Short: Mark Twain, Rock Hall of Fame, and me (2024)

As an introvert, self-isolation is one of my favorite hobbies. So, when I drove almost 2,000 miles by myself from Boston to Spearfish, S.D. over the course of three days this past week, I was on top of the world.

As I was driving through Connecticut on the first day, I saw a sign on the interstate saying that Mark Twain’s house was 7 miles off of the next exit.

I thought to myself, “Wow, that would be pretty cool to see.”

Right then it hit me. I’m an adult with free will.

This wasn’t a family road trip. No one was telling me to hold in my need to pee until gas was needed. No one was complaining about how much longer we have left. No one could tell me anything.

This was my road trip, and by golly, I wanted to see Mark Twain’s house. So I did.

I walked up to the home, looked at it for about two minutes, took some pictures, and got back on the road.

Although visiting Twain’s house wasn’t groundbreaking, I realized, staring up at the Victorian-style home, that the road was my oyster.

I managed to reach Erie, Pa. at 1:30 a.m. the first night, and stayed with a wonderful family that knew a friend of mine. I fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow.

The next morning, I woke up to multiple texts from my mom that were sent at 3 a.m. telling me she was going to call the police. She saw my location a few miles off of Erie in a field. She concluded that I had been kidnapped and tossed in said field.

Once I let her know that I was in one piece and the family lived on a ranch, I was on the road again.

My first stop on day two was the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland.

As I parked my car and started walking, I could hear the music blasting from the building. “This is what it must feel like,” I thought to myself, “when you reach the gates of heaven.”

I entered in the exhibit that walks you through the history of rock and roll, hearing DMX playing over the speakers as I was immersed by ’90s hip-hop memorabilia. I continued through, seeing Chuck Berry’s guitar, Janis Joplin’s dress, Dave Grohl’s drumstick.

I stood at the Rolling Stones section for far too long, staring at an amplifier that had been used by Keith Richards. It was like he was in the room with me.

As I made my way to modern music, I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw a blue velour Gucci suit displayed in a window. The world around me started to fade away. A tear started forming in the corner of my left eye. Another swiftly followed on the right. This was the suit that Harry Styles wore when he inducted Stevie Nicks into the Hall of Fame.

It took everything in me to get back on the road and not ask for a job application.

But, I got back on I-90, and a quick five-ish hours later, boom! I was in Chicago.

I was dying to see the Bean. So, similar to Twain’s house, I walked up, took a few pictures, and got back on the road.

I spent my second night in Madison, Wis., and prepared to drive about 12 hours my last day.

My last stop before home was to see my brother in Sioux Falls, S.D. I hadn’t seen him in about a year, and I swear he grew another 3 inches.

As I got closer to home, and the road became familiar, it finally hit me that I no longer live in Lynn.

While I’m happy to be home, and I had a blast on the road (despite the grueling back pain from living in a car for three days), I’m excited for the day that I can come back to visit Lynn.

I’ll fly.