Late, For Nowhere in Particular
Rolling down some back-road cloaked in the bliss of anonymity, one arm in contact with the wheel at the point that encourages my wrist to flop carefree at the end of it, head bobbling to a slow rhythmic beat that doesn’t match my rousing vocal accompaniment to Life is a Highway that’s cranked up so loud it’s oozing from the Yukon like displaced mortar, I come across this.
Signifying a certain arm flex to the grinding pressure of today’s world, a ballsy show of throwing caution to the wind, a take-this-job-and-shove-it head toss, THIS is temptation. If you look at it with just the right tilt of your head, you’ll get the same glint in your eyes. Selling everything I own would enable the purchase of a few acres in any number of states, on which I could move or build a small house, delivering my bobbling head into town once a week for provisions in this.
I don’t succumb. Others in my life would highly disapprove and I highly value these others. I photograph the Ford and pull back onto the road with a slow-mo melodrama moving frame by frame through my brain. It conveniently loops from the part that shows me walking up to the house, knocking on the door, engaging the owner in negotiations, taking the keys from them and driving away into the sunset in that truck. My melodramas never include the pragmatic part about what I’d do with all my crap in the Yukon, the Yukon, the exchange of titles, discussing what oil the Ford uses, insurance, etc.
Not many of us ever throw this degree of caution to the wind. But who among us hasn’t entertained the thought of running away from home, even if it’s for a mere few harmless days? It’s a bit risque and for the first time in my long history of SRTs I see it for that. You’re out there by the droves sending me emails about the longing to get out there. I fully understand the longing. Few things in our lives are as liberating, empowering, and rejuvenating as a solo road trip.
So I ask all of you with latent and repressed open road wanderlust sitting at home fantasizing about the cloak of anonymity, arm draped over the wheel, or resting lightly on handle bars, aren’t you late, for nowhere in particular?
About SRT... I’m a traveler, writer and photographer for whom the open road frequently summons. Adventurous solo road trips are a staple for me, and a curiosity. So I created this website to share them and inspire you to step out and give them a try. Welcome! 
i recently came back from a trip to nowhere, and everywhere. 6,000 miles. me and my lovely new bride in a 1954 ford coupe. i didn’t have to sell my (yukon) saab to get it. and i didn’t have to run away to make it happen. well, i did, a little bit. but i planned the 3 week runaway for more than a year. i can’t imagine doing that trip in anything else. there’s a certain smack it gives to your lips to pilot a machine older than you across america. there’s a certain ‘rightness’ about seeing a country so steeped in history and hard work and ingenuity in a car such as this. the view out the windshield changes the feel of the movie enough to make it epic rather than simply long. there’s a certain satisfaction to knowing you can fix it if it breaks. and a certain pleasantness to the afternoon that it does leave you by the side of the road with your trunk unpacked, tools out, forcing you to prove it. and a certain peacefulness to changing the oil in the yard of a friend’s small farm in kansas. i’ve been back just a little longer than i was gone, and i already feel late for that same destination. everywhere, but nowhere in particular.
Comment by mark — September 30, 2010 @ 12:42 pm