Genesis
It began with a job offer. The position, in South Korea, wouldn’t start until February. It was September. And as with any gap in employment, I lusted over the opportunity for extended travel. When I’m employed, I’ve got to shackle that primal wanderlust – that drive which spurred ancient hunters over the land bridge in Alaska and gnawed at pioneers seeking the pacific – I’ve got to make it docile. This works for a while, but as soon as I’m not expected to show up for work on a Monday I’m powerless to fight its pull.
State of the World
The Rona was wreaking havoc the world’s logistics, and it seemed each day some country or another changed its rules; you can travel to Cambodia but if anyone on the plane tests positive you need to front $3,000 for a two week quarantine; Thailand was open now, but only a hundred tourists a month would be let in; Colombia was in and out of a national lockdown and there was no guarantee you could leave the country once you had arrived; Canada only let people cross the border if they could prove they were Alaska bound. International travel was off the table.
While working at REI over the summer, I’d been reading that the “Great American Road Trip” was making a comeback, and suddenly it all made sense: you can’t spread Rona from inside your car. It was decided. I’d always wanted to see the rural west and such a journey felt like a fitting farewell to the US for a while.
First Miles
After throwing a collection of half-thought-out preparations into the car – a folding mattress, some plastic Wal-Mart drawers, a calendar, and some camping gear – I left Connecticut on 10/28 and shot south 13 hours to see Molly in Winston-Salem. It felt right to begin the Journey from home, and home was coming to feel like wherever Molly was.
A few days passed, and on Sunday, 11/1, before Molly and her roommates grew too sick of my sight, I aimed my car west and left North Carolina. The road to Tennessee wound over the Appalachian range, and through Great Smoky Mountain national park where the leaves began to hint at reds and yellows and oranges amid the sea of green as a great unseen artist started to lay the first brushstrokes of fall. From atop the ridge, where I-40 snakes north of Gatlinburg, this rolling canvas stretched on and on until it melted into the soft haze of the horizon.
Night 1
I came down the other side of the Smokies and rode the southern Tennessee flats towards Chattanooga. I wanted to see the Choo Choo. By the time my phone announced the exit for Prentice Cooper State Forest, all was dark. I was headed 30 minutes outside of downtown up a coiled mountain road.
As I pulled into the campground, I tried to move as quietly as possible. It didn’t seem to occur to me then that I piloted a ½ ton machine. My headlights revealed shadows of run down trailers in the trees, an old mini school bus with its back turned to me, and some lone cars without drivers parked in darkness. I made three laps around the muddy, lumpy campground looking for a place to park before finally finding a nook of my own.
I didn’t know if I was allowed to park there, I didn’t know if anyone would care, I didn’t know if other campground-goers were merely sleeping or if I had come upon a graveyard for recreational vehicles. These were secrets the darkness kept till morning, and I made a note to arrive at camp before nightfall in the future.
On the Road Ahead
So there I was; at the beginning. Before me stretched out a continent choked by pandemic, gripped with dread of an upcoming election, and utterly exhausted by all of it. And still it bore whimsical beauty from Glacier, the Badlands, and Yosemite. As I folded out the mattress in the back of the car, and arranged my legs so that some blood could flow to my toes, thoughts of what lay ahead mixed into a cocktail of guilty fear and anxious excitement. I had never imagined a cross-country road trip to be like this, but there it was; awaiting me.
Wrap Up
Thanks for reading. Check back next Monday, 12/30 for the 2nd installment of the Weekly Wagon when the trip picks up speed. I’ll roll through Tennessee, Kentucky, across the Mississippi into Missouri, and find the beginnings of the west in Nebraska. I’ve also started a series on the Philosophy of VanLife, you can check it out HERE. Until next time, be kind to yourself, be kind to others, and safe travels out there.
Dylan
