on the road

On the Road is a dangerous book. What’s even worse, I’ve been reading it lately. A year has almost passed since my last trip. I flew out to Montana to visit a buddy of mine from high school who was working out there at the time.

I mean, I am reading Kerouac’s words, but it’s hard to focus on his journey for all the stories of my past experiences out west that keep weaving themselves in. Every time he mentions a particular state my mind is off on a tangent, recalling what happened when I last passed through there.

He mentioned seeing the mighty Mississippi and I am immediately swept away… driving along in the RV, it’s been dark for a long time, but we press on. Our excitement has us driving long hours. We pass through Memphis and as we approach the bridge I rummage around through our gear and grab my camera. Turning the dial to program mode, and snapping a shot. The picture came out blurry, because of the long exposure time required to capture the image of the bridge we were crossing over the great river, a neon illuminated pyramid in the background. I still don’t know what that building was.

His words stir something inside me. It pulls at me to jump in my car and start driving, like that time in the middle of the night when was working in Yellowstone. I had the next few days off and nothing planned. It was late, and I began wondering how far I could drive in the time I had off. Figuring I could just drive north through Montana and then turn around when my time off was half up. I packed a few things and pulled out of the parking lot of the Yellowstone Lake employee dorms. Running low no gas, I had to drive to Fishing Bridge, the closet gas station in the park, to fill up. Gas stations in Yellowstone aren’t 24 hours, though. My hopes were dashed. I would have to wait until 6 the next morning. So, I went back and slept a little, and headed out in the morning.

It’s not only the open road that is appealing. Kerouac writes of his experiences with the people he meets on his journey. At this prompting, I find myself sitting in a rustic diner in West Glacier, Montana. Having just returned from the Canada side of Glacier National Park. Josh and I are sitting on the red plastic covered stools, common to all ‘real’ diners, at the bar. The waitress strikes up a conversation. She too is from back east. We discuss our reasons for being out there and our common interests, our love for the outdoors. She fly-fishes. We go on talking as if we’re old friends catching up. We finish our meals and bid farewell. Back to the road.

There is also a sense of discovery that he writes about. Not only the discovery of new places, but the discovery of himself. He talks about a defining experience of his life when he wakes up in a hotel room and he doesn’t know who he is. I woke up one night in Bangkok. My flight had arrived in the late hours of the night/ the wee hours of the morning. Wandering through the airport, I didn’t know the name of the hotel I had reservations at. I somehow managed to communicate with a Thai lady who helped me get a taxi which took me to a hotel, turns out it wasn’t the one I had reservations for. I have no idea how much I paid for the room, but I had a bed. In a foreign land by myself, I locked the door to my room threw my bags down and sat down on the bed. I don’t remember if I cried that night or not, but I probably should have. It was the loneliest I have felt in my entire life. I wasn’t where I was supposed to be, my destination was on the opposite side of the country and I didn’t know a soul within a 10,000 mile radius, give or take a few. I was somewhere in that in between world, half awake and half asleep. Physically and mentally exhausted. I discovered myself, though. When I awoke the next morning, wondering if I actually slept or not, I drew the curtains back from my hotel room and I just stood there at my window staring at the foreign land before me. The sun was shining and it was a new day. It was a new world.

I could continue on and on. I love retelling these stories, these experiences. They are a part of my story, of my journey. They give me anticipation and excitement for the next journey ahead. These travels have been my education. They have taught me many lessons, and are preparing me. I keep them close and remember the people and places I have met.

I think I am ready for the next adventure.