A Road Trip is Good for a Man's Soul
digital
somewhere in Utah
2007
I was nineteen when I jumped into a van with my buddy Leon and drove three days to Mardi Gras. We ate oranges and popcorn, saving our money for Bourbon Street. This torpedoed my budding college career but began my journey inward. That trip took us far beyond New Orleans - to central Texas, through New Mexico and on to Tucson, Arizona. What I experienced riding those many miles kindled within me a passion for adventure and the sense of excitement that comes from being on the open road.
As we drove for hours on end I gazed at the vastness of Texas and experienced the harsh beauty of the desert southwest. I soaked in the smell of creosote bushes after a rainstorm and poked at all kinds of cactus as I came to love the land of Edward Abbey. This adventure changed me, and after driving many thousands of American highway miles since, I have come to believe that a road trip is good for a man's soul.
Crossing the swirling, muddy waters of the Mississippi River or peering into Grand Canyon gave me perspective and brought home to me the fleeting nature of human life. Various road trips have taken me past dismal shacks in the sharecropper south and centuries-old, stacked-stone fence rows in New England. I have driven past cemeteries and great railroad yards. I stopped to capture photographs along the way. I took all this in and somehow, without any conscious effort on my part, these images imprinted themselves on my being as if onto a photographic plate.
Over the years I have sensed subtle changes within me showing up in unexpected circumstances. A kind word at the dinner table emerges or a simple act of courtesy occurs in rush hour traffic. I don't intend for this. I find myself acting without thinking. I am a better listener. I notice a fresh reserve of patience. And these are good things.
What happens when I watch the mesmerizing lights of a city in the distant darkness? How or why does that change me? Tiny nameless towns cross my windshield. Trucks and cotton fields roll by. Kerouac and Steinbeck ride with me as I measure myself against mountains. Driving alone, my mind untangles problems and rehearses funny stories to tell my children. Like watching a foreign film my senses strain to take it all in.
Is this a modern-day version of the mythical journey? Instead of mounting a horse and donning knight's armor I throw my stuff into the back of a Chevy pickup, fiddle with the radio and try to remember if I grabbed my wallet. Not a noble quest in the classic sense, but it sure is fun.
I've seen bloated cattle and bald eagles. I've seen rainstorms, tumbleweeds and the cats at Hemingway's villa. Of course it is good to come home to the routine of everyday life. These occasional trips only punctuate my real life as householder, husband and father. Yet, all this rests within me. I somehow gain the ability to do dishes without resentment. My rigid ego is ground down over time and I become a bit more loving, a bit more accepting of others.
The purpose of life is inner transformation, I believe, and a road trip is good for my soul. So when I get a call from my travelling partners and begin to plan a new adventure, I grin. It's time to pack a bag and drag out the cooler. Fill the tank and adjust the mirrors. We got us an expedition. I got me a road trip.
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