On the Road with Brian and Audry

My constant companion for many of my adventures has been Jack Kerouac’s book, “On The Road.” I had one battle-scarred copy filled with notes and Dr. Pepper stains that went with me on countless flights. I’d read a paragraph and try to derive its deeper meaning like some Talmudic or Biblical Scholar. Then I’d look out the window and see 33,000 feet below the endless expanse of North America, where babies cry, dogs bark and food is fried in old family diners. I’d wonder what it would be like to be in a Hudson, racing coast-to-coast with Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty, searching for Dean’s dad he never knew, or discovering the mad, smoky dins of hard-bop Jazz in ‘Frisco. I blame “On The Road” for giving me the constant need to travel.

I’ve done several cross-country trips by land. Hitchhiking to places like Ashtabula, Ohio, or catching a Greyhound Bus from George, Wash., to Missoula, Mont., in the middle of the night. One time I even found myself in Pecos, Texas, where I came under the spell of the loveliest Mexican Siren in a hole-in-the-wall taco stand.

I’ve gotten very used to comfort in my most recent trips. Window seats in first-class flights to Buenos Aires, Argentina, have been oh-so-nice, but for the past several years I have yearned for at least one more hard traveling adventure. Time and money have always gotten in the way. Now I have plenty of time and little money. Those are perfect conditions for an adventure such as this.

I have only told my family and a few friends and advisors about this trip, because I didn’t want to tell everyone and then chicken out at the last second. This way, I could chicken out and I would not have to live down any public humiliation.

I’m in the Columbia Inn in Astoria, Oregon Sunday night. This morning my Bro Greg Skinner gave me and my bike Audrey a ride here from Seattle. I’m going to start my bike trip down the west coast Monday morning.

When I drove past the SODO District of Seattle this morning, I looked back at the gleaming office towers of downtown Seattle, and thought how wonderful it would be to just hang out there and go to baseball games and plays for the next month. Friday night I was at the 5th Ave. Theatre watching “Guys and Dolls” with Marianna. I spent part of Saturday visiting with Jordan. Both are good friends attending the University of Washington. Seattle is one of my favorite places to visit.

After a good nights sleep I will hit the road with Audry, put on my earphones and crank up my iPod and listen to Jackson Browne sing “Running on Empty,” as I pedal south toward the thousands of miles of asphalt and adventure that lay ahead of me.

Browne’s lyrics are worthy of Odysseus, Gilgamesh, Ibn Battuta, Marco Polo, Frodo, Capt. Kirk, Zorba, Sal and Dean. And perhaps someday even me.

“I don’t know where I’m running now, I’m just running on
Running on-running empty
Running on-running blind
Running on-running into the sun
But I’m running behind. “

I was in Ireland in the winter of 1983 and met a beautiful girl named Missy with chestnut hair and hands as soft as rose petals from Kalamazoo. I spent a magical month exploring the Emerald Isle with her. I was enchanted with her completely, except for her annoying fixation with Dolly Parton’s song “Coat of Many Colors” which she sang constantly. We said goodbye to each other in the train station one stormy morning in Cherbourg, France, after a ferry ride from Ireland. She went on to Paris, and I went to Omaha Beach and we lost all contact with each other right then and there as the silver train pulled away from the station. I wonder if she will spot me on my lonely trek, recognize me and honk her horn and pull over and we can visit and tell each other our lives story from the past 28 years. It could happen!