DAY 2 SAT. MAR. 19 DAYTON, OH - LAKELAND, TN.

A highway is life. Tom Cochrane might change the word order, but I assert that this is true. A highway flows through time and space. It links people. It provides moments of exhileration and hours of tedium. It tests endurance and gives scenes of laughter and optimism. It frustrates and then delivers you to freedom.

South of Dayton was wide open and reminiscent of southern Ontario. Then, Cincinnati arrived and I could not get "WKRP" out of my head. We crossed the wide Ohio River into Kentucky, a first for both of us.

Kentucky in March is full of promise. The trees were mostly barren, but the grass was green. It rolls in almost ocean-like waves of hills and the forests are deep. In green leaf it would be heaven. The rest stops were re-constructions of ante-bellum fine homes, and welcomed travelers with relaxing rocking chairs. I was reminded of "Last of the Mohicans" and imagined Daniel Boone and Natty Bumpo breaking free of the confines of the Atlantic coastal states and feasting on the natural bounty of this land. And I dreamed of coureurs de bois, the most mad adventurers of history, leaving the relative comforts of Montreal and Quebec and striking into the heart of the continent to Louisville, La Grange, and west to Terre Haute, Des Moines, St. Louis, and Joliet. Such insane courage !

Louisville was surprisingly large and ultra-American. The university, known more for basketball, boasted a new football stadium ready for action. However, the old stadium, on the exposition grounds, oozed character: varsity warriors of the past haunted the obstructed, pillared grandstands, reliving old glory.

Ghosts are everywhere on this road. In Tennessee, the interstate becomes "Music Highway" and invoked Patsy Cline, Chat Atkins, and Isaac Hayes. In Tennessee, one reads the state parks that remind of a divided tortured past: Shiloh, Chickamauga. Nashville gave way to more rolling forests, a bit gentler than Kentucky, but home to proud stands of tall pines, hickory and beech. Trees blossomed with colour, chasing ghosts away.

And then, western Tennessee. Our first true swamp in the Hatchie River National Wildlife Reserve. Lake Kentucky, evidence of Roosevelt's New Deal. Wide, tree-lined rivers. Then, in the west, opening out to farms, forests, and rock that reminded of home.

Nine hours seemed like forever on the highway. But it was a blip. Just like a day in the life.