and miles and miles and miles …

25 miles cruised through the country (both ways) (each way i mean) (oh hell it was 50 miles) (in opposite directions) (taxis call it 10-6, 10-19) (it was not nearly long enough) (and yet it was perfect)

and there was a shoe sale in the middle and then the 99cent rack at goodwill at the end and sometimes i’m such a girl. sheesh.

there are certain combinations of patterned sunshadows and 75 degree wind in the hair and all the windows down and robert plant and pink floyd played loud on the buick’s concert sound IIs (which are perfectly capable of creating a resonance within the well-worn leather seats) and this clears away all the usual existential angst i mean seriously, give me one of those dour-faced sourpuss nihilists for an afternoon and there would be a change in philosophy, i guarantee it. c’mon, jean paul, climb on in, frederich, ima gonna take you for a leeetle ride …

however i never need company on this drive. highway 118 is a straight curvy flat rolling ribbon of two lane unwinding sixty-five seventy dangerously sexy daytime headlights type of trip, strictly business this was, i don’t cruise around unregistrated for pleasure, no sir. it was all about practicality and necessity and responsibility and there are certain air temperatures at which it should be illegal to remain clothed, and by this i mean i believe i might be regretting the whole deciding – not – to – spontaneously – take – my – shirt – off – i – mean – why – not – there – are – way – skimpier – bathing – suits. not complaining, merely mentioning that so i could slip in the fact i seriously might have done that, but my hands were kinda busy. and when it comes down to the windblown seduction of patterned sunshadows skimming the skin intimate and mirrored in the scintillating rushing oncoming traffic intimate i mean between us we’ve got a hundred twenty miles an hour and not eight feet separating us and i take the thirty five mile an hour curves at fifty right around the time will you listen to those tires screaming [insert name being screamed here] i mean what are the chances?

[do not i repeat do not try this yourself. i am the best driver i know. and i do this all the time so i have plenty of … um. what? no, no, that’s not what i meant to say at all … wait. yes it was. ]

6 thoughts on “and miles and miles and miles …

  1. ah yes, the 118, I remember it fondly. and that’s so crazy you wrote this, because i have been thinking of a similar thing…you know, that feeling you get when the sun is setting and the weather is perfect and the music moves you and you are driving down the highway and you let the wind play with your hair….you know, that feeling. is there a name for it? i miss that feeling. it’s been a very long time.

  2. there really isn’t anything like it. i always try to get caught at the light in somis somewhere near the front of the pack, that way the road stays pretty clear all the way to central, because … because that road is one superlative piece of ass.

  3. Ah the call of the open road, I remember it well. You just can’t go round without a helmet on a bike these days, but you never went that fast, your hair would whip you to death, or the pavement would grind nice clean flat spots on your skull. These days not even having a car makes it a bit difficult, but what I called it was putting the top down, wind all the windows down, crank up the ten speaker 300Watt per channel sounds, and make the tyres squeel at ever corner. Found this:


  4. My friend Warren hit a deer while pleasuring himself while driving. He said he just pulled over and continued getting himself off, and then went to check the deer and car when done!

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