Are people elsewhere in America hunkered down during the coronavirus pandemic?

Mostly.

Along our stretch of Interstate 80 last week, there were relatively few cars and pickup trucks.

Elsewhere along our 1,200-mile return trip from Florida, the traffic was similar … mostly.

The shelter-in-place message was bluntly conveyed on South Carolina’s large black-screen programmable billboards dotting Interstate 83:

GO HOME.

STAY HOME.

Succinct.

Carolinians north and south seemed to be cooperating. Truck traffic along most of the route was near normal, but non-commercial vehicles seemed to be half as numerous as had been the case on Feb. 1 when we went south to escape some winter weather.

As the lockdown gripped residents and visitors during March the Florida Panhandle folks got scarce in Apalachicola and on nearby St. George, a barrier island with now-closed beaches.

Atlanta? Not so much.

For a half-dozen years, we had deliberately avoided interstate highways with their convoys of trucks and “snowbirds” in large motor homes or hauling lengthy, sway-prone campers.

On April 9-10, we switched to using the interstate highways. We banked on having less overall to speed up the trip.

Generally, that worked. Interstate 75 headed north toward Atlanta was the exception. For an hour, we fought traffic that moved along at 40-50 mph, but in lane-clogging volumes.

That surprised us. Georgia, Albany in particular, had been stricken by COVID-19 hotspots. We didn’t stop Atlanta-area travelers to ask, “Why are you out and about?” But the volume suggested widespread disregard for shelter-in-place tactics designed to slow the spread of the dangerous, too often deadly, disease.

Every cloud, it is said, has its silver lining. Our silver lining was what we did not see: Police cars checking speeders.

I don’t blame them. I would be less than eager to handle someone’s driver license and registration, lean in past an open window and exchange possibly COVID-laden breaths. Police and other first responders must get even closer at scenes of accidents, crimes, fires, tornadoes, etc., where lives are saved or lost in minutes. In good weather and with light traffic, less strict enforcement makes sense.

I took advantage, somewhat sensibly. I traveled the 70-mph speed limited roads at about 85 mph, but paid due attention to vehicle intervals, smooth lane changes, etc.

Our GPS had said that the first 700-mile leg should end at 8 p.m., drive time. We stopped twice for gasoline. Happily our Ford F-150 has a 36-gallon tank, reducing the need to do so. We ate brought-along meals inside the pickup truck, only leaving it for wary trips to restrooms.

We saw take-out restaurants open all along the routes. Wary of the chance of COVID within hotels, we arrived at the home of a relative with spare bedrooms on a separate floor — at 8:10 p.m., nearly spot-on with the often-inexact GPS arrival time. That was another sign that people were staying near home.

We chatted with our relatives from 10-15 feet away. We slept. We left early Friday.

On normally clogged Interstate 81 headed toward Pennsylvania, a normal flow of trucks kept the roadway half-full. But cars were about 25 percent of normal.

As we entered Pennsylvania at Breezewood, traffic thinned even more. Few trucks traveled Interstate 99 northward past Altoona, and fewer still were along Interstate 80 from Woodland westward to our Brookville destination. Cars? I guesstimated about one car/SUV/pickup per mile. Some had to have been driven by health care workers, grocery store employees, others who traveled from need. Casual travelers were definitely less observable.

From Woodland westward to Brookville, traffic near 6 p.m. got thin, thinner, thinnest. And eerie.

We live along a secondary state highway, a popular shortcut between Brookville and Sigel, about 60 miles due south of Jamestown. While doing work outside, I usually wave at a passer-by about every 10 minutes. Last week, I saw one or two per hour.

For those who must travel distances, the trips themselves are no longer pleasurable. Gone are the chirping children and smiling adults of families in restaurants and rest areas. Mall parking lots and those for factories and offices stand all but deserted.

A new wariness is replacing the traditional gregariousness of America on the move. I was masked as I replenished groceries after a two-month absence. I began greeting people with my usual “Hiya.” Soon, I stopped, and just nodded. Even the not-masked shoppers seem grimmer, more focused, less chatty. Store workers, now elevated in my esteem for supplying our necessities despite the risks, are courteous but careful about what they touch and when they disinfect.

This is not the America we knew.

But it is the America we still have, thank God.

Denny Bonavita is a former editor at newspapers in DuBois and Warren. He lives near Brookville. Email: denny2319@windstream.net.