Sounds of Travel 4: King of the Road

by Jamie Rhein on

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.

The ghost of Minnewaska: Glory days gone by

by Jamie Rhein on

The post about the eight abandoned hotels reminded me of the glory days gone by hotel where I worked one summer during college. Wildmere was a wondrous expansive wooden hotel that first opened in 1887.

Perched on the top of the limestone cliffs of Lake Minnewaska in upstate New York near New Paltz, it was a regal testament to monied folk.

When it was in its prime, the hotel gleamed white from fresh paint. When I worked there, it was at the tail end of fading. As with the hotels in the abandoned hotel post at ProTraveller, as the economy shifts, keeping up with beauty is not easy.

Paint flaked. Dripping pipes in the basement created puddles one had to gingerly step through on the way to the laundry room.

Once, the dishwasher broke down in the middle of dinner creating a predicament for the wait staff who were serving five-course meals.

There were holes in table cloths, so placing the vase of handpicked wildflowers in just the right place was a strategic necessity.

When the large industrial sized toaster broke during breakfast one morning, we fought over the four-slice toaster. I remember one waiter throwing a piece of toast at another waiter in a fit of frustration.

The staff was so disgruntled with the management that people stole items to make up for the bad treatment. Someone stole a grandfather clock out of the hallway, for example.

I can’t imagine what the guests thought. Once described in a review as elegance fading into shabbiness, for awhile, the hotel was able to hide its secrets with a garnish of a slow pace, glimpses of a Great Gatsby-like life and the spectacular setting.

In their heyday, these two hotels were jewels of the Shawangunk Mountains at the foothill of the Catskill Mountains. Wealthy people from New York City would come up for the weekends or longer for a vacation of pampering.

The wooden wrap-around porches were perfect for rocking on, and you’ve never seen a more beautiful lake. The water is the most gorgeous blue. When the sun is shining the limestone gleams bright. People could boat, swim and take carriage rides around it.

Eventually, stemming the tide of a dying hotel was futile. The hotel burned to the ground one night after it had already been closed for good. Interestingly, this was the same fate of the other hotel that once stood on the property. Cliff House, Wildmere’s companion was the first to open. It was built on another side of Lake Minnewaska, but burned well before my summer of waitressing.

I’m not sure exactly why each burned, but the circumstances were mysterious. In all honesty, wooden hotels up on a mountain miles from a fire station are no match for a fire, even in the best of circumstances. I felt bad for the owners since they always did right by me, and it must have been awful to lose such splendor, however down-trodden.

Even when it was getting ready to close, you could almost picture women in big hats drinking lemonade while watching their children play croquet on the lawn. It was that kind of place.

After the hotels burned and the family was out of options, the state of New York bought the land. Now called Minnewaska State Preserve, it is open to the public. I try to head up here every summer. There is one section for swimming in the lake. Back when, we swam off the rocks on the opposite end.

The carriage road still goes around the lake which makes for a pleasant walk. Whenever I’m at Minnewaska, I look at the expanse of green and rock where Wildmere used to be and feel a bit nostalgic for the good old days where guests rocked on the porch and the wait staff threw toast.

For more photographs and information about the history of Minnewaska, check out the Lake Minnewaska Web site. It is filled with details. I really did love the place, thinking back.