Josna Rege

232. Before Interstates, Before Automobiles

In 1970s, 1990s, Books, history, Nature, places, reading, Stories, travel, United States on November 9, 2013 at 10:41 am
The Oxbow—Connecticut River Near Northampton by Cole Thomas (Wikimedia Commons)

The Oxbow—Connecticut River Near Northampton by Thomas Cole, 1836 (Wikimedia Commons)

I’ll never forget the time Andrew and I drove cross-country with our world-traveled friend Peta, on her first trip to the United States in the nineteen seventies. Anticipating a rugged ride into the Wild West, she was singularly unimpressed with the reality of American highway travel. “Everything looks the same,” she complained, citing the HoJo’s restaurants and motor lodges with their ubiquitous orange roofs all along the Eastern highways and the Stuckey’s chain with their corn-syrup-filled pecan pies and log rolls regularly clogging the arteries through the South, Midwest, and Southwest. What blots on the magnificent landscape! Even as we argued with Peta, insisting that she would see wild aplenty as soon as we got off the Interstate, we couldn’t help agreeing with her.

The U.S Interstate Highway System has blasted through rugged rock and ridge, cutting out the sinuous curves that follow the natural contours of ridges, valleys and rivers, and replacing them with straight-arrow lines; leveling out the ups and downs to create a smooth, easy ride across the country; making it possible—as long as you have the gasoline—to cover long distances in a very short period of time. While I certainly appreciate what has been achieved by the construction and maintenance of these travel and transportation networks, I often try to imagine what it might have been to actually feel the topography, what the country looked like, and how different travel must have been before they existed—heck, before automobiles themselves existed.

The Connecitcut River from French King Brdge, Erving-Gill, Mass. (photo: Wikimedia Commons)

The Connecticut River from French King Bridge, Erving-Gill, Massachusetts (photo: Wikimedia Commons)

When I’m on a long highway drive, especially on Interstate 91 through the Connecticut River Valley, I often wonder whether I would know where I was if I were to be dropped down at that very location in the past, say, during the colonial era. I realize that although I must have driven hundreds of times back and forth over the 100-miles of highway between the Pioneer Valley in South Deerfield, Massachusetts and the Upper Valley near White River Junction, Vermont, I still couldn’t describe with any precision the land I have travelled so often. The only natural landmark I can identify is the Connecticut River, since the Interstate runs parallel to it for much of that stretch. I know that there are hills and valleys along the way, because the car engine would strain at times, or a truck would barrel down behind me, forcing me over into the left lane, or I would suddenly be enveloped in a dense fog and have to slow down to a crawl or even pull over and stop until it cleared. But set me down at any point along the way without the highway signs to orient me, and I would be absolutely helpless.

Old-growth forest, Cummington, Massachusetts

Old-growth forest, Cummington, Massachusetts

I imagine myself surrounded by dense old-growth forest, trying to find a high overlook that would allow me to get a fix on my location; and then I imagine the journey on foot or by carriage that now takes me all of two hours, fortified by a travel mug of tea and a Ben and Jerry’s Heath Bar Crunch picked up at the convenience store in Putney, Vermont at the halfway point of my drive. The same ground covered by horse and carriage would have required at least one overnight stay at an inn, and perhaps would have been impassable in a snowy winter or a wet mud season. No wonder visits to distant friends and relations are so protracted and emotionally charged in 19th-century novels. For instance, when, in Pride and Prejudice Elizabeth Bennet goes to visit her dear friend Charlotte after Charlotte has married Mr. Collins, she does not know when she might be able to see her again, so she stays as long as she can. Rather than consisting of a quick overnight or a weekend at best, visits in the days before automobile travel lasted weeks on end, sometimes months.

Mount Holyoke Range near the Horse Caves, Amherst (photo by Alison Myra Ozer)

Mount Holyoke Range near the Horse Caves, Hadley (photo by Alison Myra Ozer)

I once read something by Emily Dickinson in which she mentioned that, as youths, her brother and his friends spent their days rambling over the Mount Holyoke Range. To my shame, although I see those hills every day as I drive to the gas station or the supermarket, after having lived in the area for 23 years I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I have actually set foot on them. I was going to ask for a GPS (or sat nav) for Christmas, but I’ve changed my mind. Time to get out the topo map and re-orient myself, not to manmade networks, whether satellites or highways, but to the features of the natural landscape of this beautiful planet we are so privileged to inhabit.

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  1. Reading this again in 2021 it brings floods of memories back! Thanks for re-posting this!
    I totally agree with you. This is such a beautiful country- still, and I was so privileged to
    drive through it at a leisurely pace! The first time was with my grandparents in their old
    blue station wagon. They were determined to show me as much countryside as possible
    all across the US to Boston! Coming back we came a more Southern route so we did not
    repeat anything all the way back to California. What a gift!
    x Marianne x

    Liked by 1 person

    • What a gift indeed, Marianne–to have traveled across the country and back at a leisurely pace and with your grandparents! When we drove across country and back in our youth we often took those Southern routes. And there is still so much of the country I haven’t seen. Love, J


  2. Reblogged this on Tell Me Another and commented:

    From a New England November of yesteryear. . .


  3. I used to make regular trips from Michigan to the west coast – Seattle and Oceanside, CA. Once I went by car but otherwise I rode the train. You go right through the back of downtown instead of bypassing on the highway. I enjoyed looking at the changing landscape through the mountains and the plains.

    I don’t know, even driving in the Eastern half of the US, there is a definite difference driving through the Great Smokies and driving through the flat midwest. There’s a difference between the Eastern mountains and the Rockie mountains. Even with the Stucky’s signs.


    • Kristin, you are quite right that despite everything, despite the chains and the Interstates, the feel of of each particular region still comes through. And if it wasn’t for the Interstates (and cheap gasoline), I certainly wouldn’t have gotten to see as much as I have of this beautiful and amazingly diverse country.
      Yes, train would be the way to go. I love traveling by train in India, and have always wanted to take the train across the U.S.. Loved driving through Tennessee when taking the Southern route on our cross-country trips–a long time ago now.


  4. What you say is so true Josna. We have created so much that has alienated us from the natural landscape. When I think of the journey that we used to make between Durban and Johannesburg and compare it to the journey we now make between these two places, there’s just no comparison. I would go back to the first one any time. Somehow one was far more part of the landscape then. So enjoyed your post.


  5. I’m with you there! If you allow yourself the time to take it easy, traveling the small roads and byways is the most pleasant and you get a whole new idea of this country.
    I remember going on bicycle trips through Vermont in the Fall and many of those little roads through breathtaking landscapes were empty of cars and trucks, so it is (or used to be) a perfect way to get right into the outdoors. Riding through a rainstorm is just as lovely and different as riding through on sun dappled roads, or a misty morning fog where you can actually smell the wet hay and watch the ferns unfurl in the damp woods. There is nothing like stopping by a babbling brook and just listening to all the soft sounds around you that are never even heard in a car. You appreciate the wonderful creation around you in a personal and unique way.
    I will never forget it. Thank you for reminding me!


    • Marianne, I can smell that wet hay and see the ferns unfurling, in slow motion! Of course it’s a lot slower, an entirely different way to travel. Stopping and just listening; no cars or trucks. That must have been a long time ago, even in Vermont. x J


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