I'm pleased to report that I spent the first half of September on a 4,500-mile road trip to the Southwest. Balmy weather, no problems. I dined lavishly and visited some of my favorite places — Flagstaff, Grand Canyon, Gallup, Hatch.
The key to a pleasant road trip, I discovered years ago, is to avoid the Interstates. These days, plenty of numbered US highways are divided four-lanes with minimal truck traffic, so…
One of the trip's most peculiar occurrences was at Grand Canyon. The water pipeline at South Rim Village sprung a leak, and dishwashing was banned at the restaurants. Therefore, my prime rib at Arizona Steakhouse was served on a paper plate and with a plastic fork. Still, that prime rib was the best meal of the trip.
Destinations like Grand Canyon are their own reward, of course. You could say they're the purpose of the trip. But I think it's more than that.
In 1937, a gas station attendant named Buzz Holmstrom became the first person to run the Colorado River solo through Grand Canyon. After the trip, he wrote in his journal that the real reward was in "the doing of the thing."
I see road trips that way. You spend your time cruising along, watching the countryside go by, taking in the scenery, the people, the wildlife.
The hours pass. You relax and free your mind. You ponder matters that bubble up, puzzle out problems, make plans, think back on special places and moments. Sometimes, I turn off the radio to facilitate the process.
A mind in neutral may focus on the unexpected. On this trip, I observed that metal utility poles are always perfectly perpendicular; never seem to be a single degree away from vertical. On the other hand, wooden utility poles frequently are tilted to some degree, as if the cables have pulled them out of plumb.
No benefit is derived from this observation. I merely state it as a curious fact.
After I got home, a friend asked, "Didn't you go out west last year, too?"
I did indeed.
"In fact, you go out there a lot."
Yes, I've made a road trip to the Southwest seven times in the last eight years.
"Rocky, you need to expand your horizons — see some different places — have some new adventures. It's a big world out there."
I didn't contradict my friend, but I am already a seriously well-traveled dude.
One reason is that my dad was in the Air Force when I was growing up, and we traveled extensively. We lived overseas twice — a total of five years in Japan, France, and Germany.
Another reason is that, especially after my divorce, I've made a point of traveling often. To me, going places, new or familiar, is thrilling and invigorating.
How well-traveled am I? Well, I've been to every US state except Alaska. I have poked around Boston, Buffalo, New York City, Washington DC, Atlanta, Charleston, Savannah, Tampa, Orlando, Miami, Key West, New Orleans, Mobile, Memphis, and a slew of their smaller brethren.
I have seen Chicago, Indianapolis, Milwaukee, Houston, Dallas, Fort Worth, El Paso, Albuquerque, Santa Fe, Phoenix, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Portland, Seattle, and the countryside in between.
I've been to countless National Parks. To Canada and Mexico. To Hawaii, the Philippines, and Japan.
I've seen London, Paris, Zurich, Venice, Florence, Brussels, Frankfurt, Rotterdam, Copenhagen, Oslo, Helsinki, and Stockholm. I've been to 16 of the countries of Europe.
I've traveled by train across the US, from the Atlantic to the Pacific. I've crossed the Atlantic by air, the Pacific by air, and the Pacific by passenger ship.
I've looked down from the top of the Empire State Building, the Washington Monument, and the Eiffel Tower.
I've looked up at Big Ben, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and Notre Dame Cathedral. I've been to Mount Fuji, the Louvre, and Stonehenge.
Once, during a training mission in a B-52 bomber, while lying prone in the tail gunner turret, I watched a KC-135 tanker refuel us in flight.
In my teens, I sneaked a camera into the Tower of London and (illegally) took a photo of the Crown Jewels of England. The result, I'm afraid, does them no justice.
I've been snorkeling and scuba-diving dozens of times. Once, snorkeling in Florida, I came face to face with an adult barracuda. On another occasion, I stepped on a stingray — for a fraction of a millisecond. Twice, I've gone swimming with the manatees in Crystal River, Florida.
I own two kayaks and a 14-foot Avon raft with a whitewater rowing frame. I've paddled and rowed numerous rivers around the Southeast. I've rafted the New and Gauley Rivers in West Virginia seven times — on commercial trips, as my boating skills aren't up to serious whitewater.
I've hiked and backpacked several hundred miles at Grand Canyon, including the route from rim to rim. I've rafted the Colorado River through the canyon four times. Ridden mules into the canyon five times. Stayed the night at Phantom Ranch 10 times.
I've been a hiker and backpacker since my 20s, but especially since the 1980s. By rough estimate, I've hit the trail about 3,000 times.
Furthermore, I always bring home a memento of the hike — a pebble, acorn, feather. Here is my collection from over the years, pre-retirement on the left, post-retirement on the right:
In those jars, by the way, are souvenirs of the 200-odd miles I've hiked of the Appalachian Trail.
Today, I am officially an old dude, in fact and appearance. Age has slowed me down physically and, to some degree, mentally.
But not that much. My brain still seems to be working acceptably well — for which I am truly grateful.
But I need to wrap up this rumination. I possess a wealth of memories that comfort me and define who I am.
And they beg the question: what about regrets? What destinations and experiences have eluded me?
I regret not thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail. I should have made the time to hike it end to end.
I regret not being fluent in a second language. I know bits of French and German, but not enough to write or speak either very well.
I regret never visiting Alaska. The logistics seemed overwhelming, and I never arranged it.
I regret that a trip I planned to Costa Rica didn't happen. In the mid-1990s, two friends and I tried to organize a two-week trip there to visit the rain forest and both coasts.
But complications arose that blew up our plans. The experience confirmed my commitment to solo travel.
I'm sure I have other regrets. They escape me at the moment.
But, hey — ask me how many times I've been to Grand Canyon.
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