The Old Blog in the Desert

The smell of burnt diesel, trapped under the overhang of the bus station and caught in the chilled night air stung my nostrils. We few passenger’s stood ready to board the Greyhound, with fewer loved ones to offer goodbyes, towards the Bay Area.

The plan, which I held loosely in my head, was to travel in a clockwise direction: California, Oregon, Washington, Idaho and back to Nevada. And I was going to do most of it on foot.

My wife said, “It’s too dangerous. It’s not like it used to be, Tom!”

I said, holding up my weathered paperback copy of ‘On the Road,’ “I know, but I gotta get a little adventure in before it’s too late…you know like…”

She said, “Bullshit!”

She was right, as in less than an hour on the highway, I opened my window and tossed the book, pages scattering out onto the road behind us, prompting a warning from the driver.

“Sorry,” I said, “Won’t happen again. I never like that stupid book anyway.”

That simple truth left me feeling lighter.

The woman seated across the aisle from me snickered. Once the bus crested the Sierra Nevada mountain range, I called for the driver to pull-over, grabbed my rucksack, got off, turned north and walked.