I have needed utter silence to pack my bags, boxes, books, and radiator hoses for six weeks on the road. But when the key turns in the ignition of my old ’67 Comet ragtop, my playlist is ready to crank up to the skies.
I have learned that road-trip music provides an ear to the future, as well as to the past and present. To put it another way, sound is second only to smell in my Proustian lobes, and this June and July, starting today, are my next batch of good old days. So, I aim to remember the summer of ’09 even more clearly and fondly than I remember the summer of ’89, when I crossed the same continent in the same car. (I dug the cassette soundtrack for that trip out of a closet for this trip, but we’ll get to that.)
