A road trip somewhere up a long interstate. Past the cedars of Tennessee. Through the mountains of Kentucky. Across the Ohio River and north between the buildings of the Cincinnati skyline. I’m headed to a place I have not been to in 30 years.

The road carries me to my past.

The first time I made this trip I was driving a 24ft Ryder truck with all of our worldly possessions stacked inside behind the rollup door. I remember being dog tired and wondering cautiously about what was ahead of us.

Beth was driving our worn-out Oldsmobile Delta 88, a hand-me-down from my parents. Laura was just 18 months old and was riding in the front seat next to her mom. Back then rear-facing car seats were allowed in the front seat. There were no onboard computers to tell you that you’re an idiot. No cameras. No cell phones.

I was riding along in the right lane headed up the mountain toward the Cumberland Gap. Top speed up hill for that truck was 45mph. Beth pulled out from behind and came up along side me. I thought she was going to pass me and take the lead for a while, but she stayed next to me right by my window. I didn’t look because I was concentrating on my driving.

When I finally did look down at our car, what I saw looking back at me was my cherub little girl with a tormented red face, tears streaming down her cheeks, and mouth wide open. Our windows were rolled up, but I speculated that there were blood-curdling screams pouring from her lungs at a decibel stout enough to shatter orbiting satellites above the earth.

I got the message. We pulled off at the next exit and found a hotel for the night.

We were barely 30 the year we moved to Ohio. Thirty-seven years later I am remembering this highway like it was last week. We took I-71 northeast through Columbus, Ohio and then US 30 dead east toward Massillon and Canton. The farmland is just as beautiful as I remember it. Cornfields to the horizon on both sides of the highway. Two-story farmhouses surrounded by massive barns and silos and grain bins.

I was wrong as a kid to think that the north must be a strange place to live. I spent 7 years in this part of God’s creation and learned to love the beauty of it. Mr. Gene Smith had a farm near Amish country down in Apple Creek, Ohio. He didn’t live there any longer but still kept the place up. He gave me the keys to his farmhouse one time and told me to go enjoy a few days of hunting. I never saw a finer place to live.

Ohio was, however, a strange place to eat. No grits. No sweet tea. No fried chicken at the church potluck. My folks sent us care packages from time to time to keep us supplied with grits and other fine southern comfort foods. Those boxes that came in the mail were a critical part of helping us acclimate to the north.

The urge to make a pit stop was pressing in on us. We didn’t want to show up at my friends’ house, say hello, and rush right past them to the restroom, so we decided to get off the highway at Wooster, Ohio. Home of the Wayne County Fair.

All those years ago we went to the Wayne County Fair one time. We were holding a toddler’s hand and pushing a stroller when a team of Belgian draft horses clopped right by us. The ground shook and Laura ran for my arms.

The muscled shoulders and broad hindquarters were trimmed out with a fine leather harness studded for show. The chains rattled against the hames which were polished to perfection. A young Amish boy in a straw hat, dwarfed by his massive companions, walked behind the team and held the plow lines in his hands. Picture the Budweiser horses with the large hairy feet and you get some idea of the thunder that came from each step as they passed us by.

Pit stop successful, we got back on the road headed to Orrville, Ohio, our destination. The Beyeler’s are friends from 30 years ago who have remained friends across the divide of time and distance. They came all the way to Georgia to visit us once upon a time not long after we moved back home. Three decades later, I am returning the favor. I’m here to reconnect. Marion will be meeting them for the first time.

It’s funny how your brain puts time on hold. When you haven’t been to some place or you haven’t seen someone in a long time, your mind remembers everything as it was. I halfway expect to see my friends just the same as I knew them in 1990 even though I know that can’t be. The last time they saw me I had thick black hair. Now I have something like thin straw that passes for grey hair.

We pulled into their driveway on Main Street. They moved to town from the farm three years ago and practically rebuilt this two-story house right in town. Originally built in 1897, the foundation is made from stacked limestone blocks the size of a VW. The stained wood trim and sliding pocket doors and wood floors are incredible. And as soon as I saw the hot water radiators standing in each room, I knew I had returned to Ohio.

I won’t go into great detail, but here’s what happened over our two-day visit. We ate together around their kitchen table. We took a long walk across town and circled through the Smucker’s campus talking about trees. That’s right. Smucker’s, as in jelly and jams. We took a long day’s drive through familiar places and took a few alternate routes down some not-so-familiar stretches of road. We sat in their den and talked about life and kids and the days back when we knew each other a long time ago.

Marion told me afterwards that she learned a lot about me on this visit. “I can really see why y’all were such good friends.”

Which was kind of the whole point of this trip. To get on the road and say with intent that a friendship is valuable enough to make the journey. To acknowledge that meaningful connections last no matter the years that pass.

BTW. One thing for sure changed since last I was in Ohio. The Amish still ride the horse and buggy. The beards and dresses and polite manners are all the same. But I’ve never seen so many Amish riding electric bicycles. They really move on those things.

I should have made this trip a long time ago, but I didn’t. I kept putting it off. I always thought I could visit some other year. I feel lucky that the time finally came, and I didn’t miss out on a very special part of my life.

Life changes so quickly. You never know when the road will call to you.

But when it does, go.