By noon, it's time to hit the road and again and resume my trip westward. After enjoying lunch with a large group of friends both old and new, I walk across the fairgrounds to the grassy field where my Jeep is parked. After eight days of family, friends and fun -- but little driving -- I am a vagabond once again.

From Hershey I head west toward Pittsburgh, though my endpoint tonight will be on the far side of Ohio. Western PA is home to the Allegheny Mountains, and Interstate-76, the Pennsylvania Turnpike travels up, down and through them in tunnels.

When I-76 points northwest toward Pittsburgh, I divert myself onto I-70, just minutes west of Somerset, where the fourth of the September 11th planes crash-landed thanks to its heroic passengers. I say a small thanks in their memory.

At state highway 51, I exit the freeway and nose my way through the hills and valleys. I feel like I am driving in the rut between two mountain ranges, as I am surrounded by hills rolling away to either side. I'm searching for a Chrysler dealer, not because I need service but because this is where one of my old cars came from.

Back in 1978, a man named Bill retired from a long career in the army. Flush with his military pension and a new civilian job at the local mill, he decided to treat himself to the biggest, most expensive Chrysler he could buy... the silver New Yorker Brougham in the picture. This was to be the final year of the big Chrysler before it was downsized, and Bill was ready to fork over nearly $12,000 to get it. Problem was, Bill also wanted a special model of this car, called the Salon, that was rare enough that not every dealer got one. His son Ben told me that Bill drove "practically to Pittsburgh" to find this car. Looking on the map, I see now that it was only about 40 miles from his home, but apparently it seemed to Bill like he went to the end of the earth to get into his New Yorker and out of his low-line '72 Newport.

When he brought the car home, Ben told him, "You're not gonna park that car at the mill all day. It'll get ruined." So Ben drove up to Pleasant Hills and got back the old Newport, which Bill drove to the mill every day while the fancy New Yorker sat in the garage. When I bought the car from Bill in 1999, it had 16,000 miles on it.

And so today I am making a pilgrimage to Pleasant Hills Chrysler-Plymouth, just to say I've been there. I find it here in the valley, remodeled in front but original to the 1960s in back. I stop to think that 23 years ago, there was a very happy guy named Bill proudly driving away.

I continue toward Pittsburgh, noting the number of drinking establishments like Bobby's bar (right next to Hubcap Heaven) and the local VFW post, where Porky Chedwick will be playing tonight. I pass on Porky and drive on to Pittsburgh in the waning afternoon sun.

The remainder of my drive is essentially a direct run across the northern edge of Ohio. I make one more car connection, in the form of a '67 Imperial not unlike one that I have. I pass him on the Ohio Turnpike but we meet again at a gas stop... it's a clean car he's owned for a while, and he's driving it home from Hershey, of course.

After a quick bite at the rest stop (oops, forgot lunch again), it's a quiet drive due west, though I know I'm heading toward rain. I called the friends I'll be staying with tomorrow in Chicago, and a deluge is upon them as we speak. Hopefully I'll beat the storm to my motel tonight, but searching for a weather report on AM radio is no help. The only stations I pick up are either all-sports or, judging by the commercials, absurdly far away (though now I know that Jasper Jeep in Jasper, Georgia, is having a tent sale). Other than the surprising sight of a functioning drive-in playing a recent movie (something with Keanu Reeves) alongside the turnpike, it's an uneventful ride.

After another hour or so, I dodge south of Toledo to land in the college town of Bowling Green, looking forward to having a motel room to myself, and to sleeping in a bed tonight.