Which One?

Ohhh, he’s at it again! Well, they asked, and now I’ll have to pull some old chestnuts out of the archive. You don’t ask someone like me to recount our most memorable road trip. We sit there, look confused, and mutter, “Which one?”

For lots of folks, it’s the cross-continent tour they did at twenty. It was buses, trains, airplanes, and that one significant part on horseback. In between, you stayed in hostels, campgrounds, and with the funky couple from Montreal ( how do I know about the funky couple from Montreal? Let’s just say I have sources). In any case, you had a great trip mediated by plans and reservations—oh, yes…money.

At the Street Level

To a former Pius Itinerant the situation was like this: travel was via thumb at the side of the road. I left Boston with five dollars, a guitar, and a backpack. The hostels and the hotels? They were the couches and floors of friends and helpful strangers. Camping? You bet! With haute cuisine by the fireside out of a can of baked beans. Sleeping accommodations? Nothing but the best! The bedroll by glowing coals from your campfire. Romantic, huh?

On this economy travel plan, you did not always see the tourist attractions. I mean, it wasn’t exactly like the tour guides handed out the twenty percent off coupons to the likes of me. But there was a lot of stuff to make up for it. Maybe you recall the little towns that you just wished you’d been able to stay in for a while to soak up the local culture? Well, if you traveled on the economy plan, you did. I’d get a casual job working at a hotel, restaurant, or other place. Over the week or weeks, I’d make friends and acquaintances. We’d wind up at places for parties that weren’t on the tour books and didn’t cater to tourists.

I sometimes referred to it as street-level travel. On the economy street level plan, it was all about the people you met, because you stayed in their houses, ate in the same little side street restaurants, drank where the locals drank, and frequently spent lots of time laughing at the wonderful time the rich kids were missing with their packaged tours.

Wait! Don’t I know you?

In the past few years, my family and I have passed, on occasion, through some of my old stomping grounds. Lots have changed. The restaurants, bars, and tourist traps have moved around. On occasion, my glance has flicked over to behind the bar to check if there are faded photos with ” Wes Carson, banned for life” on them, or inconvenient older ladies approaching with their canes poised to bash me. Okay, some curious glances for old dudes, wondering if I was the one who borrowed that twenty and never repaid it. But that adds spice to the experience. Being anonymous, where you once might have been infamous!

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.