Reading “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” as I drive across the country is a total trip – not only am I drawing connections between the philosophic discussion and my (extremely limited) motorcycle experience, but am following the author on his road trip as I pursue my own. Now, his trip through the West was weeks long, on the side roads, and he was traveling to travel, and ours is one week long, on far more interstates then we would like, and with a most definite destination (and deadline) in mind. But nevertheless, small similarities arise. For one, there's lots of time for quiet, introspective, philosophic thought, of which I am greatly appreciative, as my last semester at school involved next to no time for introspection or quiet.
Secondly, I am finding very true his observation that, when you are tied so closely to your route, your speed, your destination, your vehicle, and your fellow passenger(s), there are good days and there are bad days. Monday was a good day – 750 miles through the Sierra Nevadas and across the Nevada desert on route 50 – the loneliest highway in America – we put Ben's radar detector to good use and traveled, well, above the speed limit (note my comma usage), ended with setting up camp in Bryce Canyon, Utah, meeting some very pleasant travelers setting up camp next to us (an older couple, also from the Bay Area, they were on their last leg of a 5 week trip), and drinking Budweiser. Day two was most definitely not a good day – the check engine light had turned on late monday, and it continued to haunt us, as did interesting noises and weak acceleration, as we drove from Bryce, in SW Utah, to Boulder, Colorado, where we were to spend the night at my friend Annalise's house. Day three, today, was simply a very expensive day – we never left Boulder, and Ben ended up spending a solid chunk of his life savings (which, like my own, isn't very much at the moment) fixing his car.
Let me backtrack a little: for those of you who don't know, I am at the moment driving from Oakland, California to Pittsburgh, PA, with my high school friend Ben Dalgetty. Saturday morning at 9:00 am we will begin the Obama campaign's Organizing Fellowship, a six week volunteer program where, as far as we understand it, fellows shadow paid field organizing staff, learn what they do, and prepare to work for the campaign. If they like you, they hire you after the six weeks. Ben, who is participating in a campaign semester through his school, Occidental college, does not have to return to school until after the general election. I just submitted my Leave of Absence paperwork to Goucher today. Both of us are planning on getting paid jobs with the campaign and working through the general.
As I've been traveling, I've noticed some things (which I would say is generally a good thing):
I'm not sure which state it is that officially goes by the motto, “big sky country,” but in most of these western, non-coastal states, it is damn true – the sky just seems bigger and grander in Utah and Colorado. It is so empty, and so beautiful. Even the Nevada desert is stunning in its own, albeit nuclear wasteland sort of way (yes, that's “nuk-li-er,” not “nuk-u-lar”). And the stars.... don't get me started. The night sky from the middle of nowhere, with next to no light pollution at all, is a completely different thing.
Drinking Budweiser always makes me feel American. But drinking it next to my tent in a national park just takes it to a whole new level. Plus, despite what my beer-connoisseur friends might say, I have a soft spot for it.
On the topic of national parks, why is it that there are ALWAYS more foreign tourists there then Americans? I swear, I saw twice as many non-Americans hiking in Bryce than good old patriots. (we squeezed a short hike in before we left through some amazing rock formations called hoodoos...) Driving through so much empty space reminded me how important it is to conserve its beauty. It's not untouched, of course – we traveled on good roads, hiked worn trails, and our campsite had running water and plumbing nearby – but it is one of the few places left where humans, who after all are just as much a part of “nature” as anything else, being natural and carbon-based and all, don't simply overtake everything around them and bend it to their will but participate in their surroundings as just one group of respectful denizens. And I worry, that with so few spending time in these areas (and therefore often forgetting to participate in nature), that the imagined importance of this not-really-all-that-empty space will fade and groups of motorcyclists, families in rented motor homes, circles of tents, and kids traveling to work for presidential campaigns will turn into more air-conditioned suburbs and big-box stores.
If I lived out here, away from cities and on a ranch or a farm, I'd be a Ron Paul fan too. Seriously though – city life, just like any life I guess, gives you tunnel vision – gay marriage is important, fixing our schools is important, and taxes, to an extent, are just fine as they fund necessary public services. Simple, right? But driving along these roads and seeing two mile long dirt driveways, barns, houses, cabins, “keep out” signs, and pick up trucks actually used to haul things and not as testosterone-proving fashion statements reminded me it's not so simple. One image from monday especially stuck with me: we passed a man at one point while on route 50, repairing a section of his miles-long fence. He was standing on a rutted path next to his four wheeler, which he actually uses to get around his property and fix things, as opposed to just doing wheelies, scaring deer, and pissing off the neighbors, as there were tools hanging off all sides and utility bags strapped on the back and front. Who knows what he was fencing in or out, as there were no cattle in sight, probably just defining his territory as his own for reasons that I will never understand. Or maybe I do know – he was separating him from me. The point is, if I lived out here, doing my own thing, working my land or raising my horses or livestock, I'd probably vote for Ron Paul, too.
I think that's all for now. Tomorrow we hit the road again, needing to make up some time. It'll be a 12 hour day, crossing Eastern Colorado and all of Kansas, hopefully to arrive at Ben's grandparents' house in Devil's Elbow, Missouri by dinner time.
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