End of the Road

Nothing lasts. Not a sunset. Not a party. Not a road trip. It is the way of the world, of course, for one generation to supplant the next, for history to repeat itself, and for all things to end. This is the meaning of life.

And so, at long last, Diane and I find ourselves home again. Talk about a trade-up in square-footage!

As expected, the rooms in our house are exactly where we left them. The lawn still beckons for a mow. The neighbors continue to perform their daily routines without deviation. And after almost a year on the road, now back again among the excruciatingly familiar, I feel nothing but gratitude.

We have safely traveled 28,620 miles in our good old bus and between home and home again, we have had the great fortune to behold the Redwood Forest…

… and to take pause in fields of poppy…

… to tour America’s cities, both great…

… and small.

We have crested the backbone of our great land…

… and descended to follow the crooked back roads and the good weather…

...to savor the sweet breath of spring...

… to bask in the gentle breeze that stirs the gulf stream waters.

We have stepped into the presence of the things that makes America great…

… and we have lingered in the company of otherwise-lost family and friends.

Indeed, our American Road Trip is unique in that it can never be repeated exactly. This is a good thing. We wouldn’t have it any other way. For, without doubt, our road trip is merely a replication of a previous road trip, and a trip before that, and so on back through the generations…

We take great comfort in our place within this vast continuity, for we have discovered that ours is a world of grand vistas and tiny miracles…

… of shop keepers and rebels…


… of today’s sunworshipers and yesterday’s utopianists…

…and of proud artisans and their creations.

Perhaps I got it all wrong when I said that nothing lasts and all things end. Thinking back on our travels, it occurs to me that ours is also a world where everything is new and nothing ever really ends; and the living memory of our road trip is just another way to describe the meaning of life.

So now it is your turn. All you have to do is say Yes. Say Yes to committing to traveling this great land of ours. Say Yes to retiring any debts you may have. Say Yes to putting money in the bank. Say Yes to guide books and regional dishes and local color. Say Yes to blue highways that lead to no place in particular, except perhaps the warm hearths and homes of friends and family. Say Yes to standing on the hallowed ground of our forefathers, for no matter the breadth of paths they blazed or the depth and dazzle of their star power, they were created of the same materials as you and I, equally.

Their time was then, yours is now, and we are travelers all.


Just say Yes.