March 2014
By Amy Carpenter
“On the road again, like a band of gypsies we go
down the highway
We’re the best of friends insisting that the
world keep turning our way
And our way is on the road again…”
-Willie Nelson
Recently, a small group of us rented a 25-foot Leprechaun
RV (affectionately named “Lucky” by the three children on board). Our
intention: travel to Florida to enjoy some semblance of warmth during the
coldest February in recorded history. Now, traveling the length of the country
in ten days is not such a huge accomplishment. Doing it with six family members
in hellacious winter weather is another story. Throw in a few recovering colds,
a dehydration attack, and two bouts of fever, it all gets even more
interesting. We came home exhausted,
with a kind of tattered, yet thrilling sense that we had just passed through a massive
traveler’s gauntlet.
Certain moments stand out more than others. There
was the dread of wondering whether I had just rinsed my mouth out with
anti-freeze; the panicked scream when I thought for sure we were going to hit a
line of vehicles in the snow-storm out of Richmond; the challenge of cooking
(pans sliding, drawers opening, liquid spilling) or sleeping (beds shaking,
vents slapping, water leaking) while the vehicle was in motion; the
indescribable uniqueness of the odor produced in our traveling "home"
after living in it for a week and a half; and of course the loose boundaries of
sharing too-close space (who's toothbrush did I just use and who's foot is in
my ear?).
And yet nothing beats it.
How can I say that, as vata-deranged as I was,
with my circadian rhythms in lunar orbit and my body feeling like I had just
been shrink-wrapped? How can I possibly condone such uncivilized human
behavior as I recently witnessed? Perhaps because there is something old
in it, old and primal. Sharing small space, cooking communally, and vibing on
the gratification that for a time, we were self-sufficient nomads on a path of
adventure- all of it adds up to something you can't put into words. I’ve
done a lot of traveling in my life, sitting alone or with one companion on
planes bound for far-off exotic countries. This was different. The
eager-as-a-puppy part of the human spirit that gets unleashed when set free to
roam, the six of us shared in tandem. And so the exuberance had many dimensions
to it. As adults, we borrowed from the children in moments of sleep deprivation
and attending to task. But the children borrowed from us as well, their knotted
hair and unkempt clothes giving away their own travel fatigue as we hailed the
next exciting destination and handed over the sweet treats.
When I returned to my home, palatial by
comparison, I was able to reflect on some of the more serene moments of the
journey, like passing through the Blue Ridge mountains in the clean opalescence
of pre-dawn (holding to the belief that pulling an all-nighter and being strung
out on coffee only added to the effect); the giggling clamor produced by the
girls as they tried to simulate a music video in our 2’ by 3’ floor space; the
heavenly taste of burritos cooked with our left-overs once we arrived at the
Fort Myers RV park and were finally able to discharge the contents of our “rig”-
towels, coolers, bikes, clothes and camping gear (did I mention there were six
of us?)- onto the lawn.
As Willie Nelson says: “We’re the best of friends
insisting that the world keep turning our way”. But if we never take leave of
the life we know and the simple routines that define us, we may never find the
true grit that exists within. We may never know how close we really can be to
the people we claim to love. So, here’s
a little shout-out to all travelling souls: the road is waiting. There’s a bit
of the gypsy in all of us, but he/she is most likely dancing in the places we
have not yet seen.
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