Asphalt Islands; or, Bypassing Home

This might seem odd, but when I'm driving on a four-lane highway, I notice old road beds. They fascinate me, these abandoned stretches of cracked, overgrown asphalt. Most of the time, it's a small strip of road, where the new bypass veers off.

You see a lot of bypasses around here. They give drivers quick passage around small towns like Pontotoc, Houston and Nettleton. Instead of having to battle that traffic snarl at Main and Fifth, we can whiz around all that, with nothing to slow us down but the occasional deer or possum darting out of the ditch.

I'm a typical guy, I like to make good time. But I think we've lost something in our haste. I know downtowns have lost valuable business dollars, especially the gas stations and what few mom and pop eateries remain. I wasn't around in the pre-bypass era, but I imagine downtowns were a lot livelier than they are now. When my route takes me through one, I don't see much happening, no matter the day or time.

We're losing much more than money, though. It's like we're trying to bypass a whole part of our culture and heritage. I have my suspicions why we're doing this, but that could take days to dissect.

When I see those vanishing roadways, which normally are on an island between the bypass's new direction and where the old road picks back up, I feel like I've lost something I never had. It's like the route home has been torn up, and we eventually forget that the road, and what's at the other end of it, was ever there.

Today's Redneck Moment: My two oldest daughters were trying to out-burp each other at the dinner table. *sniff* I'm so proud.