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On Chilhowie
Current mood: amused
Category: Travel and Places

'Chilhowie, Va.'

I was driving down Interstate 81 in Virginia, on my way to California. The sun had only set maybe a couple hours before, maybe less. It had already felt like an eternity. It was only the second day of my trip and that felt like an eternity too. I pulled over at a rest stop. Washed my face and my armpits at a sink in the bathroom. People looked at me, but with a trained lack of curiosity. If there was any judgment they felt, on seeing a scruffy little man with a tattoo washing up at the sink, I did not feel it. Sometimes I did think I sensed a little awe though. And I wondered if these people on some level didn't think: 'Here is a little scruffy man with a tattoo who is headed somewhere really cool.' And in response I'd think, 'you're absolutely right.' Despite my troubled thoughts on that strange trek to Australia, I was having the time of my life and excited to meet my destination.

Carrying my towel, my dirty shirt and my toiletries, I went back to the car - my little orange beast, my Maggie. A man standing alongside the curb of the parking lot stopped me. It freaked me out a little, at first - as the urban legend mystique of rest stops freaks me out in general. What a world. What did he want from me, I thought? My money? My life? Worse? I pondered what 'worse' might entail. Brrr. Shiver. What a world.

I forced myself to talk to him, if just to get over my irrational fear of strangers at rest stops, after dark.

Wait - is that an irrational fear?

Turned out that he was from Brooklyn. Having seen my New York plates, he had recognized in me a kinsman. He was a friendly enough guy, who just wanted to talk. What a world.

When I finally climbed back into Maggie, I waited until the Brooklyn guy ambled away to his own car before taking a couple drags at a bowl. Just to take the edge off that glimmer of a tension headache developing at my temples.

I went on down the interstate a little ways. Not too far though. And then I had to pull over again. It was important to write. Had to get something on paper before the whole thing was gone. I'd just passed a place called Chilhowie, you see. As soon as I saw the sign a huge smile had burst across my face. Chilhowie. How cool, I thought. And then I said:

'Hey, Howie. Chill man. Chill Howie.'

Chilhowie...wonder what it feels like to live there, I thought. Do they feel persistently patronised, like they're never chill enough? Or do they blame it all on Howie?

The

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