The Reason for Going
About three months ago, I began thinking about riding a bicycle across the country. The thought, a passing daydream at first, quickly became a serious consideration and, ultimately, a fully conceived trip (though those who are familiar with my history of planning can attest that "fully conceived" means remarkably undercooked). Many in the process have asked me the obvious question: Why?
In an excellent recounting of a man-and-dog-as-best-friend car trip throughout the U.S., "Travels With Charley in Search of America," John Steinbeck opens his collection of vignettes with what I think serves as a perfect answer. "When the virus of restlessness begins to take possession of a wayward man, and the road away from Here seems broad and straight and sweet, the victim must first find in himself a good and sufficient reason for going. This, to the practical bum, is not difficult."
I hesitate to label myself a "practical bum," but for my purposes here, it will have to do. To that most common question, which demands a sufficient reason for going, it is Steinbeck's philosophy that I think fits best, and the one by which I like to believe I guide myself. My response, however, changes depending on the source of inquiry. To an incredulous questioner, I would likely cite the noble purpose of my journey: to raise money for muscular dystrophy research. But to one who appreciates reckless exposure to the open road, uncertainty or even a kind of insanity, I typically say, "I felt like it." The latter response, also pandering to the many people who would compare me to Forrest Gump, is the more accurate one.
This blog, which I will try to update frequently during the two-month, 3,000-some mile trek across the South (and, if a success, during future travels), I hope will not be a venue for introspection or trite comments about the beauty of landscape. I expect to encounter a broad cultural mix -- a cornucopia of geography and the kind of diversity in people typically reserved for big cities and marketing departments -- and I intend to highlight that eclecticism. Indeed, I won't be able to avoid inserting a personal perspective (after all, everyone experiences travel differently), but I will avoid making myself the subject of this blog. I'm afraid I'm just not that interesting.
As I finish this first post, it's day three of the trip. I'm in a coffee shop in Encinitas, California, where yesterday a barista commended me on my journey, which seems to be a commonplace lifestyle choice here. Spencer (that's his name), saves money for a year or two at a time and then travels. His last trip was a backpacking expedition up the eastern coast of Australia, comparable in length to the Appalachian trail. The first of many locals here to give me free goods or services (wireless Internet access, coffee, a bike tune-up and a camp site), Spencer symbolizes, to me, a general belief around here that wealth is unimportant.
Such is not the case everywhere. At Camp Pendleton, a Marine base about 15 miles north, a hot-dog salesman outside of a commissary, struggling to grasp my reason for going, said, "Man, you must be rich to take two months out of your life to do that."
Maybe so. But he was wrong. I am not taking two months out of my life. I am putting two months in. And because of that, I am very rich.
In an excellent recounting of a man-and-dog-as-best-friend car trip throughout the U.S., "Travels With Charley in Search of America," John Steinbeck opens his collection of vignettes with what I think serves as a perfect answer. "When the virus of restlessness begins to take possession of a wayward man, and the road away from Here seems broad and straight and sweet, the victim must first find in himself a good and sufficient reason for going. This, to the practical bum, is not difficult."
I hesitate to label myself a "practical bum," but for my purposes here, it will have to do. To that most common question, which demands a sufficient reason for going, it is Steinbeck's philosophy that I think fits best, and the one by which I like to believe I guide myself. My response, however, changes depending on the source of inquiry. To an incredulous questioner, I would likely cite the noble purpose of my journey: to raise money for muscular dystrophy research. But to one who appreciates reckless exposure to the open road, uncertainty or even a kind of insanity, I typically say, "I felt like it." The latter response, also pandering to the many people who would compare me to Forrest Gump, is the more accurate one.
This blog, which I will try to update frequently during the two-month, 3,000-some mile trek across the South (and, if a success, during future travels), I hope will not be a venue for introspection or trite comments about the beauty of landscape. I expect to encounter a broad cultural mix -- a cornucopia of geography and the kind of diversity in people typically reserved for big cities and marketing departments -- and I intend to highlight that eclecticism. Indeed, I won't be able to avoid inserting a personal perspective (after all, everyone experiences travel differently), but I will avoid making myself the subject of this blog. I'm afraid I'm just not that interesting.
As I finish this first post, it's day three of the trip. I'm in a coffee shop in Encinitas, California, where yesterday a barista commended me on my journey, which seems to be a commonplace lifestyle choice here. Spencer (that's his name), saves money for a year or two at a time and then travels. His last trip was a backpacking expedition up the eastern coast of Australia, comparable in length to the Appalachian trail. The first of many locals here to give me free goods or services (wireless Internet access, coffee, a bike tune-up and a camp site), Spencer symbolizes, to me, a general belief around here that wealth is unimportant.
Such is not the case everywhere. At Camp Pendleton, a Marine base about 15 miles north, a hot-dog salesman outside of a commissary, struggling to grasp my reason for going, said, "Man, you must be rich to take two months out of your life to do that."
Maybe so. But he was wrong. I am not taking two months out of my life. I am putting two months in. And because of that, I am very rich.
posted by Patrick Bourland at 6:38 PM
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