Man Plans, God Laughs.

(Note: this is a post I forgot to, well, post awhile back. But I sorta like the way I was thinking about travel. And, yep, it’s still the way I think about it today.)

I’ve been thinking these days about all the places we’ve gone and the effort it takes for me to go, which like pulling your own teeth; definitely possible but not on your top-ten list of things to do,  you know?

One of the things that I do enjoy doing is going places without a plan. We traveled across the U.S. and back several times in our motor home when we were full-time RVing and I must say the very best times were on the back roads where you stumbled on the unexpected and it’s better than you ever thought it might be.

Take Kanab, in Utah, as one of many examples. To this day I don’t know why we stopped in Kanab. But we did and it turns out Kanab is quite beautiful; we went on several great hikes there and also spent most of a day at the Best Friends Animal Sanctuary, a huge no-kill animal shelter that houses a giant number of cats and dogs and also birds, goats, horses and exotic animals as required. We would never have known about them or the good work they do if we hadn’t happened to see a sign for an RV park and stop. Likewise there is a café in Kanab that served the best garlic mashed potatoes in the western states, right across the street from the RV park. I hope it still does, it would be an easy thing to go there now; we only live a few hours from them now.

On our current trip back East we are spending one week with family in Connecticut, just hangin’ and visiting. From here, however, we will head up towards good leaf-peeping territory in the New England states. We have no reservations at all for that two week period. Just a rental car and a couple of decent road maps. Irene, btw, is far more a fan of a physical map than she is of GPS. When we were driving our big ‘ol bus back and forth across the U.S. she preferred to stretch maps out everywhere and yell directions at what I thought was usually the last moment, forgetting that rigs that big do not turn very quickly.

Even with unplanned and last minute turns becoming dead-ends and such we never got in so much trouble we couldn’t stand it, but we did have to find a way to move 60 feet of rig and tow car backwards from a cul-de-sac on more than one occasion. No real problem even there, of course. These misadventures simple required a lot of patience and that you avoid yelling at each other as much as possible.

When I was very young, say 16-ish, I had the same proclivities; let’s go, no plan. I do remember fondly, when we lived in Salinas, my best friend Walt and I deciding we wanted to go fishing somewhere. I did all kinds of weird stuff to go fishing by myself but this time I convinced him somehow that it wouldn’t be much of an effort to pedal our bikes round-trip from Salinas to Monterey and back so as to fish Monterey’s Lake El Esterow which boarders Dennis the Menace Park and also the cemetery, where my dad and mom, healthy at the time, would eventually be buried. I’m not sure really why we overlooked how far the trip was; it’s about 22 miles each way as I remember, and not to mention it’s all on the Monterey/Salinas Highway, which isn’t the widest, safest road I’ve ever been on. Plus these were kid-sized bikes, not made for real road work.

We did exactly what we planned with the exception of two little issues; one, there apparently no fish in El Estero and, two, darkness. On the way back it got absolutely no-lights pitch-black. We eventually gave up, half-way back from Salinas, stashed the bikes and our fishing rods in the off-road bushes, walked to a pay phone and called the ‘rents to come and give us a ride home. As I remember it was Walt’s dad that showed up. I think we were able to get the bikes and gear in the car. And I don’t remember his dad yelling at either of us at all.

Think about doing that with no parental permissions today. It would never happen. But that was a day when I could go hunting with my .22 rifle and my little dachshund Puella and stick out my thumb and get a ride to the Salinas River, and hunt for a few hours hoping (and always failing) to shoot a rabbit, and do it again in reverse on the way back and get another ride to my house, and neither the good folks picking me up nor I thought it the least unusual to be picking up a young hitchhiker carrying a rifle and a small dog. Puella got so used to it she would hop up into any car the second the door swung open far enough.

Do I want my grandkids to be doing these things today? Of course not,  but it was fun for us. The whole of Salinas was our playground, and except for going into areas controlled by the small gangs that existed then there really was nothing much to worry about, or so I thought.

Now, to a large extent, everything looks so much the same; each mall you pass has the same stores, every city looks the same as the last. I think the only answer is to prowl, not to plan. That way sometimes you can get into something unexpected, maybe positive or at least interesting. I’m tired of God laughing at my plans anyway.