On the road again

I have always had a special place in my heart for highways.

I was raised off exit 18 of I-70 in western Missouri. The commute to my high school was formed by I-70 and I-435. I always looked for the skyline of Kansas City formed by the two highways right before merging southbound. Where I first defined my life happened off exit 121, where the exit ramp is lined with tiger paws, a cheesy reference to my university’s mascot.

I wouldn’t say that my life has been sheltered. I listened to NPR. I protested child soldiers. But for all intents and purposes, my life has always existed along I-70. I can tell you the Gap outlet store used to be at exit 20. I can tell you Concordia is the best place to get gas. I can tell you the Missouri River intersects the highway at about mile marker 100 and that during the winter,  you can see the Katy Trail running parallel to its banks and that during the spring, the bank will reach well into the flood plain on either side of the bridge. 

But more than that, by the time I graduated college, I felt I could recognize every individual tree and bush along that stretch of highway. 

I now live on a stretch of 23 km of highway between Savalou and my village. I have ridden on those 23 km in cars, both air conditioned and not, on motorcycles  where you can reenact Rose at the front of the Titanic if your driver doesn’t mind, but mostly on a bike.

I know now the children in Kpataba are the most aggressive when shouting “foreigner." 

And that there are only two major hills left to climb once you hit Mamatchoke.

And that tree. That tree right there, is the first shady spot outside of Savalou, a good place to retie the backpack that’s falling off your back wheel mount and that place where you ate ice cream with your friend Lynsey one time.