Newton, MA-->Noank, CT-->Centralia, PA-->Philadelphia, PA-->Baltimore, MD
Friday, May 11th, 2012
I just arrived in Baltimore at 1:30pm. I'm hungover and hot and tired. On Wednesday I departed from Newton and drove to Noank to visit a dear friend of mine. My last day of working at a barn mucking stalls and dog walking was, as my mother suggested it may be, "surreal". I handed my cat, Edwood, over to a nice woman that I work with at the barn. She's going to but Edwood up until November free of charge so I am certainly grateful for that.
Noank was cozy. my friend was house sitting so I slept in the master bedroom of a strangers' home. That night I sang/yelled at the ocean. I am going to miss the open water, or at least feeling a subconscious proximity to it.
On Thursday I drove from Noank to Centralia after purchasing a small propane stove and some pots and pans for the road ahead. Centralia is a ghost town that began to fall in on itself in the 1970's when a coal mine caught fire beneath the land. The former town continues to smolder to this day. The rubble is mostly cleared away and vegetation has begun to overtake the streets and lots where houses used to be. I drove up a road until it became a dead end where the paved street became a grassy path. After stopping and emerging from my car I walked along the path a ways. It seemed to continue onward and I began to feel an eerie discomfort with the thought that the woods in which I was surrounded used to be a neighborhood.
So I turned back, re-entered my car and drove around the block and up a hill that seemed to be piles of dirt pushed upon the burning land in an effort to put out the fire below. I exited my car once again and ran from peak to peak on the hill in order to get a better view of the surrounding area. To the east was an existing coal mine, which essentially looked like a charcoal mountain. In the distance to the west, a wind farm. The dichotomy of these two features gave me a rushing sense of the transitional world in which I live. Looking down at my feet I suddenly noticed that the earth was smoking from several holes on the hilltop where I stood.
Gazing into the possible abyss which are these smoke-spots, one can imagine the coal down below continuing to burn. Someone told me that they put an entire train into the mine in an effort to smother the burning coal, though this tactic apparently did not succeed in its mission. Returning to my car, I drove down the functioning street that still runs through the town. I was almost on my way along when I noticed another wide street that veered off to the right and had been barricaded with a mound of dirt, thus preventing vehicles from traveling down it (or even noticing it). I pulled off to the shoulder, exited my metal box once again, and proceeded toward the road.
A path to the street had been carved through the dirt barricade over the years where curious tourists like myself had gotten acquainted with Centralia. Once past the obstacle, I saw that the street was four lanes and dappled with graffiti, gradually sloping downward. Where the median once was now sprung many small trees and shrubs. I continued along until I made out two figures in the distance, puttering around a fault line in the street. As I approached, I found that the crack was about four feet wide by twenty feet long. In a flash I was brought back to the incident of the mine collapse, and to when the decision must have been made that the earth was no longer sound enough to harbor residents here. When I'd had my curiosity's fill, I returned to my car and proceeded along my route to Philadelphia.
I was able to stay with a friend of mine and we went to see my other friend play in her band at Trucadero Balcony. She had greatly improved at the base since the last time I'd seen her plucking around on it. It would be hard to classify the sound of the band, but if I had to put a label on it I'd say hardcore rock/angry girl band.
After the show, I met my childhood friend at a go-go bar called Trussel Inn. It was incredibly refreshing to see someone from my upbringing who is also leading an alternative lifestyle. We danced in the back of the bar to swing-type music and intermittently sat outside on a stoop smoking cigarettes and contemplating the different paths one can choose to take in their lives. When we finally parted ways things were hazy. My friend and I took a cab back to his place and we called it a night.
This morning I woke up at 8:30 and felt the need to continue along the road. I drove into Baltimore via 40-West for quite a ways after stopping for gas. The McDonald's drive through had just changed its menu from breakfast to lunch as I pulled up, so I went without my sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit. I got to Baltimore with everyone I know at work or unreachable, so now I am sitting in my car on Miles Street, empty bellied, and beginning to lose hope that my friend with magically appear from one of the houses on either side of this unshaded street.
After waking up at 6:30am to bright sunlight radiating through my tent, I packed up and left my vacant lot turned campground by 7. I drove the 8 or 9 miles out to Graceland and caught a glimpse of Elvis' home and gravesite before continuing along my route through Arkansas to Oklahoma.
