Lessons Learned Along the Way
We are finding that we are a bit brain-dead on this trip due to the kids. We haven’t talked much amongst ourselves. We usually have big in-depth discussions. The kids don’t seem to much notice the trip. They have fun in the small moments as always. So taking care of those who don’t notice the trip is making it so we don’t notice the trip either. I guess the trip is taking itself. Sigh.
We are also finding that we don’t take very good photos with the kids around. We’re too absorbed in caring for them to do the needed ‘stepping back’ to take good photos at the best times. When nothing is happening we might suddenly think to take one. Thankfully, M is in fact taking a few pics at each major stop. Creativity requires an ability to ‘step back’ it seems. We like candid shots but composition shots obviously also require one to be able to ‘stop’ in the heat of the moment for the best photos. I find that whenever I can do it, in photos or anything really, that I get great results (as far as I’m concerned) but, darn, it’s easy to get lost in the moment with kids.
We are also finding we don’t do much. Drive, look around, chat, eat, camp, drive. We brought way too much stuff. There’s been no fishing, no snorkeling, not much reading. Two small books with different tones are enough for a trip with kids: you might get to read a couple pages a day.
We didn’t bring and understand the exact right guidebooks, but we came close. I now know for sure that I prefer camping on simple public land, not in campgrounds. So I should learn the regs about this before a trip. Duh. It’s hard to find out under way.
The cellphone has been a godsend.
I fantasize about working on a roadtrip. I haven’t been able to do much so far on this one.
I think it would be easy to hook the cellphone up to my laptop. But M envisions chasing kids around in unfamiliar brushy areas. Bad idea to her. Oh well! Really, it wouldn’t have to be like that: Kent and Jo have an unused apartment below their house in the Hollywood Hills. The kids would have a yard. We could find safe, nice campgrounds near good towns. There are neat people out there.
Oh well, the kids will be in school soon then we can do as we please! Oops, they come home each day. Right.
This trip has actually been great to be around the nippers so much. They are pretty much angels. But they do occupy a person. Or two.
We’re learning that on a driving trip you mostly just exist. Searching around in foreign land to find things like bookstores to sell books to, or attractions for articles or even good places to ride–anything in particular at all–takes up a day pronto.
If you want to find things expect to only drive every other day or to make a couple hundred miles progress at best.
Oh, here’s a really big thing: When you drive fast, on a freeway, you’re not anywhere at all. This is very tiring and lame, but it does get you somewhere. This fast time-travel has a cost. If you drive slower on a small highway, you’re almost somewhere, you can sense the traces. If you drive slower yet on an actual backroad you’re starting to be somewhere as you drive. But driving in general shows me more than anything that it isolates me. You don’t really notice where you are. You can’t. At best you get an impression. To really be there I can tell you have to earn it. It has to be a bike. Or a hike. Or a boat.
Even big sailboats are amazingly quiet. That’s a freaky thing about a big sailboat: it’s like a house and it can be rolling quite fast, yet it’s quiet. It’s very weird to be on something like a quiet semi-truck, steering from the back.
But any quiet boat would do. I had plenty of time to mull over these things as we drove.
When traveling by human-power for a long time I’ve noticed that I get modal jealousy. Too much walking makes one pine for a bike, too much biking is too harsh: you’re still on pavement with loud smelly cars, still a bit removed, and you want to slow down, take it easier, get closer to things, so you want to walk. Or get out onto the cool water if it’s alongside your route. Too much being stuck on the water makes one want to unlimber the limbs. I’ve always wanted to perfect the multimodal scene. I have worked up a few ideas of a bike trailer which is a canoe you store your (folding) bike inside when you’re on the water and which maybe also functions as a tent. And which has a mast for sailing (the mast acting as tent pole). Sigh.
Here’s another thing I thought of on this trip: dirt roads. They’re quiet and slow, thus they put you there better than pavement. Now maybe many are too bumpy for carspeed, but they might now be quite ideal for bikespeed–with suspension and big, soft tires. This would give biking without the harshness of pavementor the wretchedness of cars around you.
Man, the American public is a scary, powerful, wild, thoughtless, insane animal thing. Everywhere we go it’s SUVs, construction, casinos, pro-sports. If we bump into a freeway, even in a desert, it’s a traffic jam.
We’re starting to realize that tenters are discriminated against. We have a camping guidebook and see that many of the nicer places say ‘no tents.’ We get the picture. It makes sense. The wildest screaming riffraff party away their weekends in tents. Set up several tents on one site in a campground with water for hosing off, then party, scream, throw up and pass out. It’s how the semi-homeless with trashed trucks and pitbulls make their way from concert to welfare office across the land. People not into jail culture do not want to be around these people. They want the huge RVs with their loud generators and babbling TV sets, instead. Too bad normal humans get lost in the cracks. The maniacs set the tone in America, eh?
We also notice that campgrounds are aggressively trying to go upscale. They offer lots of facilities and charge about as much as motel rooms. We need none of this, though. State places are as desperate to max their income as anyone. Basically, tenting costs $15-28 in most places. With $25 being very common, almost the new standard. State places are $15. All this for the privilege to be with either a raving mob and/or a bunch of roaring generators. Open state land is the best bet left–other than somehow building a national directory of sane campgrounds. But on open land the word is watch yourself, especially in areas of immigration trouble. Fine. I will. No problem. This land is your land, this land is my land. The last refuge.
Roadfood to me seems way too thin. America needs the Sterns to make a complete directory of quality independent establishments, of all kinds, not just restaurants, then to create a sticker that will flag them. But the places they do list have been winners so far. However, in the Midwestern areas we’re more familiar with, they include quite a few lame and cheesy joints as well, and don’t list enough good ones. Of course the closer to home someone works the touchier people get. We just need to remember this is all our home.
