florida, I could have gone up Route 27, a two lane road that winds through small towns next to the Everglades. Instead, I flew up I75, stopping only at rest stops and gas stations until I hit I10 in the panhandle.
The prior week, I drove down Route 27 returning from Central Florida with my new camper. It sucked compared to the turnpike. The speed limit changed from 65 to 35 to 25 as I drove through each little town. One town looked just like the next. Every Dollar Store, Walmart and funky gas station looked the same. An accident close the road for over an hour, as I sat impatiently waiting fo the road to clear. What was a 4 hour turnpike trip north, was a 7 hour return trip south
After Florida, I left I10 to traverse the back roads of Mississippi. I drove 4 hours to camp in a beautiful National Forest. It was lovely that night. I woke the next morning at 4 AM in complete wooded darkness. Then a raging thunderstorm struck as I was breaking camp in the dark. I drove the next 4 hours on unlit bumpy country roads through lightening, thunder and torrential rains. By the time I reached I10, I had decided I would stay on the interstate until I reached my first long term campsite in New Mexico.
The next two days, I ate up the miles heading west on I10. I didn’t leave the Interstate again until I reached New Mexico.
In New Mexico, I left the highway. To reach my first campsite, I passed drive through some little, dirty oil town. I hit the dirty Walmart for groceries, gassed up at a Valero and drove on gravel covered, under construction roads for hours before making camp for the night. The next day, rather than backtrack to the interstate, I decided to take the smaller highway across the Carlsbad mountains.
It was picturesque. The mountains were stunning. The drive was breathtaking at times. There were fields, ranches, migrant camps and trailers off in the distance. Other than an occasional car passing in the opposite direction, there was no sign of life anywhere.
After driving a few hours without seeing a gas station, I started to get worried. My truck said I had 64 miles worth of gas left. The nearest gas station was 68 miles away.
Then I lost cell service.
Uh oh.
I thought about backtracking, but I didn’t have enough gas to make it. I dropped my speed from 70 to 65 to 55 to 50. Nothing changed.
Whenever cell service returned, I pulled over and searched google for gas stations. I studied my atlas. There were no detours or side routes that would get me to a gas station before El Paso – which was now 8 miles further than my gas would get me.
I thought about leaving my trailer at the side of the road and returning for it with a full tank. I thought about dumping my water. I worried I’d run out of gas and not even have cell service to call AAA.
In the end, I made it to a station on the outskirts of El Paso with a few gallons to spare. I filled my tank and my two spare gas cans.
After this near miss, I haven’t left the Interstate, except to make camp or resupply.
Since I started, I’ve driven nearly 4000 miles. Instead of journeying through small towns, I’ve stuck to major interstates between destinations. I try to reach new campsites by the early afternoon so I am not searching unfamiliar, unlit back roads in the dark.
On a few occasions when I detoured through small towns, I ended up finding myself on the road driving exhausted in the dark searching for any acceptable place to pull over for the night.
Out west in Texas, Arizona and New Mexico, my experience driving on major Interstates has been great. There are truck stops, gas stations and rest areas. The roads are well maintained. Parking lots are lit. Food, full and supplies are readily available.
When I detoured off of the major highways, I was in for a shock. A lot of small town America is a shithole. The roads are full of potholes and patches. Many are just dirt – in town!
Main streets are full of empty, dilapidated storefronts, for sale signs and boarded up buildings.
Gas is more expensive, when available. Food choices are limited. Convenience stores have poorer selection and higher prices.
I want to want to traverse the Blue Highways. I want to want to avoid the interstates and immerse myself in “real America”.
Perhaps I’m more comfortable with what’s familiar – cities, highways and infrastructure. Perhaps after I have more confidence living on the road, I’ll be more open to exploring the side roads and small towns – no matter what they bring.
Then again, perhaps not. Maybe the allure of the Blue Highways is just a romantic notion that will never be a reality for me.