We’re getting ready to hit the road again. I’ve been on truck hiatus while our son took his first cross-country trip with George. They started in Dayton, went to Salt Lake City, Las Vegas, Rachel, Tracy, Portland, and Seattle. That kid saw every cool thing along the way, while I stayed home and pouted. He assisted a dentist in a Las Vegas truck stop dental clinic with a root canal, spent the night in the desert 26 miles from Groom Lake, rode four-wheelers all over Capitol Forest and absorbed everything Kurt Cobain in Aberdeen and Seattle. He’s 16. When I was 16, my travels consisted of going from Atlanta to Warner Robins every other weekend to see my grandparents, and surviving one terrifying hell-bent journey all the way down to Panama City for Spring Break with my slightly inebriated Aunt. (Kidding! She was completely inebriated.) I might have been a tad bit sheltered.
It was good for him, even though he’ll never admit it. He says I put too much emphasis on traveling, and points out that up until about a year ago, I myself hadn’t been anywhere and had no desire to go. I understand this — no one likes it when their parents change. My Dad got a perm when I was nine, and I swear to God it was the reason my parents got a divorce when I was twelve. That perm started everything bad. Including my Dad’s choice in hairstyles.
So we’re heading up the East Coast to Maine, I’ve never been all the way up. We haven’t done East coast in a long time. We’ll get to go to a family reunion along the way and possibly see our North Carolina family. I’m really looking forward to upstate New York, mostly because I get to say, “TICONDEROGA” as many times as I can before George threatens to throw me off the truck. Also, because it’s beautiful and I haven’t seen it for a very long time.
My level of preparedness changes as our travels take us to different areas of the country. I’m not so worried about being abducted by aliens in Jersey City. My concerns there lie with having many extra and unwanted holes in my body after driving through. Even aliens know better than kickin’ it in Jersey City. I’m also much more likely to see Grassman than Sasquatch on the EC, and I really don’t won’t to screw that interview up. It’s be just my luck to finally have a hairy giant in front of me and offend him by using the wrong cryptozoological term. Apemen have feelings, too.
Speaking of Jersey, does anyone know how effective kevlar is against Jersey Devil bites? Should I pack the chain mail instead? Never can be too prepared.