Back on the Road

I hate to be corny and pedestrian about a thing so profound, but I have to say it: I have never felt more alive than I did last summer on my 17-day road trip with my friend Winnie (http://parisusa.blogspot.com/). We lived fully and completely in the moment, attained great peace and discovered deep dignity within ourselves. We faced adversity with grins on our faces, truly embraced the theory that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and found the courage to make meaningful change. And we said toward the end of our adventure, “Why can’t we bag up this feeling we have and take it home with us? Why can’t we feel this powerful in our ordinary lives, like there are more choices for us than ‘go to the mall - or turn on the television?’”

In the five months since then I’ve dabbled in keeping that spirit buzzing, sometimes even with moderate success. But I haven’t been able to infuse my whole existence with the same high energy, and I’ve wondered why. Is it only possible to feel that alive when one is constantly thrown into new situations? Or is it something that one can create at will? I only knew that I wanted to feel the way I felt last summer. So on a beautiful day in December I took that pure longing and turned it into a plan. “Let’s look at our town through the eyes of travelers,” I suggested to Winnie.

She got on board immediately, going so far as to load up her convertible with camping gear and bags of food. We rigged the MP3 to play through her car radio and queued up “American Woman” (which is not, we've learned, sung by Jimi Hendrix at all but by The Guess Who). We found a woman-run restaurant called Maggie’s that we’d never eaten at before. We ate spinach pie there and Greek salads and garlic bread made with real butter. We had a heart-to-heart about our issues-du-jour and then we hopped in her car and started driving toward DTown CC as if we were on a blue highway in the middle of Kentucky and needed a map to find our destination.

Whether at home or on the road, I don’t notice much without Winnie pointing it out to me. She’s the finder, I’m the documenter, that’s the deal. The first thing she spotted was a place called Tex-Mex Curios, su casa de buena suerte. "Who wouldn't want to live there?" Win said. It’s a 60-year-old shop full of folk remedies, natural healing items and religious gifts. Inside, one entire wall was covered in patron saint jar candles. Our favorite was the iridescent green one called “Mr. Money – Don Dinero.” The opposite wall was filled with bottles that said things like “Maximo – herbs to increase your performance” and “Super Flaca – weight loss formula.” There was a marquis that said “Readings by Little Lucy - $40.” The man who ran the shop was giving us that look that said “Oh, here’s more Anglos dropping in to make fun.” I didn’t dare take my camera out of the bag.

A few blocks away and around the corner we stopped short when we saw a blond-headed hooker on a camo-colored dolly dressed in military fatigues and a Santa cap. (Okay, it was a mannequin.) A dolly on a dolly outside a storefront that was blasting hip-hop music. This was “Bel’s Bonds on Wheels.” I guessed the dolly was Bel. I almost wished I needed to bail somebody out, just to have a reason to go in there.

Near the YMCA, Win pointed out a bunch of iron cows in the sky. Near them was a two-story iron man hugging a wooden pole. I’d driven by these things at least 100 times in the last six years, but could swear I never laid eyes on them before. There was Mariposa Park, which looked like a ruined building – you could see where the lawn had grown over the former foundation. The largest pair of abandoned blue jeans was hanging on a retaining wall, looking like a giant had laid them out to dry there.

Around the corner from the Y, Win spied something else. A hand-painted sign we’d never noticed before that felt like a call to action. And just cuz I asked her to – so I could practice using the tricky burst feature on my new camera, truth be told – my best friend stood there jumping up and down, screaming her head off. A carload of boys skidded at the stop sign. They, too, felt the need to yell. “HELL YES!” they called as I captured Winnie’s primal cry. It wasn’t the sort of thing we’d ever be caught doing in the place we live, in our ordinary lives. We were back on the road.