Feeling 41

"And I was born in the backseat of a Greyhound bus rollin' down highway 41."  Ramblin' Man, Dickey Betts

Highways have personalities.  The personality of a highway is unique to each of its travelers.  We like or dislike certain roads depending on any number of factors.  But for better or for worse we have feelings about them.  I have warm fuzzy feelings for US 78 north of Birmingham, Alabama. The girl I would marry and I spent many hours on hwy 78 in 1975 and 76  between Birmingham and Jasper,  She lived there, I had a job there, we both went that direction every week from college, so why not car pool? Because of I-22 I don't often travel that way, but just thinking about that road feels good.

I have good feelings for Alabama 167 from Troy to Enterprise, Alabama. The right turn from US 231 from wherever I was traveling meant that I was forty miles from home. Continuing south, Hwy 167 becomes Florida 79 about twenty five miles south of Enterprise. Hwy 79 holds fond memories because of the multitude of family trips to Florida over the years along that road. Besides quaint Florida towns, five miles north of the Gulf of Mexico hwy 79 crosses the West Bay Bridge.  Until recent years it was a draw bridge. Growing up we always hoped a boat was coming so that we could watch it in action. As excited as we were to get to the beach, waiting for a boat to pass was never an inconvenience.

Some highways have personality because of their history.  Route 66, for example, is a national treasure. 66 was one of the original highways in the US Highway System. From Chicago, Illinois to Santa Monica, California it became a major east-west corridor in the United States. Established in 1926 it was removed from the highway system in 1985 because the interstate system had made it obsolete.  A few years ago a Route 66 revival was born  and gained momentum with the Pixar movie Cars. For those willing to look, traces of the Mother Road are still visible all along the original path.

Until recent years I had no feelings at all for US 41. US 41 is a north-south corridor from Lake Superior  at Copper Harbor, Michigan to Miami, Florida. The highway covers 2000 miles through seven states.  I had driven on it a few times to avoid traffic near Atlanta and occasionally between my house and Ringgold, Georgia.  But I had no particular emotional connection to it. I do now.  Although Hwy 41 parallels I-75, more often than not coming home from work I choose  hwy 41.  Besides the fact that it takes me through my quaint town of Ringgold, it's just fun to drive that way. Just south of Ringgold the authorities post a very generous 55 mph speed limit. I find it hard to believe that it's 55 and not 45, but that's what it is.  So that's what I do. The sensation of speed on any highway is a relative thing.  If you're traveling the speed limit of 85 mph across New Mexico's vast expanse, you feel like you're sitting still. 55 mph on hwy 41 between Ringgold and my house is exhilarating.. In the first place  the road is flanked by a lot of stuff not far off the road.  When you're going 55 mph south all that stuff is going 55 mph north. And then there are a generous number of curves. Curves produce Gs.  G means good. In the unfortunate event I find myself behind a slow poke (you know, 50), there is one passing lane that provides an opportunity for acceleration.  Acceleration is fun. And for the record, I'm not in  a sports car. I  drive a modest four-cylinder Nissan Altima.  A family car. But it accelerates.

So am I  driving recklessly?  No, I'm not driving recklessly.  Am I driving dangerously?  I'm driving the speed limit. The rest of it happens by itself. You wouldn't want me to hold up traffic, would you?

Unlike Route 66, US 41 is alive and well.  When I travel the ten miles that I frequent, I'm aware of the fact that I am touching 41.  I sense its length and its history.  I'm aware that there is much more to hwy 41 than I have experienced. I consider the possibility of a south-north adventure. I've only been to Miami once and I've never been to Copper Harbor, Michigan.  I like saying it's on my things-to-do list  rather than my bucket list.  I prefer to think that I'm about to live instead of I'm about to die.

But if I do meet my unfortunate demise on Highway 41, let my epitaph read, "He was driving the speed limit."