THE BACK WAY
over the last few days, I have been avoiding the police. Mainly, I have been avoiding major in-town roads and highways. The reason for this is because I am driving illegally. I meant to get my lisence sticker renewed this past weekend but unfortunately I got food poisoning and was bed ridden for all my time in MO. So now I am driving about in my illegal transportation. I really only have one place that I need to go, and that's the office.

If you live in the right kind of place in our wonderful country [and it's amber waves of grain], and you have a particular destination that you drive to frequently, then you more than likely know [very specifically] two ways to get to said destination. The first way would be the normal way.

[n^or-mel]: Conforming with, adhering to, or constituting a norm, standard, pattern, level, or type; typical

And with good reason. On any given day, this is the preferred path to get to your destination. You are most likely to go through one neighborhood, a handful of stop lights, pass by the post office, a wal-greens, a local high school, and enough gas stations to know who's got the cheapest gas in town. This is probably the fastest way to go provided you plan on driving the speed limit and traffic is reasonable. But, as you know, sometimes conditions aren't always favorable. In these situations, you may go the back way.

[bak]: The posterior portion of the trunk of the human body between the neck and the pelvis; the dorsum (huh?)

Anyways, the back way is reserved for those times when you need to drive rather fast, or avoid mass traffic. The back way is less likely to have the local police patroling the streets, and stop signs don't have to be obeyed because you can see 5 miles in each direction. The back way may contain any one of these features [and more]: a field with a lone, old horse. A house that is likely abandoned and without a doubt, haunted (and you've known it since you were a kid). A creek/river/pond. A farm equipment dealer either in buisiness or run down. A golf course. a "parked" [wink, wink] car. A cemetary. An old bridge that you always thought you'd take a girl to in order to make out if you could get a girl at the time in your life when making out on an old bridge was considered cool. Unmarked train tracks. Old stuff.

So in my 'back way' travels I began to reflect on the fact that you don't really have a back way to get to everywhere you might go. At least you don't think of it that way. It's always the 'back way' to some place that is meaningful. Like the back way to grandma's, or the back way to the ice cream store. For me, my favorite 'back way' destination was the YMCA in Streator, IL. The 'Y,' as most called it, was the hub of sports excitement and general growing up pre-highschool. It is where I played soccer every summer from 1st to 8th grade. It's where I learned how to swim, play raquetball, hate basketball, love snowcones, and play in mud and rain. There was always the immanent threat of getting stung by bees swarming the dumpster and the reasonable fear of the port-a-potties and that blue water. Everyone gets a trophy and a soda. What a great time.

The back way to the Y: turn right out of the church parking lot. Drive 1 block to Airport road. Go straight through the first stop sign (cemetary on left). Turn left at Pea Patch Road (abandoned house on right). Take a right at the 'T.' Take a left at Morrilla Park. This road will take you past highway 23 and turn into Oakley Avenue. YMCA in your right. Good times to be had.