wrong turn right place

There is an old expression that goes, “it’s not about the destination, but the journey.” I don’t know if it was meant as a metaphor for life, or about a literal journey (I suspect both) but this is never so apparent to me as when I am on a road trip.

I’m a big fan of the road trip- of maps and routes, of driving and detours. There’s a lot to be said for the freedom of being able to pull over and take pictures of the journey.

Years ago I took a drive.
The destination was New Orleans, one of my favorite cities for so many reasons. I left Nova Scotia and stuck more or less to the eastern seaboard, through the fiery October leaves of Maine and Massachusetts. Each state had a different feel, not always definable but definitely distinct.

It was my intention to stick to the east coast as long as I could, but somehow I got off my track and onto another. In Scranton, Pennsylvania I pulled into a mall and bought some new music. Because it was raining I chose Marc Cohen’s The Rainy Season. I was a little frustrated by the rain and the new route but the map told me I was still going to hit the Big Easy.

But I hit the Blue Ridge Parkway first.
It is a long road from Halifax to New Orleans, but this particular stretch has stayed with me for many years.
The rain had stopped. The sun was shouldered by dark blue sky, lighting the trees and spreading like wildfire. There is something lovely in that dark sky after a rain, when the sun cuts through like it is a gift from the heavens.

Suddenly I drove into a John Denver song. Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River…
The drive was carved through rock and trees turning into the winding country roads. And then I saw it- a tunnel. A real honest to goodness cut out of and into a mountainside, tunnel with a forest growing over it.
The only time I had ever seen such a tunnel was as part of one of those old elaborate model train sets. It took me by surprise and although the road wasn’t wide enough to pull over for a shot, my eyes took the picture and it remains in my head to this day. The tunnel was the beginning of one of the most beautiful drives I have ever done.
There were many look-offs along the 100-mile Skyline Drive and I’m sure I stopped at every one. The Blue Ridge Mountains really were ridged in blue. The changing leaves stretched like a patchwork quilt over a giant’s lumpy bed. And I realized then that I hadn’t taken the wrong road at all.
Sometimes a wrong turn takes you to the absolute right place.