Reaching California in this red station wagon Volvo felt like a momentous step in my journey. It's wild how many interesting people I've met along the way. A man with his dog, a man with his motorcycle, a man with his son. You get it, lots of men.
An observation: in road trip movies and movies in general, it's not out of the blue to see men peeing in scenes, but that never happens with women. Why is that? I mean, I guess guys have different hardware and all, but I'm just saying it might be refreshing to see things shaken up a little bit.
Any way, as I sped along into the Golden State, I thought it would be a good idea to take a detour and go into a more remote region, to get in touch with nature some. It was a place called Kennedy Meadows.
Believe it or not, that's a place where a lot of hikers gather who are hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, which spans from Mexico to Washington. I kind of wish I could do something like that, and I suppose I could, but I could never draw the courage to do that kind of thing alone - even though I think alone is the best way to do it.
While people watching, I spotted a young woman ambling by, beneath the weight of an enormous, and I mean enormous backpack. Her gait made me think that she had injured her foot, or maybe even both of her feet. She walked right into the convenience store, alone. I felt profoundly interested in this woman, especially that she was alone, so I also entered the convenience store, at her heels.
She walked straight to the clear refrigerator, to the snapples and gazed longingly. I could see that in her hand was a handful of loose change, and she was counting the coins. I knew she didn't have enough.
"Hey," I said, "I can spot you, if you like."
She glanced over, her face instantly grateful.
I bought her the snapple - just a dollar. And she guzzled it down thirstily.
I found out that her name is Cheryl Strayed and she's hiking this whole trail alone, to find herself because her mother passed away. Cheryl here was very blunt in saying this. I got the sense that she was trying something new, and that the trail helped her to be this way.
I wonder if by escaping to nature Cheryl is doing exactly the same thing as what I am doing.
I wonder if there's a sliding scale of looking for America, starting with doing it on foot like Cheryl, or on a motorcycle. I remember the last guy I met critiquing American car culture, saying that riding around in a car is like seeing America on a television rather than really experiencing it.
I don't know about that. I don't know if I really want to do what Ms. Strayed is doing with her life.
All I know is that I feel like I'm in a rut, and I can see all these people doing something about it, and from the outside it looks like they're addressing their ruts and I still can't seem to move.
I'm glad I got to buy Cheryl Strayed a snapple. I'll definitely remember her, and her cool name.
An observation: in road trip movies and movies in general, it's not out of the blue to see men peeing in scenes, but that never happens with women. Why is that? I mean, I guess guys have different hardware and all, but I'm just saying it might be refreshing to see things shaken up a little bit.
Any way, as I sped along into the Golden State, I thought it would be a good idea to take a detour and go into a more remote region, to get in touch with nature some. It was a place called Kennedy Meadows.
Believe it or not, that's a place where a lot of hikers gather who are hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, which spans from Mexico to Washington. I kind of wish I could do something like that, and I suppose I could, but I could never draw the courage to do that kind of thing alone - even though I think alone is the best way to do it.
While people watching, I spotted a young woman ambling by, beneath the weight of an enormous, and I mean enormous backpack. Her gait made me think that she had injured her foot, or maybe even both of her feet. She walked right into the convenience store, alone. I felt profoundly interested in this woman, especially that she was alone, so I also entered the convenience store, at her heels.
She walked straight to the clear refrigerator, to the snapples and gazed longingly. I could see that in her hand was a handful of loose change, and she was counting the coins. I knew she didn't have enough.
"Hey," I said, "I can spot you, if you like."
She glanced over, her face instantly grateful.
I bought her the snapple - just a dollar. And she guzzled it down thirstily.
I found out that her name is Cheryl Strayed and she's hiking this whole trail alone, to find herself because her mother passed away. Cheryl here was very blunt in saying this. I got the sense that she was trying something new, and that the trail helped her to be this way.
I wonder if by escaping to nature Cheryl is doing exactly the same thing as what I am doing.
I wonder if there's a sliding scale of looking for America, starting with doing it on foot like Cheryl, or on a motorcycle. I remember the last guy I met critiquing American car culture, saying that riding around in a car is like seeing America on a television rather than really experiencing it.
I don't know about that. I don't know if I really want to do what Ms. Strayed is doing with her life.
All I know is that I feel like I'm in a rut, and I can see all these people doing something about it, and from the outside it looks like they're addressing their ruts and I still can't seem to move.
I'm glad I got to buy Cheryl Strayed a snapple. I'll definitely remember her, and her cool name.
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