On the Road
Can the great American road-trip save us all?
American highways are seductive, captivating the hearts of wanderers since the conception of the Federal Highway system in the 1950s. Building our highways was a Romanesque gesture, befitting our burgeoning Republic as it entered its peak-Empire phase. In the Parthenon of American culture, a road trip proudly claims its place alongside BBQ, college football, and The Price is Right.
A road trip, done right, is to awaken all of our senses. The scorching summer sun bears down on cracked asphalt, the fragrance of pines near the sea rushing through open windows, and the hum of rubber on the pavement. In these perfect moments, the destination does not matter.
The allure of a road trip lies in its boundless possibilities. From buddy trips like Thelma and Louise to romantic escapades and family excursions reminiscent of Chevy Chase's vacation – each carries its unique charm.
A solo road trip is remarkably freeing, an intimate communion between oneself and the vehicle, where life's truths are laid bare. There's a peculiar honesty to such solitary adventures, magnified on the open road, like a mirror pointing back at us.
However, a road trip is more than just about the road; that would make us truck drivers doing a job. The essence lies in the moments we pause - for fuel, food, rest, and for those fleeting encounters with strangers. In these ephemeral connections, we glimpse a world as we wish it to be – slower, brighter, and remarkably more amiable. Conversing with strangers serves as a poignant reminder of the fragility of human connections. People come and go; they move, they die. Such is life's bittersweet reality. Yet, even in transient encounters, the scars remain – traces of 20-year friendships and 20-minute conversations at a Waffle House Diner remain with us forever.
That’s the deal with life, isn’t it? There is no choice among the harsh realities of our finite existence. You buy the ticket, take the ride. That uncertainty, the exhilarating anxiety that is life, also lies at the heart of every great road trip. We cannot control our journey, only our reaction to it.
A road trip unveils life's unpredictability, mirroring the winding paths of the open road. We may encounter detours and even lose our way, but amid the journey, we may also stumble upon something simple and sublime.
Yet, as with all things, the novelty eventually wanes. This revelation should be shared with children and Disneyland Dads who seek to skip their chores. The road may turn monotonous, but on a road trip, we persist. Louder, eyes fixed on the center line to fend off drowsiness. We brace for changing scenery.
In time, the landscape shifts, and we may find something that rekindles our humanity. Our adaptability as creatures of free will comes to the forefront. We witness it in the remnants of ghost towns abandoned in the desert and in the revival of mountain towns adorned with artisans and gourmet delights, defying their sense of place.
My home state of California is a road trip mecca. You can still find the spine of the original Route 66 here, picking it up at the beach and heading East into the desert towards the Arizona border and the Colorado River. We have the iconic Pacific Coast Highway with its epic views, but sometimes I find its beauty too obvious.
Over a decade ago, I drove northbound on the Tejon Pass in the rain. I couldn’t see anything but could feel the trucks passing by shake my vehicle. When I reached the Grapevine, I headed out on Highway 99 towards Bakersfield and stopped for the night in a motel off of the highway. I was alone and good with it. I had a paperback and some Irish whiskey.
I drove into Bakersfield in the morning. Bakersfield is about two hours North of Los Angeles and is the gateway to the state’s agricultural center that fuels us. Bakersfield is famous for its produce, Basque food, and country music. The music made by Buck Owens became known as the Bakersfield Sound and was made famous by Merle Haggard.
I ate breakfast somewhere with a name I don’t remember, but I remember listening to some men talk about water. There was never enough of it, but that day, there was too much for whatever work they were planning. They spoke about the politics of water. I thought about how agricultural water was diverted to build Los Angeles and wondered what those men might have to say about that.
I walked around the downtown of a city I had never known. There were many old buildings, a proliferation of pawn shops, and the Bakersfield Elks Lodge, #266, founded in 1894.
There is an old bar in alley downtown, and I had a beer there, a Coors yellow label in a brown bottle. I asked the burly man next to me how he came to Bakersfield. He told me you were “either from here or ended up here but nobody came here, not on purpose.” He grumbled that there was something about a woman. There often is.
The American epic, The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck, which perhaps you read in high school, portrayed the Joad family’s journey during the Depression, which ends in Bakersfield with the Joads in a work camp. The bartender was right; you just ended up in Bakersfield.
The writer, Jack Kerouac, ended up in Bakersfield once, too. In 1947 he had an affair with a married woman there and wrote about it in the short story, The Mexican Girl, which made its way into his most famous work.
Kerouac's "On the Road," a wild book you should read but likely won't, chronicles the journey of two wanderlust-stricken souls seeking meaning in their lives. Did they find it? Uncertain. Kerouac's life ended prematurely, not yet fifty, still living with his mother.
But the book remains a classic that resonates with modern road-trippers. Kerouac's portrayal of the Beat Generation's restless pursuit of freedom, self-discovery, and a sense of belonging on the open road strikes a chord with contemporary travelers seeking similar experiences. Our youngest generation is much maligned for living only online, but they are also experience seekers and appear to yearn for genuine connections and authentic experiences.
Road trips, like those chronicled in the book, remain a means of breaking free from the constraints of everyday life, embarking on journeys that promise adventure, unpredictability, and the promise of discovering something about oneself amid the vast landscapes and fleeting encounters.
The novel's emphasis on the transformative power of travel and exploration fits today’s world, an era where much of society seems to have lost its way. Just as the book’s protagonists, Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty, set out to explore the soul of America, I wonder if we can find our soul again on the American highways and back roads.
FRIDAY
Brother-in-Law’s Ridiculous Road Trip Philosophy Is About to Ruin Family Vacation.
And worse, the sister has been converted to his cult.
https://slate.com/human-interest/2023/07/road-trip-philosophy-care-and-feeding.html
SATURDAY
Didion opens her essay, “On Morality,” immediately letting the reader know she is writing from her perspective.
“As it happens, I am in Death Valley, in a room at the Enterprise Motel and Trailer Park, and it is July, and it is hot. In fact, it is 119°.
SUNDAY FICTION
The Mexican Girl
By Jack Kerouac
https://www.theparisreview.org/fiction/4990/the-mexican-girl-jack-kerouac