US Highways
It’s Not About the Destination
5 December 2014
I’D BEEN IN MY LITTLE TRAVEL TRAILER for seventeen months and the year was drawing to a close again. I camped after Thanksgiving down south of Tucson where I had absolutely no cell coverage and no Internet. I needed time to contemplate the lint in my navel and decide what I was going to do next. Masturbate. What had I accomplished when I ‘hit the road, Jack?’
I’d traveled 38,000 miles through thirty-six states and up into one Canadian province. I’d been to national parks and monuments, and some of the most beautiful and romantic places in the US. Most of them alone. In the not-alone times, I’d had seven lovers ranging in age from nineteen to fifty-five. But most of them had been for only a night or two.
What was the point?
A Year and a Half Ago: It’s About the Journey
I remember the first night I moved into my trailer. Maddie came out of the house in her pajamas and robe with fluffy slippers and knocked on the door. It was easy. For a few days, until I got the trailer stocked and everything moved into it, it was parked in the carport. She brought hot cocoa packets and a carton of milk. The first thing I’d moved into the trailer was my coffee mugs.
“So, Dad,” she began. She was using her most mature voice—the voice of reason. “What’s your goal? Are you out to discover yourself? Do you have a quest to see all the states? The National Parks? Old girlfriends?” We laughed. I pulled a bottle of crème de menthe out of the drawer that I’d designated as my liquor cabinet, although there was only a bottle of wine and half a bottle of scotch in it with the liqueur. I poured a little into each of our mugs with the cocoa.
“Well, sweetie, I don’t have a goal, I guess.”
“Not going off to get in touch with your inner being or something? What’s the point?”
“It’s not about the destination. It’s about the journey,” I sighed. “You don’t always need a goal. It isn’t about getting from point A to point B. It’s about seeing what’s along the way. When I pull out of the driveway on August first, I’m not even positive what direction I’m going.”
“I’m going with you.”
“Um…”
“I’m not going to let you just take off with no idea where you are headed until I know you are okay out there. I’ll take a week off work and fly back here from wherever we end up.” She was determined, and it wasn’t a bad prospect, either. I didn’t want her to feel deserted and I didn’t want her to be worried.
“In a week, we might still be in the State of Washington and I can just drive you home.”
“Whatever. Maybe I can catch a train.”
We sipped our cocoa in silence for a minute, no thought of talking about our writing. Most of our conversations were filled with creative stuff. She talked to her mother about boyfriends, money, and jobs.
“You know, you can come and visit me, too. In fact, since I’m on the road and have no destination, pick a place where you’d like to meet and I’ll park there. Someplace you’ve never been,” I suggested.
“Really? Florida? Get out of Seattle in the winter?” We laughed at her sudden burst of enthusiasm. “That will be cool. It will help me figure out if it’s what I want to do. I’ve got a little savings. I’ve got a car. I’ve got camping gear. Maybe I’ll just quit my job next summer and leave,” she said. I shuddered.
Never let it be said that parents don’t influence their children.
Back to Tucson
I needed supplies, so I went into Tucson and stopped at Starbucks first thing. As soon as I had my computer connected to the Internet, I checked my email.
Ari! Guess what! I miss you!
I’m almost finished with my first semester. Can you believe it? Well, I just realized that second semester doesn’t start until the third week of January.
Ari, could I visit you at Quartzite? It would be so cool to not be the only one naked. Besides, I really want to see the expression on Cassie’s face when I walk out of your trailer in nothing but my flip-flops and a smile.
I’m sending you a picture of what I’ll look like except I couldn’t find my flip-flops so all I’ve got on is the smile.
What do you think, Ari? Do you want to see me again?
Love and kisses,
Alice
Want to see her? Hell, yeah! A little break with Alice would be a great way to end the year. I shot back an email and told her to make her flight plans to come to me. Eighteen months in a sixteen-foot trailer would be worth everything to spend three weeks with Alice. I’d been a lot of places and experienced a lot of things this year-and-a-half, but if anyone asked what the best part of the journey was so far, the answer was Alice.
That will be a good place to start the next volume of Wonders of My World. Right after I decide what to do with the rest of my life.
In the meantime, I have a photo I’m just going to keep staring at.
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