Quote of the Day:
“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. —Henry David Throreau
TB and the gang are jetting off to Maine tomorrow, via Baltimore and Manchester. This trip is a TB special, first one in a few years and I’m really looking forward to everything I’ve got planned. Which is to say, nothing is planned. Well, that’s not entirely true. We have hotel reservations for each night, but nothing is scheduled other than where we will sleep. So far as I have found, no one travels like this, not even me any more. And with a rapidly growing scamp calling the shots its unlikely there will be any more trips where the destination is set but the plans are completely fluid.
Maybe you, like many who have heard of my preferred style of travel, are skeptical about the wisdom of it. Truth is, it ain’t for everyone, but TB is damn good at it. Back in the pre-scamp years, it was the talent of traveling well without a plan that allowed me to marry up after all. (Believe me, I’ve racked my brain–there’s no other explanation.) What’s the secret to the system? First, pick a great place, not too far off the beaten path but far enough from the cliched travel destinations for your hometown; second, there need to be bakeries and local brews; and last, there ought to be a stretch of road where the sights are unique and memorable and the traffic is light. And you must be not only willing, but eagled eyed and prepared to stop at any curiosity along the side of that road. When my gang reminisces about the trips of yore, more often than not it is the random stop we recall–the shave ice shack in Maui, the coconut candy in Hana sold on the honor system from a little homemade stand like the one from which Lucy dispenses psychological counseling, the airboat ride and the gators in the ‘glades, the apple orchard and the brown apples in Vermont, drinking mid-afternoon wine with tide stranded starfish in Oregon.
I’m told, and it may well be true, that you can’t go that way with a child, much less a two year old. But we’ll see. The kid is trained to journey already–she cries out “Road Trip!” when a cartoon family loads up in their car. Plus the fever is in her genes. But her conversation skills expand each day and with her new skills will surely come demands, objections and opinions on our future trips. And I know what’s coming. I’ve already ordered the planning DVD and I’ve got some family experts’ assistance too. Because I hear when you go see the Mouse, everything requires an appointment.