When I'm not donning a cargo shirt and scouring public parks with my metal detector, my thoughts often turn to my second favorite type of adventure - road trips.
I'm not talking about a 15-mile leisure cruise over the Bay Bridge to North Berkeley, because that's where the nearest Wendy's is. I'm talking about more daunting trips - the kind for which you prepare budgets and itineraries, the kind your friends don't believe you'll go through with, the kind that take you into unknown territory.
Before such a trip even begins, though, there are disincentives: time, boredom, and, if you are traveling with me, having to hear the same redundant stories about my favorite Looney Tunes episodes.
But the sense of adventure overshadows all. We romantically envision one version of the trip playing out, and most of the time an equally delightful alternate reality unfolds. Many of the most memorable places I've been are the result of accidental discovery en route to another destination. As John Steinbeck presciently remarked: "We find after years of struggles that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us."
But Sam - we don't come here for philosophy; we want the usual rambling posts about armadillos, you say. I'll get back to those in due time. But I've been reading some Robert Frost lately, and now a friend has turned me onto that book Into The Wild. And I've come across some pretty interesting road trip tales online:
SF to Argentina
The continental United States
Great Britain to Mongolia
So, I've decided that if the day comes when I decide to leave this town, I'm going to do it in dramatic fashion. The Argentina trip is very appealing to me, but I'm equally interested in going up to the Yukon.
I'm not talking about a 15-mile leisure cruise over the Bay Bridge to North Berkeley, because that's where the nearest Wendy's is. I'm talking about more daunting trips - the kind for which you prepare budgets and itineraries, the kind your friends don't believe you'll go through with, the kind that take you into unknown territory.
Before such a trip even begins, though, there are disincentives: time, boredom, and, if you are traveling with me, having to hear the same redundant stories about my favorite Looney Tunes episodes.
But the sense of adventure overshadows all. We romantically envision one version of the trip playing out, and most of the time an equally delightful alternate reality unfolds. Many of the most memorable places I've been are the result of accidental discovery en route to another destination. As John Steinbeck presciently remarked: "We find after years of struggles that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us."
But Sam - we don't come here for philosophy; we want the usual rambling posts about armadillos, you say. I'll get back to those in due time. But I've been reading some Robert Frost lately, and now a friend has turned me onto that book Into The Wild. And I've come across some pretty interesting road trip tales online:
SF to Argentina
The continental United States
Great Britain to Mongolia
So, I've decided that if the day comes when I decide to leave this town, I'm going to do it in dramatic fashion. The Argentina trip is very appealing to me, but I'm equally interested in going up to the Yukon.
Don't worry: I'll make sure to abide by John Tesh's road trip rules if I ever make such a trip.
1 comment:
Nate and I want to go too.
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