A photo essay. 600 words and some pics, 3-minute read.
Road Trip
By Ray Tabler
Two weeks ago I drove across the country, from Michigan to California. It was a journey 40 years in the making.
The inciting incident was my daughter graduating from college, and landing a job in California. Her car needed to make the trip, even if she was reluctant to drive that far. Dad to the rescue! I volunteered to sacrifice 5 days of my life to the trek. Daughter, Mom, and the cat, would fly out to meet me.
Before you heap praise upon my selfless act, be advised. I had an ulterior motive. Five days, alone, in a car, watching the territory roll by, is a pleasant experience to some guys. Myself included. Why wouldn’t I seize the opportunity?
Also, this is a trip I’ve wanted to take for a long time. Back in 1984 I had just graduated from college myself, with a negative net worth. I started work right away to rectify that situation. Years later, it dawned on me that the company could’ve waited a few months for me to onboard. I should’ve taken a few weeks and driven west. Between the job and kids, I wouldn’t have the chance at such an unfettered roving for decades. However, being broke is a strong motivator against such frivolities. So, to the grind I went.
Granted, I traveled extensively over the years, for both business and pleasure. But vacations carry a short expiration date. They end. Then it’s back to the routine. And business trips are just that, almost all business. Get there. Do the Job. Return. Next job. A geographical application of the engineering mindset: define the problem, solve the problem, next problem.
Also, my drive wasn’t an open-ended wander westward. I needed to be at a certain spot by a specified time. Still, I left earlier than I needed to. That allowed time to visit the world’s largest truck stop in Iowa, get delayed by a long train in Nebraska, stop to buy some necklaces laid out on a roadside canvas sheet from an elderly Native American lady in Utah. Local color doesn’t come in the through the car’s air conditioner vents. (Unless you’re passing a cattle feed lot.)
West-bound is the preferred direction. The landscape gets progressively more dramatic as you go. Iowa and Nebraska are flat, but charming. Eastern Colorado undulates before it really starts to dance, elevation-wise. The rest of Colorado, Utah, the corner of Arizona I traversed, and Nevada were just one vista of wow after another. Along a stretch of I-70 by the Colorado River (Glenwood Canyon) the west-bound lanes have to be stacked atop the east-bound on stilts because there’s just no room for anything else.
Upon reflection, the view through the windshield is improved with 40 years of mileage on my eyes. A younger me didn’t have the experience to place these sights into perspective. The scenery didn’t change. I did.
There may be more of these drives in my future, now that I no longer have to slap an alarm clock into submission each morning. Something serene about motoring along the open road, tall stack of audio books downloaded to my phone, and not much time pressure. I’ll let you know.
END.
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