[35mm Ohio] State Of Convenience

I’ve got this book called “Roadside Americana.” It’s a coffee table book and I don’t remember where it came from. A gift? A thrift store find? I’m no literature critic, but it’s definitely a “coffee table book.” Which is fine, because if I’m reading about the American roadside and road trip culture, not everything needs to be as moving or profound as the often cited (on this site, in this project) Blue Highways by William Least Heat-Moon. However, I’ve found that my road trips often contrast with the cliches uttered on this particular publication’s pages. And if you’ve read that McDonald’s Pizza story or some of the other road and film posts, I’ve made it clear that in my experience: there’s very little romance in “the charm of a two-lane road.” Even the best laid plans or most impulsive endeavors don’t truthfully offer what page 7, paragraph 2 describes as "freedom" and "escape." This is especially true when you account for the state of the world* and notion that gas ain’t free (nor are brake pads, oil, or wiper blades). The “roadside americana” we see in movies and synthetic nostalgia either never truly existed or doesn’t widely exist anymore. Sure, these trips (like life, I guess) are all about what you make of it—there are discoveries to be made and experiences to be had—but the modern interstate lacks the wistfulness of the “Route 66” that we’ve been conditioned to imagine.

The truth is, I’m more often in love with the idea of a road trip rather than the road trip itself.

Photographs made with a Pentax K1000 and Kodak Ultramax 400.

- Truck stop, Newcomerstown.

Many destinations (though, not all) have a sense of underwhelming, one that I’ve seen on not just the faces of occasional travel partners, but felt within myself when I’m perfectly content to just drive away after making the photograph I wanted.

No further analysis, reflection, or inspection needed.

The popular conception of road trips, seems to be full of mistruths (such as the Eisenhower Interstate emergency airfield myth). Maybe these “true” types of trips did once exist in a historic sense (and at times, I think it might be fair to say, they still do on occasion), but I’ve been intentionally road tripping and looking since 2011 and if I could—I’d just as soon take a train (but this is Ohio and this is America). Still, while the circumstances require me to drive, I might as well keep an eye out and I might as well keep detouring when time allows. Because ultimately, I think all of this is still worth exploring.

Which brings me to the previous post in this series, the one that referenced the state’s former tourism motto of “The Heart of it All.” As this website has proven since 2007, I love Cincinnati and I’ve grown to adore Cleveland and Columbus along with quite a few other cities and parts of the state. Ohio, though, for all of its history and modern attributes, is purely a state of convenience when it comes to this project. No matter how much I try to vary it up and go see things: I’m documenting Ohio because it’s where I just happen to be at this particular moment in life. When it comes to my conflicting notions of road trips, one of the best examples may just be the second half of one particular trip, the portion that yielded this post’s photographs. While the earlier parts of the day included excursions to abandoned historic locales, the “world’s largest.” the "world's tallest", and a documentation of the odd and visually interesting: the day abruptly lost momentum among the monotony of road travel.

It was February. It was gray. It was the Midwest. It was Ohio.

- Truck stop, Newcomerstown.

I had decided to head on I-76W. By now, the sun had gone away and I had been up and wandering for hours. If this was some kind of idealized road trip of yore, I could’ve just pulled over to a homely motel for the night after enjoying dinner at a local diner with unimaginably good food. But I had to get back to my job the next day and McDonald’s is ubiquitous. You can make time for trips, and even leave time for impulsivity, but there never seems to be enough of it.

I was rotating through the radio dial when I made it to Canton, a place that even with the imposing Pro Football Hall of Fame and charming downtown, seemed depressing. I’m sure that’s not the actual case, but I decided that if I wanted to explore this particular city and its biggest tourist attraction, I’d come back when the weather was nicer. For the time being, I’d just stick to knocking quick things off my map/list. In reality, I was probably ready to call it a day, but hell–who knows when I’d be back. So, I stopped to meet ‘Willy the Whale.’

- Willy The Whale, Canton.

Willy is one of the few remaining relics of “Mother Goose Land,” a former children’s-themed amusement park nestled between Downtown Canton and the highway. After the park sat abandoned for decades, the land was made into a civic space complete with walking paths and a dog park. A mural was added and Willy got a fresh coat of paint. He still sits in his pond today.

- Willy The Whale and Mother Goose Land mural, Canton.

A stereotypical looking diner on the edge of Downtown Canton was the next pinned stop. Although the most recent information said this spot was abandoned, part of me hoped that in the time since I came across the coordinates—the place would be open and serve as a lovely dinner respite. Unfortunately, it was shuttered.

- Abandoned diner, Canton.

- Abandoned diner, Canton.

- Abandoned diner, Canton.

- Abandoned diner, Canton.

Daylight was fading fast and I decided to take I-77S, a new route to me, in an attempt to reinvigorate the trip and keep things interesting. I was still 3.5 hours from home as this particular stretch of interstate quickly became rural. The hope of finding random roadside attractions or unique sights rapidly faded as each exit offered up a pair of gas stations and vistas of brown trees.

- Super 8 Motel, Newcomerstown.

I stopped at the Dutchess/Duke Travel Plaza in Newcomerstown because I needed gas. The area, named for a former Delaware Indian Chief, felt like an outpost on what had now become a boring and lonely drive.

- Self portrait, Newcomerstown.

- McDonalds, Newcomerstown.

Eventually, I made it to I-70W and pulled over at an exit that seemed interesting from the road. As I pulled off, I realized I had been here once before, for a desolate dinner at a Denny’s at the end of another road trip back in 2017.

“I don’t feel bad. I just feel like I haven’t found what I’m looking for. And I’m not even sure what I’m looking for.” 

- Quote from that 2017 trip that took me through the same area off I-70.

- Deer Creek Motel, Cambridge.

- Deer Creek Motel, Cambridge.

- Deer Creek Motel, Cambridge.

- Cambridge.

- Cambridge.

- Abandoned gas station, Cambridge.

- Abandoned gas station, Cambridge.

As I wrapped up my film, the remaining light also called it a day. I still had 2.5 hours between there and home. So I stopped shooting and just went. Back to life and away from the road.

Along the familiar sights of I-71 towards Cincinnati, I stopped at a rest area for some vending machine coffee. It took my quarters and never dispensed.

*Written before the Cornoavirus became what it is today

View the other entires in 35mm Ohio