Hear Ye Travel We

But what do we know about it?  We’re only out here for five days a time.  Some folks live the majority of their lives on the road.  To a person with a home and relationships, the road is not wonderful.  Wandering is wearisome, but from time to time, things happen that are worth writing down.  A warning?  Nah.  The truth?  Hardly.  It’s only the stuff we can recall.

The car seat slowly morphs from a comfy chair into something resembling two stones digging, digging, digging into the buttocks.  Does the car smell like coffee again?  Or is that pickle flavored potato chips mixed with dog breath?  No, someone just farted so now we’ll have to put the windows down again.  I know it’s 36 degrees out there, but the odor is toxic.  Minji rides along and pees on the fabulous yarn that Flor spins.  And how do you keep a lonely dog from barking?  Danny will tell you that you can tune a piano but you can’t tuna fish.  Perhaps he has a point, but I eventually become jealous of how much more leg room the tuna fish has in its can.  We’re always feeling late and the trailer slows us down.  All of our talking heads are full of motion sickness.  Our eyes are drowning in a sea of semi-trucks and earcars.  This movement is called Rubber Droning in the key of ‘On the Road Again’.

While in the car we dream of being reality TV stars, outside we find reality can be both lonely and stunning—An edge-of-town gas station on a precipice.  Home simply becomes the place where someone lets you shower.  And the floor becomes a soft feather bed after a full day of night driving.

Are we there yet?  I don’t know, are we late yet?  Two hand trucks and a dozen foot pedals later we find ourselves moving again.  Some rooms are full while others are barren, but every single one contains a person who likes the music.  “Good job!” they say.  “I’m very impressed,” they exclaim, rather impressively.  “You guys could be on America’s Got Talent if only you played more Bob Seger.”  Little does that guy know we had just divided our number of Bob Seger covers in half.  Little do we know we can’t divide by zero…only Chuck Norris can do that.  And in the name of Mr. Norris, move on.

A mile at a time.  Flashing white lines and blacktop dreams.  And finally, we’re there.  The top of the hill.  The shows are done.  The money is collected. We’re sold out of CDs and we’ve talked about ourselves and our music more than anyone should be allowed to.  The gas tank is empty.  No more speaking.  No more circus with the flashing lights.  No more thudding noises.  No more wailing and whomp whomp.  Let’s take the day and go into the woods.  A vow a silence this afternoon will do good.  Let the trees do all the talking.  Let the birds do all the singing.  Let the sound of waves wash our eyes and let the river current carry away the stones embedded in our asses.  Watch the sun set and pull our anxieties down behind the trees where they can’t reach us for the moment.  Spend just one moment with no fear.  Believe in it.  Believe that this one coincidental moment is why you’ve come.