and another thing
This was my final column for the Fort Stockton Pioneer; my last day of work there was Friday. I begin work at the Stephenville Empire-Tribune Monday. I'm writing this at a friend's place in Fort Worth, as I'm in the middle of wandering through the metroplex meeting up with friends from home and college.
Would anyone mind if I just paste the piece here? I doubt it:
An epic journey winds through Fort Stockton
Ever since embarking on a half-baked road trip my freshman year of college with a dog-eared copy of "On the Road" by Jack Kerouac in hand, the impulse to throw caution to the wind and hit the road has faded from my mind.
Several hours spent reading in a sketchy Waco bus station on the way from College Station to Austin can take a heavy toll on a guy's illusions.But the urge itself has to date back at least to Homer, and probably all the way into caves the world over.
Just about everyone's felt the siren song of travel once or twice in their lives; we all want to get away from one thing or another every so often. But most of us, myself very much included, choose stability and predictability over the adventure seemingly inherent in the open road.
The exceptions to this rule, Kerouac included, are often interesting.
Earlier this week, as I was headed to a pretty unexciting lunch, I crossed paths with Brad. He had hitchhiked his way from Las Vegas to Texas, and hoped to eventually land in Massachusetts. He's been in the midst of this trip for several weeks, and probably has several more weeks of travel ahead of him before he makes it back east.
Brad traveled with just a yellow blanket, a Bible he had been given that morning and the clothes on his back. His hair was a little wild, and his skin had the leathery cast of a man who spent the vast majority of his time outdoors.
Now, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little nervous when we began speaking. Even after he'd come into our office to use the phone, easygoing and mild the whole time, I was still a little anxious about offering him a ride.
But Brad said he hadn't eaten in a day or two, and perhaps I noticed the Bible. He said he was a vegetarian, and as we climbed into my car we settled on eating lunch at IHOP.Not to pat myself on the back too much, but in retrospect I'm glad I took that stranger to lunch.
Over omelets Brad related the story of his journey. After his mother fell ill, Brad had an epiphany. Upon her death he renounced his drug and booze-soaked life in Sin City and headed east, pledging himself to spreading the word of God.
The most interesting thing to me about Brad was his unshakable faith. When a person claims to be guided by voices and to have seen the devil, I'm inclined to be a little skeptical, but I was in no mood to debate. Besides, the guy was essentially surviving off the kindness of strangers and was still unbelievably buoyant. Faith in God is one thing, but faith in humanity - well, that's another story altogether.
As much as I enjoyed our discussion of theology and as interesting as his life story was, the most important thing I may have gained from that lunch was perspective. It's easy to feel adrift and powerless sometimes but to accept that as a lifestyle, willingly and happily, is kind of amazing.
It's a lot like the ending of "Song of Solomon" by Toni Morrison: "If you surrender to the air, you can ride it."
If he wanted to, Brad could give lessons on the strength paradoxically found in surrender, for little more than the price of an omelet.
Would anyone mind if I just paste the piece here? I doubt it:
An epic journey winds through Fort Stockton
Ever since embarking on a half-baked road trip my freshman year of college with a dog-eared copy of "On the Road" by Jack Kerouac in hand, the impulse to throw caution to the wind and hit the road has faded from my mind.
Several hours spent reading in a sketchy Waco bus station on the way from College Station to Austin can take a heavy toll on a guy's illusions.But the urge itself has to date back at least to Homer, and probably all the way into caves the world over.
Just about everyone's felt the siren song of travel once or twice in their lives; we all want to get away from one thing or another every so often. But most of us, myself very much included, choose stability and predictability over the adventure seemingly inherent in the open road.
The exceptions to this rule, Kerouac included, are often interesting.
Earlier this week, as I was headed to a pretty unexciting lunch, I crossed paths with Brad. He had hitchhiked his way from Las Vegas to Texas, and hoped to eventually land in Massachusetts. He's been in the midst of this trip for several weeks, and probably has several more weeks of travel ahead of him before he makes it back east.
Brad traveled with just a yellow blanket, a Bible he had been given that morning and the clothes on his back. His hair was a little wild, and his skin had the leathery cast of a man who spent the vast majority of his time outdoors.
Now, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little nervous when we began speaking. Even after he'd come into our office to use the phone, easygoing and mild the whole time, I was still a little anxious about offering him a ride.
But Brad said he hadn't eaten in a day or two, and perhaps I noticed the Bible. He said he was a vegetarian, and as we climbed into my car we settled on eating lunch at IHOP.Not to pat myself on the back too much, but in retrospect I'm glad I took that stranger to lunch.
Over omelets Brad related the story of his journey. After his mother fell ill, Brad had an epiphany. Upon her death he renounced his drug and booze-soaked life in Sin City and headed east, pledging himself to spreading the word of God.
The most interesting thing to me about Brad was his unshakable faith. When a person claims to be guided by voices and to have seen the devil, I'm inclined to be a little skeptical, but I was in no mood to debate. Besides, the guy was essentially surviving off the kindness of strangers and was still unbelievably buoyant. Faith in God is one thing, but faith in humanity - well, that's another story altogether.
As much as I enjoyed our discussion of theology and as interesting as his life story was, the most important thing I may have gained from that lunch was perspective. It's easy to feel adrift and powerless sometimes but to accept that as a lifestyle, willingly and happily, is kind of amazing.
It's a lot like the ending of "Song of Solomon" by Toni Morrison: "If you surrender to the air, you can ride it."
If he wanted to, Brad could give lessons on the strength paradoxically found in surrender, for little more than the price of an omelet.
