2011/08/26

The Back Roads I’ve Traveled Late at Night, Alone, a Little Drunk, Wishing I Were Someone on Whom Nothing Is Lost, Are the Roads by Day I take to the Car Wash in Hammonton or to Blue Anchor’s Lawnmower Repair Shop When the Self-Propel Mechanism Goes

Blogfriend and fellowmoco Fish's post reminded me of my favorite post ever, and I'd been thinking of it since Ohio when, yes, I figured out the best backroad route to Bamgier, plus I'm strangely happy between death by earthquake or death by hurricane, plus there was no TNP this week, plus I owe myself a present, plus it was written before I'd driven on the ICC making the post obsolete, plus I need reassert the what the fuck, but mostly because just like the first time I posted this almost two years ago, if don't I don't post in now it'll drive me nuts until whenever:




is the spine of MOCO and the defining highway of my MOCO experience, having grown up in Gaithersburg a quarter mile off 355, now owning a house a half mile from 355 but




is my favorite state road in MOCO, but only west of




where they intersect near Casa Satanica in the Quince Orchard section of Gaithersburg (called by realtors "North Potomac"). 124 has always been an odd, disjointed route, long before the Mid-County Highway was built and 124 re-routed onto it through Montgomery Village (in theory, 124 once ran along Diamond Avenue through Gaithersburg long before there was a Montgomery Village, though there was never any signage as such through Gaithersburg, though there was a shield where the road curved left past Washington Grove and the humpback bridge).  It doesn't really start proper until it interects




near the MOCO Airpark. 115 runs east from 124 as Muncaster Mill Road all the way to




in Norbeck (which is the same 28 but not the same 28 that I love), 300 yards from




in a different country than Muncaster Mill Road started. Anyway




runs north to Damascus as Woodfield Road, past Goshen, home of prebilics and bryds and vetters and Audrey of My Heart's house and terminates at




which is in itself worthy of a future post, a wildly S-shaped route, which from Damascus heads due east then due south and then due east to intersect




in the Dismal Empire of Olney (about three miles north of Norbeck), a town know solely for the traffic jam caused each rush hour by that junction, but what's really odd about




is in Etchison, when it turns due south,




branches off to the east to run for seven drop-dead gorgeous miles to intersect




afterwhich it runs five more drop-dead gorgeous miles to intersect




again, this time in Ashton, where it continues south as New Hampshire Ave. The section between Ashton and Colesville is renowned (locally at least) for its dozens of churches and temples of many different religions and their denominations, and then




continues south through White Oak and then Hillandale, which is as far in my imagination from Dickerson, where my favorite MOCO road




finally reaches the Frederick County line after heading west from




and Casa Satanica, then goes past




which goes west from Darnestown to Seneca Aqueduct and McKee-Beshers Wildlife Reserve, then




which goes north to the horror that is Germantown, then




which goes west from Dawsonville to the foreign country of Poolesville (imagine Burtonsville, imagine Poolesville, figure out the faster route to get from one to the other), then




which isn't 121 anymore, the state giving the section between 28 and Boyds to MOCO to maintain (Boyds home to the now underwater Ten Mile Creek Road, where Willy Bayne in a cocaine and whiskey-fueled fury ran down the cat), then




which runs east to Boyds, then all the way back to Gaithersburg, from Boyds to Gaithersburg called Clopper, then




north from Beallsville to the charmingly otherworldly Barnesville then Comus then Hyattstown where it dead ends at the spine that is




From Beallsville

 


is downhill all the way to Dickerson, where after you go under the railroad bridge to the stop sign, you make a right on Mt Ephraim and go four miles to the base of Sugarloaf Mountain, which is my Olympus.


Tomorrow,




and it's two-named two miles between




and




that might as well be a hundred miles.

Or, now that I've got this out of my system - and here's truth: if I hadn't finally posted this after thinking about it for the past two years off and on and the past week intensely, this would have gnawed at me harder each day until I posted it.







GROUP A- Bayern Munich, Villarreal, Manchester City, Napoli
GROUP B- Inter Milan, CSKA Moscow, Lille, Trabzonspor
GROUP C- Manchester United, Benfica, Basel, Otelul Galati
GROUP D- Real Madrid, Lyon, Ajax, Dinamo Zagreb
GROUP E- Chelsea, Valencia. Bayer Leverkusen, Genk
GROUP F- Arsenal, Marseille, Olympiakos, Borussia Dortmund
GROUP G- FC Porto, Shakhtar Donetsk, Zenit St Petersburg, APOEL Nicosia
GROUP H- Barcelona, AC Milan, BATE Borisov, Viktoria Plzen


  • Remember, fuck all Italian clubs, Chelsea, both Manchester clubs, all Spanish clubs, Bayern Munich, but especially fuck motherfucking Madrid.

  • United's moved it's game to two tomorrow b/c of Irene.

  • I haven't stopped reading Gaddis, I just haven't had a chance to read in the past week for various reasons - I suspect I'll have lots of time this weekend, and I've batteries for the flashlights.

  • On MFAs.

  • New Bill Callahan!

  • Yes, second time this post (there might be third):









BEYOND HAMMONDTON


Stephen Dunn


     Night is longing, longing, longing, 
     beyond all endurance.

          —Henry Miller

The back roads I’ve traveled late   
at night, alone, a little drunk,   
wishing I were someone
on whom nothing is lost,

are the roads by day I take
to the car wash in Hammonton   
or to Blue Anchor’s
lawnmower repair shop
when the self-propel mechanism goes.

Fascinating how the lamplight   
that’s beckoned
from solitary windows
gives way to white shutters
and occasionally a woman
in her yard, bending over
something conspicuously in bloom.

So much then is duty, duty, duty,   
and so much
with the sun visor tilted
and destination known
can be endured.

But at night . . . no, even at night   
so much can be endured.

I’ve known only one man   
who left the road,
followed an intriguing light   
to its source.
He told me
that he knocked many times   
before it became clear to him   
he must break down the door.