TAZEWELL, Va. — Charles Owens 5/13/10 ... cro ....

From Bluefield to Roanoke, Va., to Charlottesville, Va., to Roanoke and back to Bluefield, I lost track of the amount of miles I racked up on my weekend road trip. It seemed endless. But throw in a few travel mugs full of coffee, snacks and good music and the miles disappeared from the horizon. Hours drifted by like slow moving storms. The only break were green highway signs, forecasting how much longer I could daydream before arriving at the destination. The radio — my only companion on this whirlwind trip — played a good song, only to lose the voice to static. But CDs, along with caffeine, provided a sense of security. Both hovered over the driver’s seat, creating awareness to the massive tractor trailers on the interstate. I like road trips. Yes, sometimes the ache in my shoulder and hip sends the speedometer up a few notches. And rest areas (no matter how pretty the landscaping and picnic area) are all stereotyped as scary. Despite all this, there is a freedom, a sense of wonder about the open road and a map. But it hasn’t always been that way

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As a child, I whined in the backseat during long car trips. The backseat held no adventure, just a seat belt and hours of boredom. I quickly learned asking my dad about time, distance and miles on a trip did nothing to speed up the clock. The only thing that solved the problem was a good book to pass the time. Not one to get sick from reading in the car, I would often stick my nose in a book and never look up until I could smell the salty, warm breeze of the ocean. The trick worked and I ended up enjoying road trips a lot more thanks to my endless supply of books. But nothing can beat the view of a road trip like the front seat of a vehicle. The horizon opened up to blue skies, trees, buildings and billboards. After spending more than a decade strapped to the backseat, life on the road came into focus. Cup holders, radio, CDs — the good life. I was more than thrilled to discover the world via the front seat of the car.

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During my trip last weekend, Northern Virginia opened up in front of my vehicle as I traveled further north for a friend’s wedding. The landscape changed little; there was still lush green hillsides, but with rolling farmland tucked in between mountains. Traffic increased as I closed the gap between cities. Historical markers —  my favorite part of a road trip — dotted the roadside, along with signs for vineyards, bed and breakfast inns and scenic overlooks. Zooming along with traffic, I yearned to play tourist. Every time I passed a historical marker, I took my foot off the gas pedal, as if I could read the tiny words at 70 miles an hour. However, the purple bridesmaid dress in the back of vehicle swayed with every turn. There wasn’t enough time for leisure. This road trip had a purpose. Forget the groom getting to the church on time, this bridesmaid was on a strict schedule for a early breakfast with the wedding party. I didn’t start my return trip until after dark. I traveled the quiet stretch of Interstate 64, passing landmarks in black silence.

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Quiet interstates. Lonely highways. Hidden routes. The twists and turns provide more than just a way from point A to point B. A road trip — no matter how long or short — is my favorite place to think. Like my favorite childhood character Winnie the Pooh,  I need a thoughtful spot, a sheltered place to figure out life’s map. Often, I find my answers in the front seat of a car on an open road. I know life’s problems can’t always be solved on a busy intersection or a lonely piece of country road. But the clarity from a few hours of solitude with nothing but time and open space can bring positive energy to a situation. Throughout the years, I have made life decisions on various highways, intestates and country roads. Big decisions about jobs, relationships, education and even smaller, pointless decisions between Starbucks and Dunkin’ Donuts. True clarity is hard to find, especially in a busy world full of life demands. We all seek a thoughtful place — under a tree, near the water or at home alone. I find mine between the yellow lines. The weekend wedding was beautiful, the weather amazing. And my alone time in the car? A brief moment of clarity exploded somewhere in between Interstate 81 and 64.

Jamie Parsell is the Lifestyle editor of the Daily Telegraph. Contact her at jparsell@bdtonline.com.