I was assigned a simple mission: to travel across the United States of America to find that which is colloquially known as "Love". I was given a vehicle, a camera, and several hundred dollars. Then, I was given a United States Road Atlas and kicked out the door.
My journey began quickly. I packed a week's worth of clothes, the supplies I had been given, and some stolen office supplies.
I climbed into a Mazda Protege5, which was to serve as primary mode of transportation during this trip. I didn't entertain the idea of the absurdity of driving an imported vehicle through the proud United States of America's heartland. My task loomed ahead of me. I had no time for that.
I travelled through the usual local roads to position myself on an Interstate worth driving through Tennessee for. I didn't particularly care to see Tennessee, but sometimes these things can't be avoided. At least not for a couple hundred miles.
Northern Georgia, Tennessee, and Kentucky all look about the same from inside a car. Robert Pirsig would probably want you to believe that it's different on a motorcycle, but I don't buy that. At least you can fall asleep in a car without losing balance of your vehicle.
I stopped in a small town in Kentucky for some Fried Chicken. Then I was back on the road and through Illinois, Iowa, and the first third of Missouri. An hour past St. Louis, I stopped for the night.
* * *
As I was passing through Missouri, I began to look around at the scenery a bit. I was fairly confident through my trip so far that love was nowhere to be found. In Missouri, I wasn't as certain. Every exit of the Interstate had adult video stores or topless dancers. Was this love? Had I really found it this easily? This early?
Upon further investigation, this was merely a red herring--a clever distraction from the genuine article. This was eros but not "love".
I continued the drive to Kansas City. I was positive that Kansas had no love to share, so I decided to check out Nebraska. I consulted my map and memorized the appropriate route.
Once in Nebraska, I realized that I had made a potentially fatal error. There was no love here, either, and I was soon to die of boredom. I frantically tried to tune the radio to a station--to anything in this godforsaken wasteland. I settled on a space between the two stations and cranked the volume.
At Oglalla, I left the Interstate and followed a state highway. I had heard that some consider the Carhenge a spiritual site, and many consider procreation a spiritual event. Maybe there was a connection between the two? Maybe love started there and travelled west? In two hours, I would have my questions answered.
In two and a half hours, my questions were answered. Carhenge isn't a spiritual site, it's a junk art site. Amusing, but not what I was looking for. This was one of those moments I was glad I had two weeks to make a report.
I quickly drowned my sorrows, and quietly passed out.
* * *
I entered Colorado and headed for Boulder. College towns. Lots of beer. Lots of partying. Lots of sex. Lots of love?
Maybe I wasn't thinking clearly. Maybe I hadn't given my body enough time to work the alcohol out of the system. Maybe this Interstate wouldn't require quick stops. Maybe the towns would have traffic circles instead of traffic lights.
Boulder had traffic lights. I would flip two coins at each light I got stuck at.
Both heads=turn left.
Two tails=turn right.
One of each=go straight.
I found myself at what I came to know as the Pearl Street mall. The ground there is paved with bricks, and there are many shops on either side of the street. Parking was not a problem, though I did receive some glares from my choice of space.
I walked up and down the street, slipping into shops here and there. A very odd scene. Street magicians, street musicians, street obstetricians. All bad. The shops gave me some room to catch my breath before braving the crowd that filled the street. My head was swimming. Too many shops, too many people, too many bricks, too much commerce. Did any carry what I was looking for? Did anyone sell love, for the right price?
I realized what a silly notion that was. Of course no one sold love. Not here. Wrong scene. These people didn't care about love. Tourists want cheap plastic articles with city names on them. Maybe I did, too. But maybe I wasn't there for that.
I found my car and navigated my way out before I could have time to get sucked in. Free trade is not without its price. I found a place to stay just outside of Denver and took some time to figure out where this elusive object was. I couldn't sense a pattern to what I had found so far. Frustrated, I took some sleeping pills.
* * *
I tried Denver, but no luck. Free trade sucked me in. I bought 188 dollars of things I didn't need to buy there. I got out before it could get worse.
The first mistake I made was leaving by way of Boulder.
The second was going to Rocky Mountain National Park.
Rocky Mountain National Park is the kind of place everyone hopes in the pit of their stomach they never get stranded at. During the day, it might be exciting. Mountains and valleys like giant roller coasters. Deer and beavers. During the night, when the light hits the mountains just right, you realize you're trapped within the maw of some giant carnivore. By then, it's too late. The deer and beavers are replaced with coyotes and bears. The roads out are closed.
I found myself stuck in the park after hours. This, I decided, was not my idea of a good business trip. Where were the secretaries? Where were the sexy out-of-state coworkers? The potential one night stands?
I pulled off into one of the campgrounds, paid the $18, and found a way to sleep in the car.
