It takes about three days before I admit to Hector, and to myself, that I may have gotten us lost. It doesn’t really sink in until that evening, when I’ve finished rolling strips of old billboard vinyl into tight logs for a fire we can’t enjoy too closely without inhaling psychedelic adhesive fumes. This is what being lost is: assuming everything will sort itself out around one too many bends. More specifically, being lost in ‘Billboard Hell’ is allowing one too many signs to guide you in the wrong direction. It’s second-guessing the intent of an advertisement for a burger joint that should just be five minutes away left- going right because you suspect some sort of guerilla reverse psychology is at work. It’s tearing through a billboard to find yourself facing a second, smaller sign for the same company, congratulating you for ‘thinking outside the box’ and offering its services in sign repair.
We have another couple days of food. Probably a day’s worth of water unless it rains.
There is an engine running, somewhere, and we head that direction in the morning. There’s nowhere else to go.
‘It stands to reason that, because Vermont maintains a state-wide ban on billboards, there must exist a concentration of billboards somewhere else in the country to offset the deficit. This is the less-than-scientific explanation for ‘Billboard Hell,’ which stretches over several states but seems to be confined mainly to the rust belt. Where it exists exactly is hard to say because there are a lot of places in the US that might qualify as a billboard hell and the ‘Billboard Hell’ is always shedding old roots and branching ever forward.
The Rangers suggest travelers wishing to avoid ‘Billboard Hell’ remain within the boundaries of Vermont and ignore any signs that might be trying to coax them across the border.’
-traveler
