Reflections from November

Driving down a lonely section of I-80 near Akron, Ohio, I absent-mindedly stare at a copper colored Suburban driving just ahead in the next lane. The lone vehicle had two occupants, a man and a boy.

The sight of the vehicle brought back images of my Grandpa John driving in his early 1980's hunter orange suburban. I can still smell his cherry pipe tobacco and imagine the compass whirling around on the dash. I visualize the brown vinyl interior and the remnants of the last straw bales carried in there fluttering around in the air from the open window. His love for big band music always apparent through his choice of AM radio stations.

I look back at the memory jogging vehicle still just ahead in the next lane. The kid in the front seat is wrinkling his nose out the window at me, but I don't think that it's actually directed to me - it's just directed out.

At the wheel is a rather rat faced looking man, maybe in his early 20's, sporting a leather jacket and a mullet.

As I look closer, I can see a 1970's snowmobile jammed in the back of the Suburban. I can see it's round headlight peering out at me indifferently. Through the dirt streaked glass, I can tell that it is pale blue with a white stripe.