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Fun With Numbers

Kuda

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All you really see from an interstate is the ass of the truck in front of you. I favor secondary roads and gravel roads wherever possible. They slow you down and make you pay attention to your environment.

When driving back to Poenix from
Shreveport I'll set my GPS to avoid
Highways & toll roads. Plan to take
the back roads home.....there's a
song in there somewhere......
 
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Marshall

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For those traveling East from Shreveport, I would recommend the Natches Trace if you can work it onto your route.

NatchezTraceMap.jpg
 
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Buckeyejake

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Since I'm an early adopter I'm planning on stopping off along my way home at other reservation holders homes to allow them an early ride in my Elio. Just need to arrange that schedule prior to picking up my Elio and driving it home to Ohio. Probably add another week to my return trip but it will be great fun and I'll be able to start fulfilling my role as an Elio ambassador.
 

Frim

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Since I'm an early adopter I'm planning on stopping off along my way home at other reservation holders homes to allow them an early ride in my Elio. Just need to arrange that schedule prior to picking up my Elio and driving it home to Ohio. Probably add another week to my return trip but it will be great fun and I'll be able to start fulfilling my role as an Elio ambassador.

Could you make a small detour through St. Louis?
 

Gregw

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Marshall

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When driving back to Poenix from
Shreveport I'll set my GPS to avoid
Highways & toll roads. Plan to take
the back roads home.....there's a
song in there somewhere......
"On back roads again...
Just can't wait to get on back roads again...
The life I love is making music with my friends....
I can't wait to get on back roads again..."
 

Ekh

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This is an essay on gravel roads, excerpted from my book Explorations in Photography. The Elio makes a lot of possibilities real -- but watch out for flats on those gravel roads! (maybe 6 ply tires if you're serious about it)


The Magic of Gravel Roads


My love affair with gravel roads begins in the gritty New England of my youth. In those days northwestern Connecticut was a land of dairy farms, rock-strewn cornfields, and hockey on the village pond. The Litchfield Hills were long wooded ridges with a stream in every valley, laced together by an intricate network of dirt roads. The nearby Berskhires were steeper and more rugged. A teenager seeking a little romance with his girlfriend quickly drew a detailed mental map of every dirt road within 50 miles of home … and was boastful of his knowledge.


The gravel roads of New England were a hoot to drive, except in mud season, when they became nerve-sapping mires. I remember a sign, back before all of Vermont 100 was paved, that read “choose yer ruts careful, you’ll be in ‘em a while.” And oh, ‘twas true, and thank God for newish snow tires. But mainly, driving these roads with their rocks, washboards, and potholes was just great fun. You never knew what you’d see — an abandoned village, a mountain lion (yes, in 1955 or 56 I truly did see one spring from a boulder and leap across the road in front of us).

My father, a well-known humorist and novelist, loved driving – it was where he did his thinking about the next day’s stint at the typewriter. If we were quiet, my brother and I could go along for the ride. The Colonel (as he was called by many) frequently had no idea of where he was in the physical world, being fully engaged in the world of his imagination. But as kids, we never worried. Dirt roads invariably did one of two things: they emerged onto a larger road, or they petered out.in a farm yard or trail head, in which case you just turned around and waited til Option One (“coming out somewhere”) occurred. Satellites had barely been invented, GPS lay five decades down the road, and we had a perfectly wonderful time “getting lost.”

These expeditions bred in me a genuine love of driving for the fun of it, for the adventure of finding something new, and for the occasional challenge of extricating yourself from any number of unforeseen situations. (I vividly remember backing up 5 miles of logging road in New Hampshire, and doing the same for about 2 miles of mountain shoulder in Jamaica 10 years later)

A few years ago I had occasion to drive through much of the Western States, and last year spent two months on the gravel in northern Canada and Alaska. This gave me plenty of time to reflect on the magic of gravel roads. Here are my conclusions:


Blacktop roads and interstates urge you to get from A to B as quickly as you can. They’re all about the result, a quick arrival, and minimum time on the road. On an interstate, you see virtually nothing but the semi in front of you – a boring view to say the least.


Gravel roads issue an engraved invitation to satisfy your curiosity. Where does this road go? What’s around the bend? What lake is that I’m glimpsing through the trees? Gravel roads trigger the imagination. They’re seductive, adventuresome, teasing.


Where concrete induces boredom, gravel incites a broad range of feelings. Gravel roads may intrigue, beguile, terrify, excite, and even flat-out astound you with some unexpected beauty.


Most of the time, especially in hilly or mountain areas, gravel roads follow the contours of the land, and because you’re going slowly, you have the opportunity to look around. New views are around every curve, and there are LOTS of curves. Where asphalt says, “hurry,” gravel says “slow down and enjoy the show.”



 
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