The Road Trip Paradigm Shift

Checking the news online recently, I hadn't even realized that 19 people were shot in New Orleans at a Mother's Day parade.

Being on this 6-month road trip has lead me to lose sight of what's going on in the world. With each day a new adventure, you rarely read the news, and rarely watch television. At least, that's the case with me.

My perspective on life has paired itself down to just eating, riding, working, and sleeping. Working is really just writing blog posts, taking care of business duties, and editing photos. Sometimes the toughest part about work is figuring out which coffee shop to go to.

Nuclear warheads may have rained down on Washington DC and I wouldn't know about it until a few days later.

There's something refreshing and liberating about thinking only where you plan to hang out this afternoon and evening. I used to envy my dogs because all they seem to ever think about is just eating. I imagine life can be very boring that way too, but there are times when you really wish it was that simple.

But there's also something symbolic about it, something I've touched on before. It's like stripping away the layers that block your vision and prevent you from feeling your real self. Often we wear so many hats and take on so many responsibilities that we can't ever take time to hear what our heart is saying.

Sometimes you get so deep into the shit that you find yourself getting angry at others, yelling at the people who love you, and spending personal money on endeavors that you never really wanted to be in. You end up with more enemies than when you started, and then cut off an arm just to make all that shit go away.

And then you wonder why you even bothered with it all.

Standing out in the middle of the desert, with only the sounds of a gentle breeze and an occasional song bird, I take in a deep breath and feel like I have no more enemies and no more responsibilities. It's times like that I can understand why some people become hermits.

Living on a road trip for 6 months, motorcycling across the USA, and never staying in one place for more than a week, is like being a hermit.

You become more in touch with yourself, closer to the Universe, and it makes you want to write stuff like this.

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The Crosses of New Mexico

Asking my father why he joined the Navy, he said, "I was sick of the trees and the snow. I wanted to see the world." Growing up by Puget Sound in western Washington, I could understand. The rain and the evergreens are monotonous.

But it was more than that.

At 18, he had to prove to himself that he had become a man. His mother and father, after all, never gave him that acknowledgement. He grew up with no sense of self-esteem.

So why after 20 years in the service he decided to go back to his hometown? After he had traveled all over the Pacific Rim, after 18 months in Vietnam, after he had a child growing up in Southern California, after he had finally earned a degree in business and proven himself a leader, what was there for him back home?

Seems like every young man leaves home and then finally returns after he achieved some kind of rite of passage.  Maybe my dad was still searching for that pat on the back from his mother and father.

When I returned to San Diego after building my career in Orange County and Riverside County, I found myself with no family to come home to. San Diego was just a place where the innocence ended. It was where one little boy found his parents torn apart, only to end up feeling unwanted, handed off to one babysitter after another.  It was where the nurturing stopped, where the loneliness began, and where the resentment grew.

Somehow, I came back to San Diego to find something which I'm still not sure what. But maybe it was to go back to where it all started and try to figure out all this mess, to address the wounds and begin the healing.  Somewhere along the streets of downtown, in Balboa Park, in Old Town, Little Italy, or North Park, lies that wounded little boy left behind in San Diego.

Old Town Mesilla, NM

I find myself today in Las Cruces, NM, just a few weeks into our Road Pickle Motorcycle Trip. Other than the college culture of brew pubs and coffee shops, and the Spanish adobes of Old Town Mesilla, Las Cruces offers little else to help mold one's character and soul.

But one town after another, Sash and I continue to mold ourselves into new people. All that shit we've been burdened with our entire lives seems to slowly get yanked off and left behind. I'm not sure what demons we left behind in Yuma, Ajo, and Tucson, but it seems clear that we dumped another one here in Las Cruces.

We're not fighting each other. We're fighting all the crap that was laid upon us over the decades.

I only wonder what point along this trip will we finally be free and clear from all this guilt, shame, fear, and anger? What city will we finally rise anew from the ashes of our old wounded selves?

I can't help seeing that I left my hometown to make some kind of rite of passage where I'll feel as if I've accomplished something and come back redefined and rebuilt.

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Road Trip to a Rite of Passage

Now that we're 13 days into our 180 day road trip, it's starting to feel like we're on a vacation, yet at the same time, I find myself getting into a groove.

We left San Diego on April 25th, and since then spent 3 nights in Yuma, 1 night in Ajo, 7 nights in Tucson, and 1 night in Lordsburg. Tonight is our first of seven nights in Las Cruces.

It feels like a vacation in that we're experiencing new places, new people, new roads, and continuously dealing new sets of variables as we roll into a different town and take up quarters in a new room. And I like that lifestyle, where my world is in a constant state of change and adventure and I have to figure everything out. It's like being handed a newly scrambled Rubik's Cube and having to put it all back together.

But there's also a small set of things that remain constant.

Our motorcycles are always the same. The clothes we brought, our laptops, and each other, are always with us. The little book that a friend gave me and Sash's pink Hello Kitty blanket, are reminders of home.

"It's starting to feel like we live here", I said to Sash as we waited at a stop light in Tucson, the day before we were set to leave. "I can't wait to get back on the road".

"Funny", she said.  "I was just about the say the same thing."

Once we've figured out how all the roads in any given city connect, along with going to the same bar and coffee shop two or three times, and when all the mystery seems to have vanished, that's when we know it's time to leave.

The Maverick Room, Lordsburg, NM

And that's how I envisioned it. We'd stay in a town long enough to feel it and live it, and just as we start getting used to the place, "Adios!"

But there's a certain psychology that goes into it also.

I don't think Sash and I have ever dug our roots into any place. I mean, my family moved all over Southern California when I was a kid. Just when I started to feel like I belonged somewhere, we'd move. Sash was the same, except she moved more frequently than I.

And there's that sense of not belonging to any family or group of people. Getting passed along from one set of step-parents to the other, not getting the pat-on-the-back from our fathers, or the attention and nurturing from our mothers, leaves an emptiness in you that can't seem to fill. You want so much to be loved and liked, but at the same time, you're angry from the abandonment and abuse of your youth, it makes it difficult to keep friends.

That anger also rises between Sash and I, often from the littlest of things.  We take up our respective defensive positions and let the words fly.  Afterwards we realize that we're not angry at each other, it's just those old demons haunting us.  Even though we're the only ones who understand each other, it's still hard to escape from the traumatic experiences of our pasts.

Often, I feel like a ghost that wanders the highways. I don't stay for too long in any one place for fear that I'll only cause trouble and make people regret that I ever walked into their lives. If anything, they'll only catch me in the corner of their eye, and when they turn their head to get a better look, I'm gone.

Kitt Peak, Arizona

The old dive bars lurking in the darker, lonely parts of town seem to recognize our vibe and offer a welcoming gesture.  From the Formica chipping off the bar top, the cracks in the Naugahyde padding, and the voice of Merle singing "Mama Tried", reeks an empathetic old spirit who provides a soothing relief for those men and women who's number had never been called and are now ready to address it.

Perhaps that's part of what has kept Sash and I together thus far. Perhaps that's what has put us on motorcycles. Maybe this whole trip is some kind of calling we have to answer before we can take the next step in our lives.

The road trip is more than just a vacation.

It's like we're stripping away the facade, getting naked in the proverbial sense, and forcing our inner children to grow up and make critical decisions.  We're literally deep into nowhere, in the middle of nothing, with no one but ourselves to rely on.  I can't wait to discover the man inside me.

Highway 80, Arizona

Highway 80, Arizona

So now we're in Las Cruces. I can't wait to check out downtown and the Old Mesilla area. I've already looked up the local brewery and taprooms. We've already asked people for recommendations on the nightlife. It should be a fun week.

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