Driving back and forth between the Langley Events Centre and McLeod Athletic Park for four days was a truly frustrating experience. Keeping the Special Olympic events moving required many logistics trips, and the traffic and construction made each trip seem longer than the last.
It wasn’t just me. Buses and the people delivering food had to leave more and more time to ensure timely arrival at the venues. I couldn’t help but think that this certainly was not my old home town.
But when the event was done and I had some time to relax, I fired up my old Ford pickup and went for a country drive. Down through the farms in Glen Valley and along 8 or 16 Avenues, the Langley I grew up in still exists.
It is amazing how a drive in that old truck past those farms where I worked will strip the tension from my neck, and put peace back in my soul. We have to do that as often as we can — get away from the noise and the speed of day to day life.
Take some time, look around, find your spot and make a point to go there as often as you can. A quiet spot in the cool of the evening is great place to leave the troubles that followed you home. At least that’s what McGregor says.
Backroads
I was driving down a back road
in the town where I grew up,
My old truck was pointed
At the setting sun.
One hand on the wheel
and one arm resting on door,
While my 8-track played
An old Hank Williams tune.
A farmer has just cut his field
And a coyote waits for dinner,
the smell of fresh cut hay
Is heavy in the air.
The heat of day has gone
and there is no other traffic,
The farms are far apart
Trees stand silently and stare.
I think they are suspicious
To see me travelling so slow
Not many people stop
To look around these days.
I spot an owl on a fence post
and the crimson sky ahead
Is painting landscapes
On the early evening haze.
I was sitting at a stoplight
By the farm where I grew up
Waiting for those trains
That have no ends.
The farms and fields are gone
Coyotes and owls missing,
Where we played baseball
They now sell Mercedes Benz.
The trucks keep hauling blacktop
And pour it on the fields
The smell of hay
Will slowly disappear;
Take a drive at sunset
Find a quiet country road,
Load up your memories
While you still find them here.
