It is 50 years since one of America’s favorite adopted Canadians found a publisher for On the Road, and I am heading out, towing my own Dean and Sal, to the Golden Gate.
Of course, we’ll be flying over the flyover, so we’ll miss most of the whole road thing.
I spoke to my dad the other night. The boys wanted to tell him about the Os (outstanding) they got on their report cards–both for math, of course, and Graham for Social Studies, Evan for reading.
I told him, “I don’t want you to wet yourself or anything when I tell you this.”
“Jenn’s pregnant,” he chimed in.
“Shit, no,” I continued. “I wanted to thank you for dragging me to all the National Parks when I was growing up.”
“Ha!” he said. “I told you.”
“Well, anyway, I’ve told a few people that I was going to visit Yosemite, and that since it was one of few parks I’ve missed, I was pretty excited.”
“Uh huh?”
“I swear to God that several people–smart people with advanced degrees and everything–have told me to ‘Enjoy Old Faithful.’ ‘California,’ I say, ‘not Wyoming.’” I paused, “Anyway, I’m just surprised that people don’t know the National Parks better. So, thanks.”
“Well, we never had much money,” he said, “but we took good trips. We camped in wet tents and ate out of the back of the car on the side of the highway, but we saw things.”
“Yeah. I’m glad we have air conditioning today,” I added.
I’ve been ornery lately–though I think only at home, not out in public or at work. I have a decade milestone birthday dashing up to catch me by the heels, and I feel soft, weak, and out of shape. Twenty years ago, I thought I might make a difference to some people, teaching or doing humanitarian work of some kind. I thought I might travel and learn about other people, places, and cultures. I am a cliché, having done none of these things, approaching midlife, and regretting some choices.
Against my pissy mood, I’m pretty excited to take a family trip, to share with my boys part of the world they haven’t seen yet. I’m thrilled to see Bridal Veil, Half Dome, El Cap, and Camp 4 for the first time myself.
Still, a lot of our vacations lately are tacked on to Jenn’s conferences, and as I reach my fourth decade, I find this fact emasculating. I should get over myself, I understand, and enjoy the opportunities. I will. I just can’t escape feeling a little less plucky and a little less like I’m in control of my own destiny or even my own leisure.
So, here I go again, on the road with my two young dharma bums. I get to be Japhy Ryder. We might even stop in at City Lights, with the Beats in my heart.
And where the hell’s my copy of Axe Handles?
I wonder who I’ll be when I get back.