'When I was very young and the urge to be someplace else was on me, I was assured by mature people that maturity would cure this itch. When years described me as mature, the remedy prescribed was middle age. In middle age I was assured that greater age would calm my fever and now that I am fifty-eight perhaps senility will do the job. Nothing has worked...I fear the disease is incurable.'
- John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley
When puzzling over how to start this record, nothing seemed to rise to the occasion. So, I figured I had better turn to one of the trip's inspirations to do it for me. Thank you, John.
It has officially begun. Three months on the road with my fiancee and our dog. The west is our playground and play we shall. We decided to start this chronicle so that we can look upon it in years to come and perhaps provide an interesting read now and again for our family and friends. No idea how often I'll be writing or what about. Figure it'll strike me when it strikes me.
The trip started out with a burst. The curtain closed on our show a little after nine and we were on the road by eleven. Eighteen hours from Chicago to Carbondale. Kept thinking about getting a hotel, but could never really see the point. Two hours of napping equalled four hours of driving...though I'm not sure the dog ever slept a wink. The road was straight, the traffic was sleeping, and I even learned something valuable. Driving across the plains in the heart of the night while listening to Woody Guthrie pluck away at this ole guitar is something everyone should do once. Couldn't tell you why. It just felt right.
It was a haul, no doubt, but well worth it...especially when the destination is Hanging Valley Ranch. There's a peace to this place I haven't found anywhere else. If it's out there, though, we'll find it in the months to come.
Here's to the search.
- snook
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