On the Road...

As my GPS refused to pick up a signal, I waited for a solid 15 minutes before I decided to fuck it. I was on Main Street in Duryea, coming home from the Phoenix Performing Arts Center. That place looks like it’s in an old western movie and you’re waiting for the cowboys to come out and say “This town ain’t big enough for the both of us.”

Considering I’ve only lived in Northeastern Pennsylvania for 5 years I don’t know my way around. Where I used to live, I could’ve told you how to get to the mall and then the Penndel Lanes Bowling Alley then to Rita’s Water Ice and then to Joanne Fabrics and then to Best Buy. Since I only started driving three years ago, I could barely tell you how to get to Nanticoke from Wilkes-Barre.

When I was figuring out how to go out from Main Street, I figured if it was Main Street, there must be an entrance to an interstate, right?

Wrong.

I drove along Main Street in Dureya, and ran into several stop lights. I sat at the lights not being given any direction by a street sign or a familiar land mark.

So, I made a left, because it felt so right.

Somehow is the haze of that night, I found myself on Foote Avenue making continuous left turns at traffic lights. Before I knew it, I turned onto a bridge thinking it might take me to a familiar place. I crossed a railroad somewhere along the way.

I was still lost before I turned onto Susquehanna Avenue. I saw these ridiculous mansions, they were beautiful and found myself in the Borough of West Pittston. I looked around at the houses and thought it would be a quaint place to live.  

I called my parents, and neither of them knew how I got myself in that predicament, and were too drunk to look on a map.

Instead of turning onto 81 South like I wanted to, I made another right turn onto Route 11. I was trying to figure out why the hell I turned too early. I looked around and it felt familiar, but I just couldn’t figure out why.

I kept driving straight to realize I hit a familiar feeling. I was in the Wyoming Valley, just wasn’t exactly what town. I kept driving until I hit the kingly town of Kingston, by kingly I mean familiar.

I did a show at the Music Box Dinner Playhouse, in Swoyersville so I was familiar with that area, well for those of you who don’t know, Kingston and Swoyersville are holding hands. I was steering my carriage toward my familiar castle. 

It felt good to get myself there with out any help from anyone. Ironically, once I got on the Cross Valley Expressway, my GPS picked up a signal. Great. 2 hours too late.

After driving around for two and a half hours, I felt stupid. I felt really stupid. But I also felt accomplished. I found my way home, by getting lost. I think what I’m trying to say is, that being lost isn’t always a bad thing. I got lost, and wasted a whole lot of gas, but I learned my way around somewhat. I won’t say I’m an expert on the Wyoming valley, but I would say I’m glad I was lost, because then I never would’ve been found.