The Lights Are Off

Gary Rocks

Let’s get this out of the way: Gary rocks. He has done all of the driving on this journey, and today was our longest day on the road yet. It’s not that he wouldn’t love a nap, or that I couldn’t handle the wheel. It’s just… there’s no way he’d ever relax with me driving the RV while towing the Jeep. So the point is moot.

And honestly? I’m happy in my co-pilot seat. I nap when I need to. I try my best to navigate. I keep the dogs from leaping into our laps. And most of all, I enjoy our easy conversations and the constant slideshow of scenery rolling by. We’ve settled into a rhythm—familiar, functional, and somehow still fun.

We started the morning in Cumberland, Maryland and crossed into Pennsylvania, then Ohio, and finally landed in Michigan. As each state line approached, I found myself comparing and contrasting the shifting landscapes. The hills roll a little differently. The barns change shape. Some roads rise over mountains, while others disappear into tunnels beneath them.

Sure, every state has its quirks—funny town names, oddball billboards, sudden city skylines—but they blend into one another with such quiet continuity. On interstates, the border is marked with fanfare and flashy signs. On country roads, just a subtle mile marker. Maybe it’s a metaphor: some people enter loudly, some slip in gently. “I’ll take A Country Roadfor $100, Alex.”

In Somerset County, Pennsylvania, we stopped for diesel and stumbled into something profound. Just two miles away stood the site of the Flight 93 crash on 9/11. Though we didn’t visit the memorial this time, a plaque at the rest stop described the tribute: a 93-foot tower of hand-crafted wind chimes, standing tall in the open field, whispering to the sky. Forty souls—ordinary people who did something extraordinary. Just reading about it was deeply humbling. One day, I hope we return and stand there in person.

Driving on, we entered Ohio, passing through Cuyahoga Valley National Park—a name I hadn’t heard before, but one that appears on our National Park scratch-off map (a thoughtful gift from friends back in Indiana). The park is modest but inviting, with trails, waterfalls, and biking paths threading through gentle landscapes.

In Lordstown, Ohio, we passed the largest industrial building I’ve ever seen: the now-shuttered Chevy Cruze plant. Over 6 million square feet of silent steel and cement. The plant closed this past March, laying off nearly 1,500 workers—half the town’s population. We Googled it, stunned by the scale of loss. Having lived in a thriving manufacturing town ourselves, we couldn’t help but hope that Lordstown—like so many places like it—finds its footing again. We believe in reinvention. In resilience. In the quiet strength of places that have seen hard times and still choose to endure.