Once in a while, a missed turn can create a new adventure.
My best friend and I were once driving home from an excursion (probably from our single local book store) and had to take a detour. Afterward, a miscommunication resulted in us missing not only one, but two turns that would keep us on familiar routes.
We had two options from that point; either find a spot to turn around, or keep going. We decided on the latter, and kept riding along until we noticed the street sign for Friendship Road.
Naturally, we turned – that was a positive sign if we’d ever seen one, though we remained a bit nervous.
Friendship Road meanders a bit, in the same vein as most rural Pennsylvania back roads. Quaint homes, long stretches of gold-green grass, patches of cornfield. Picturesque farmland. This summer day was the one and only time I’ve ever been on that road, so maybe it’s changed since then. A few new houses, less countryside. But something about Friendship Road made us feel hopeful that we were on the right path.
It was a new adventure that day, lost on Friendship Road. We kept driving, and rolling along, laughing at each other’s jokes and trusting that we’d make it home in time for dinner, and that we wouldn’t be lost forever in the maze-like system of South-Central Pennsylvania rural roads. Finally, we noticed familiar ground, and the road spat us out on another back road we knew, which allowed us to make it home. We did John Denver proud that day.
We trusted Friendship Road, and it carried us home. Our initial apprehension over a missed turn resulted in an adventure that I will always remember.
Frostwritten 