Itchin’ To Go A contemplation of what it means to get on the road. by PAUL GERALD After all these years, it’s far too easy to pack. I shouldn’t be able to get ready for a cross-country drive, featuring everything from camping in a canyon to dining in a fancy restaurant, in less than half an hour. And yet there’s my duffle bag, and my backpack, and the CDs, and my wallet, and the car keys. At this point, what else is there? Nothing but the road, laid out in front of me. It’s been laid out in front of human beings since they first learned to stand up. As soon as we got up, we walked off, and we’re going farther and faster all the time. I just balanced my checkbook, and other than the cash in my wallet I’ve got a single-digit balance. But tonight I’ll be staying with friends in another state. The dishwasher is making some seriously strange noises and probably needs massive repair, but when the sun comes up tomorrow, I’ll be sipping coffee with long-haul truckers. There’s a deadline in a couple of days, a story that just does not want to come out of me yet; I’ll have to write it in a motel room or restaurant on the road, when a thousand miles of driving has cleared my head. What my home self can’t get around to, my road self has plenty of time for. It seems so much simpler out on the road. Everything you have is right there with you, and you either fulfill your own plans or just plunge in and deal with what comes up. Either way, it’s just you, spending time with you, or with the person you’ve chosen to be with. And it’s more inspiring, too. How many days at home include some event or image that you can’t wait to tell somebody about? Now think the same thing about your last vacation. But the road doesn’t just connect places; it exists simultaneously in different places. Interstate 40 is in downtown Memphis, but at the same moment it’s also in downtown Albuquerque — which means that in a way, we’re all in the same place, a big wonderful place that we’ve been given to explore. The Ozarks, the plains of Oklahoma, the high desert, the Rocky Mountains … with the right set of eyes you can see them all right across the river, just under the sunset. And why not hit the road? What if this life is all there is, and when it’s your time to write in the Big Book you have to write that you never saw New York City during the holidays, drove through the New England autumn, drank in a real Irish pub, went down to New Orleans for some music and food, or whatever else is on your wish list? And don’t go for this “brave new world” of technology and communication bullshit, either. It’s not making the world smaller. It’s making the world more the same. It’s also making it easier, in a way more logical, to stay at home. Hell, if I can look at live pictures of Seattle, or trade e-mails with somebody in India, why should I leave home? Simple: to go see stuff and meet people. There is no substitute for standing on the side of the road in Montana early on a cool morning when the mountains have a fresh coat of snow. Or seeing a storm hit the Northwest coast. Or diving into the warm waters of a Caribbean island. Or sinking your teeth into one of the polish sausages outside Fenway Park in Boston. Or even being in Neyland Stadium when the Volunteers run onto the field. Screw living vicariously; get out there and do it. And do it before they tear it all down and replace it with malls and McDonald’s. Do it before the same American culture that you’ve grown up with takes over the world. Or go wallow in American culture. It’s not such a bad thing. Pick a weekend and go catch a Cubs game at Wrigley Field before they tear that one down, too. Go drive the California coastline. Go hike in the Smokies when the rhododendrons are blooming up on the balds. Pick some old friend or relative you haven’t seen in forever and just go see them. Just go. Or don’t: My job is not to preach; my job is to shed light. This is the 100th travel article I’ve written for the Flyer, and everything I’ve ever said in roughly 90,000 words could have been said in two: Go someplace. Throw a dart at a map, read some books, dip into your dream tank, or just ask somebody what’s the best place they’ve ever been. All I can do is tell you about some of the places I’ve been to and share some stories from the road, and that’s been an honor and a privilege. But right now my bags are packed, the sun’s getting low across the river, and the mountains are calling me. I’m itchin’ to go. I’m either blessed or cursed with a genuine travel addiction; I’ve never been sure which. All I know is that when it’s time to go, nothing else matters. I throw my stuff in the car, put in just the right tape, and I’m gone. And even though the best part of any trip is getting back home, staying at home is just not where it’s at. Not for me, anyway. It’s a big, wonderful world out there, and you’ll never get to see it if you don’t hit the road. You can e-mail Paul Gerald at letters@memphisflyer.com.