Sounds of Travel 4: King of the Road

Here at Gadling we’ll be highlighting some of our favorite sounds from the road and giving you a sample of each — maybe you’ll find the same inspiration that we did, but at the very least, hopefully you’ll think that they’re good songs.

Got a favorite of your own? Leave it in the Comments and we’ll post it at the end of the series.

WEEK 4: “King of the Road” sung by Roger Miller

When my brother and I were young, our parents gave us Hummel figurine music boxes. His figurine was a small boy sitting on a fence with a bundle tied on a stick that rested on his shoulder. When the key was wound, the melody “King of the Road” played while the boy turned.

My figurine was a girl feeding chickens. Although, I dearly loved my music box– the girl looked like Heidi, that independent lass who lived in the Alps with her grandfather, I was drawn to my brother’s more. There it sat on his chest of drawers in a spot within reach.

Even before I knew the lyrics, the title of the song was enough. King of the Road. What could sound more grand?

The lyrics, though, said it all. Hitting the road without cares or worries–the thrill of being in control with each step towards the horizon. A life spent enjoying simple pleasures as long as a person can keep moving and make connections with folks along the way.

Never mind that I happened to be female–and at the time, one of the only known female travelers who got much press was Amelia Earhart–and we know how that turned out. I come from a line of women who have wandered.

Those women carried the aura of far away places, particularly Aunt Clarissa. It wasn’t the stories my great aunt told me of her time in Japan as an Army major after World War II that captured my interest–I don’t specifically remember any– it was the feeling I surmised that traveling gave her. The zippidy do dah.

When Roger Miller wrote King of the Road in 1965, he was telling the tale of a carefree traveler at the same time Miller was on the road seeking out his dreams as a singer-songwriter. After he sings in the video, Miller recalls that the song was inspired somewhere between Dayton, Des Moines or Chicago when he saw a road sign that said, “Trailers for Sale or Rent.”

What caught my attention about this version is Miller’s utter exuberance, both in his voice and his body, particularly when he belts out the third chorus and throws that fast crook in his elbow–and how the song stuck with me all day once I listened to it again.

When I think of my King of the Road experiences, the ones where this song played in my head, I am:

  • by myself on a bus heading to Maine from New Paltz, New York to work at a summer camp after my senior year in high school, the possibilities endless. This summer was late nights doing laundry so I could head out every weekend to places like Boothbay Harbor, Camden and Ogunquit, eating lobster and clams dripped in butter and skinny dipping in a lake with the moon shimmering across the water;
  • I’m walking down the streets of Arhus, Denmark, my arms swinging in stride with my legs as I head to the Viking ship museum, my entire body feeling in sync with the sidewalk beneath my feet and the breeze through my hair. I’d come alone–or if I was with someone, I can’t recall because the memory of being so in touch with my body on that day and the sense of adventure has eclipsed a companion;
  • I am walking away from my village into the Gambian bush to hang out under a tree for a few hours drinking tea, writing and listening to music, soaking up a bit of R&R from being the village Peace Corps volunteer. As cows grazed nearby and finch flitted and darted between the scrub brush, I regained balance;
  • and I am taking a friend of mine on a road trip through New Mexico so he can see how the landscape changes. As the hues of reds and browns change with each turn past Jemez as we get closer to Bandelier National Monument, we marvel at the wonder of us and our good fortune to have a car and all the time we need.

Whenever I hear that song, my feet start tappin’ and I want to head out–see new places, make new friends, visit old ones and know that the world is my oyster. What better feeling is there than being a king of the road?

Despite the lyrics, I’ve never smoked a pack of cigarettes in my life. I do, however, look at trailers with great affection.

Here’s a bit of King of the Road trivia: It’s been used in the movies: Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby, Swingers, Into the Wild, Im Lauf der Zeit (In Due Time), and if you saw Brokeback Mountain, who can forget the scene where Jake Gyllenhaal as Jack, confident and full of energy, is heading in his truck to see Ennis? King of the Road was playing on the radio. Of course, that was before Jack’s hopes were dashed.

Still, the song for me is an optimistic all will work out.

Click here for previous Sounds of Travel.

Go Where the Ancient Ones Lived to Honor the Earth

With Native American Day coming up on Friday, September 28 (yes, that’s tomorrow) and National Public Lands Day on Saturday, here are three places you could go to honor both public lands and and the United States’s Native American history. I’m mentioning these three because: I’ve been to all of them; they are national parks, thus public lands; and although there is similarity between them, they are quite distinct. Although, these are the three I’ve chosen, these are not the only places where the Anasazi lived in the U.S. Anasazi means Ancient Ones, by the way.

(The photo, posted by slongtoo on Flickr is from Bandelier National Monument in New Mexico)

Chaco Culture National Historical Park in New Mexico, is quite the drive off a major highway. The last few miles, are not paved. This means getting there is not a quick, “Let’s go see Chaco Canyon,” but an outing that requires a bit of time. Once you get there, you’re rewarded to experiencing five major dwelling sites of what were possibly Hopi ancestors. Enough of the structures remain that as you walk through them you can get a sense of what life was like here hundreds of years ago. This is my husband’s favorite place in New Mexico. He swears he can feel its spiritual energy. Through October there are Chaco Night Sky programs where you can dabble in astronomy. The view of the sky, of course, is spectacular when you are out in the middle of nowhere.

Although I think Chaco is amazing, Bandelier National Monument northwest of Santa Fe is my favorite place in New Mexico. Perhaps this is because it’s the first place in the U.S. where I saw how Native Americans once lived. When you grow up in Kentucky, New York and Pennsylvania, and trips meant summers at your grandparents, most of what you learn is from history books. (I headed west of the Mississippi after the Peace Corps.) To see the actual place is history up close and personal. Here, on the side cliffs, people carved huge living spaces in the soft rock earth. You can still see the darkened ceilings from the cooking fires. In a couple of spots there are pictographs and petroglyphs that add to the idea that people did indeed live here. My favorite section is where you climb down a long pole ladder into a kiva where the men used to gather and worship. It’s a small adventure. The area around Bandelier is forested and gorgeous. Like Chaco, there is a very well done museum that includes movies, displays with actual artifacts and extensive descriptions.

Of the three, Mesa Verde National Park near Cortez, Colorado is the most commercialized and the most visited of the three. Bandelier is a sweet, cozy, type place in comparison. Going to Mesa Verde reminds me a bit of the experience of going to the Grand Canyon. The scenery is splendid, but RVs on the road sure take up a lot of space. One of the reasons that Mesa Verde has so many visitors each year is because of its stature. Compared to Bandelier’s few cliff dwellings, Mesa Verde is king. It has 600. The entire park has 4,000 archaeological sites. This is where ancestors of today’s Pueblo Indians lived from 600 A.D. to 1300 A.D. If you do go, take one of the tours. You can only get to the Balcony House (only open into the beginning of October), the Cliff Palace (open until the beginning of November) or the Spruce House (open from November to March) this way. The Long House closes after Labor Day.