We left with only the intention of going. That lack of expectation filled us with hope. Though I have been on many road trips, I was aware that this could be my last. That is not a macabre thought, but rather an objective assessment of my body's ability to handle duress. Though thoroughly exhilarating, road trips require endurance, patience, less healthy food, fewer hours of sleep, a youthful back, and a steel ass. My mental preparation was not necessary; my mind saw and heard only magic with the mere mention of nine days without an itinerary. As I packed, though, the precursory items to an even short time away from home made my mental sails suddenly windless. What once was some clothes, a toothbrush, and a carton of cigarettes, now was the metered clicking of a multitude of pills, dropped with precision into boxes with miniature partition walls for morning, lunchtime, late afternoon, and evening. Pink tablets, white and maroon capsules, all-white caplets, beige, peach, pale yellow--- dropped into their specified slots without contemplation yet with heavy sighs. There were other medicinal items necessary to my physical functionality--- enough so that I stopped packing, thought about having a cigarette, and instead laid down flat on my back, arms beside me, eyes vacantly staring into the whirling ceiling fan. 'I am not old,' I thought, 'I am worse than old. I am sick,' and that made a mockery of my childlike wonder and excited heart. Before finishing packing, I had to sleep hopeful for dreams of road trips long past.
It was John's first road trip and I feared being the sole source of letdown in our 3500 mile trek. It was a conundrum: should I wear my game face the entire way never indicating pain and illness, never allowing him to see that I may not be up to the task, or should I allow myself to be seen with some weakness, some frailty, a need for rest and recuperation? John is one of my closest friends and has been a pillar of support and compassion for a couple of years now. Still, I didn't want to be the singular cause of any disappointment, the reason he may tell his other friends, “It was okay, not as great as I expected but okay.” That would crush me, or more precisely, my ego, as well as my reputation as the finest traveling companion ever. But then, who was I trying to impress: John or myself? What was I trying to prove exactly and to whom? I grinningly ate up others shaking their heads upon hearing that I had the balls out nerve and stupidity to go on a road trip only two weeks after major surgery. It made me feel like Old Deb, the girl who flipped off authority and good sense with a quick finger and a sexy smile. With the accent and audacity of the Black Knight from Monty Python, I said aloud, “It's just a flesh wound,” and resumed packing.
Part of the giddy fun of starting a lengthy car trip is the inevitable notion of being unprepared. One does her best to ensure basics are taken care of, such as providing a caretaker for the animals. I adore my pets and it would be highly irresponsible and tragic to let them starve while I was gone. And then there are things such as rear struts. Since I am automotively challenged, I am unsure what struts actually do. I understand starters, brakes, steering... but, struts? Clueless. How important can they be? And, if they aren't functioning properly, what does that mean? A starter doesn't work, no starting. Brakes don't work, no braking. Struts don't work... then, we cannot strut? I'm okay with that since I much prefer to shimmy. Thus, we began our long journey slightly disappointed that we wouldn't be allowed to strut, yet confident that from the many silly walk variations, we would still be mobile.
John and I were, in fact, virtually all systems go for our excursion, much more so than I have ever been. Technology helps. We were both armed with laptops, cell phones, chargers, digital cameras, and debit cards. Fabulous. Additionally, John had a hand-held device that stored a little more than a kajillion songs. I am old school, packing numerous compact discs into a clear storage bin allowing easy access for the moments when I just had to hear one specific song. Combined, we brought enough music for a yearlong, worldwide voyage, but, you see, this was necessary because, as stated, sometimes you need THAT song. Like Boy Scouts, we were prepared, even if only primed for flashes of euphonious euphoria. We also had clothes and personal hygiene products--- always thinking of others are we--- and some caffeinated beverages and happy snacky treats. Luckily for us, it is always snack time on a road trip. Within the first few miles of the engine running, I exclaimed, “I ate that Ho Ho in two bites!” This was said haughtily and loudly while John goggled at me and then stared at his Zebra Cake, which was nearly untouched, flickers of crumbs stuck to his stubble from a polite bite, no more than a nibble. I believe I may have even raised my hands in fists from the steering wheel to exhibit my prideful satisfaction. So then, beyond those items, we needed little else. Oh, but wait... we are both writers. Thus, at the ready were journals, notebooks, scratch pads, writing instruments, and boundless flickering ideas soon to lose their turbidity. And, what, one may wonder, was the first recorded dynamical boom of genius? Why, of course, “I ate that Ho Ho in two bites!”
… Sometimes brilliance need not initially be swift to ultimately have impact. This was the immediate focus of our supplication while speeding eastward on I-90.
Next up: "Road."
