As I type this I am sitting on a Greyhound bus to Ottawa. The bus left ahead of schedule, and now meanders along the highway with hundreds of other cars and trucks as commuters make their way out of the city.
I have been alternating rather regularly between fidgetting, reading and napping...oh and snacking. (A key to surviving any road venture is snacking.)
Awaking from my most recent fitful half-hour nap, it occurs to me that a strange thing about travel - be it on bus, train, or plane - is that as one moves across space/distance, time seems much less relevant.
Being driven along unfamiliar and repetitive roads I have not a clue how far I am from my destination (though the amount of traffic suggests that I've still a ways to go...)
Perhaps I've taken one too many decongestants today, but it seems to me that when travelling the destination is what takes importance. Driving along monotonous highway, or being hurtled along an endless stretch of tracks, or crossing time zones miles above the earth - time slows down, or passes in a way far less noticeable. Irritating kids ask "Are we there yet?!" Not "How much longer until we arrive?" or "How long has it been since we left?" (Then again kids are fortunate enough to live so presently that the passage of time rarely comes into account...)
Anyhow, I know I've still got hours until I get to my destination, but whether I will take note of them passing is an entirely different question.
[Just looked out the window and saw the Whitby GO Station... So that's where I am!]