For some time now, I have lived with the idea that through time and space, the Maccorkle Avenue exit, off the big road near the Veterans Administration Out Patient Clinic, just after you cross the Kanawha river heading East, was the half way point in distance and time. In so many ways I was wrong. The half way point in gasoline miles traveled is the exit off the big road that would take you to Marmet, a river side settlement, where if you are lucky, you can sometimes see coal laden barges and yearn to just sit there and watch them move, maybe catch a ride to the always warm weather, chase down the Waxwings, give them hell for stealing Juniper berries.
But when I'm on the big road heading West across the Big Sandy River Bridge,
where the belching from a very fine looking refinery produces something which
when it wants to, can smell like a bad egg, or foot rot, or sometimes a dead
fish, I kind of get the sense of fresh air that means I'm at home. And I know this because there is a giant blue sign on the west side of
the Big Sandy River bridge put there by our unbridled Governor, welcoming me. But if indeed, the Big Sandy River bridge was journey's end, the
half way point for me would be where the big road passes beside some overgrazed
fields, near White Sulpher Springs, Greenbrier and a toodle-smith of jack ass smart cars.
So it just has to be true that all roads are half way to somewhere.