Home On The Road 

I first drove to Vermont when I was six years old. Well, I didn’t actually drive, being six years old, but it was the first time I embarked on this particular road trip. I was in the back of my family’s green minivan with my brother and sister as we all headed north out of New Jersey for a ski vacation. Since then, we moved full time to Vermont, and later still I moved away, but there has always been a reason – work, play, or family – to make the trip there and back, following the same familiar corridor that has become an indelible part of my life.

Early on, the journey was made in the family van with a miniature CRT television bungeed between the front seats to entertain us kids. As years passed, the cars changed, as did the reasons for the trips. We would go in for the weekend to see friends, or visit my father when he was too busy with work to leave his apartment in Manhattan to come home to Vermont for the weekend. Eventually, I fell in love with a small college just outside the city and that was when I began making the trip on my own. I remember the first time I drove it by myself, never having to look at a map or guess which turn to make as by that point the proper route was ingrained on me.

The route itself is subject to the whim of the driver. One can opt for the scenic Taconic State Parkway, full of rolling hills and cut straight through the foliage. Trucks are forbidden here, which adds to the serenity of it all. In fact the Taconic is sometimes so close to nature the animals themselves can’t tell the difference. My car was once struck in the side by a deer that had careened out of the woods with no regard for the multiple speeding vehicles in its path. I don’t know what ultimately became of it, but I did keep the tuft of hair it left in my door handle as a souvenir, while it kept my side mirror. If you are in any sort of a rush, or want less of a safari-like experience, you can decide to take the New York State Thruway, which runs parallel to the Taconic on the other side of the Hudson River. The landscape that the Taconic seems to have been draped over has been hewn down to create a gentler ride on the Thruway, easy enough that it can be taken at speed and without much thinking it all. While it is unimaginative, it is efficient.

Once past Albany, the rest of the trip is on small two-lane affairs. The most direct route is to cut your way diagonally towards Vermont by taking back roads through towns like Valley Falls and the unpronounceable Schaghticoke. In the summer, the corn is high and bounds the road just a couple feet from the white lines, while in the winter these winding roads can be treacherously slick with ice and snow. Hoosick Falls, which lies just forty-five minutes from home, is where my car once struggled to get up a big hill, then sputtered out. I still drive by the garage that managed to bring her back to life.

I’ve made the drive with many different companions over the years. I’ve brought new friends home from college to relax on our academic breaks, and carried old friends from back home down to the city to see where I’ve settled. My father and I have driven back and forth to business meetings. I’ve taken girls home to meet my parents, and soon I’ll be driving my fiancée to Vermont for our wedding. Often the passenger seat is just filled with luggage and the only accompaniment I have is the radio or audiobook coming through the speakers.

This road trip, which I’ve undertaken time and time again over the years, has become much more than repeated four-hour stints behind the wheel. I have been looking through the window at these towns, cities, and landscapes as long as I can remember. While the places I go on either end have changed, the route between them has stayed mostly the same, and has become one of the few constants in my life so far. I have been driving back and forth on this stretch of road longer than I have lived in any one place, eating at the restaurants and refueling at the gas stations enough that they will always feel familiar. I’ve made memories along the way that will stay with me forever. Whenever I make this trip there is little rush to get home because, in a way, I’m already there.