Ah! The oldest has finally moved out of the basement and joined the navy. The youngest is in a university dorm. The other one has decided to try living on her own – with three of her like-minded friends.
Retirement has finally come to both of us, so we can leave the empty nest for a while and hit the road. No deadlines, no must-get-to destination. Freedom!
The van will be our home on wheels until we need to refresh our roots.
I hope the above scenario comes to you some day. In my case, the opportunity to respond to the call of the road (and the sea, river and air) came before we had any children. It once took me fourteen days to drive to Florida, but on another trip, it took only 24 hours. How long did it take me to drive to California? One time, it took only three days. On another, a whole month. My longest time behind the wheel was a 13-month odyssey exploring Europe and North Africa. As the song goes, “I’ve been everywhere, man, I’ve been everywhere!” Well, not everywhere, but quite a few places.
Trips are just like financial lines of credit: the longer the better. The longer and slower the journey, the more opportunities there are to find the roses – and smell them.
Speeding along a controlled access highway is just like hurtling through a narrow tube in the middle of the night. Being a slave to the commands of a GPS is like hounds chasing a hare.
Unless it’s a run to the hospital to have your wife deliver your first-born, or to be at the head of the line on Black Friday, take your time (but not in the passing lane). Pull over to explore, listen and gaze.
On your non-stop runs, the only fragrance you’ll experience will be the cardboard Christmas tree hanging from the mirror. The only wail you hear won’t be from a wolf. It’ll be from the cruiser pulling you over for speeding, or the “I’m still thirsty!” from the back seat.
A detailed map is your best friend. Of course, you already know where you are, but the map will show what’s where you aren’t: a winding road that circumnavigates the shoreline of a lake that seems to be trying to imitate the perimeter of Afghanistan – or maybe Andorra. The smooth curves of a series of dots on the map trace an abandoned railway line. Be a Columbus, Cook or Amundsen.
When cycling through France in the early mornings, we located the baguetterie using our noses. The rumble, whistle and clang, clang, clang revealed the presence of a passing train and its level crossing. Grazing cattle in Austria tinkle, tinkle, as well as bellow. In Venice, the cry of “Gondola! Gondola!” tells you what’s just around the corner.
Give slow a go.
