On the Road

An RV Park with a big neon sign at the end of a dead-end street is a strange place to find your Mojo. But that’s just what Joe and I did today. We pulled in the night before and took our place on one of the concrete parking slabs near the showers. The showers were good. The next morning it was crisp and sunny and we walked over to a sort of ledge with a fence that marked-off the RV park from the endless farmland that ranged out in gentle hills for a hundred miles in every direction. The wind was blowing on us so hard it felt like we were in a wind tunnel. We were stretching out our arms and legs. Joe closed his eyes and stretched out his arms and was quickly born aloft. I planted my left foot forward, dug my right elbow into my ribs and put out my left hand out like the Heisman. And the same wind that got Joe got me and I began to run upon the clouds. Of course I wasn’t really running on top of the clouds, it was just that I was breathing real hard and what with the wind blowing against my face like it was and the space in front of me being a great big valley, that’s exactly how it felt.

Most folks will tell ya that travel is good for the soul. There’s no easier way to encounter yourself than in the company of strangers in strange places. Also, because we are in greater control of our destiny, as it were, the road trip allows you to experience an unusual feeling of power and self-determination. “Do I take that road or this one? Do I stay here for the night, or do I press on to destination B?”

Joe and I had the benefit of excellent maps and a schedule that, though it contained a few hard stops, allowed for lots of flexibility. Some days were wide open, or so it felt.

In Medford, Oregon we had met up with some old friends who were locals, and we discovered a higher-than-average number of women with enormous breasts. The mall was filled with them. They were wholesome, nice looking girls with a respectable future keeping the appreciative men of Medford warm during the formidable Oregonian winters. These girls even smiled as they walked passed you in the mall, though you weren’t looking at their smiles. It was really nice.

On the way out of Medford, Joe and I parked the rig north of the city and spent a few minutes talking about a restaurant that was for sale right on the Rogue River. It had promise. There was a nice big parking lot and a few hundred feet of waterfront, with lots of room in the back to host a real good time. We imagined boats and waterskiers and a hubbub of river-based activity, all coming to have a beer and spend a few hours in our care. We dubbed it the “Dream Exit” and moved on.