I will not seek any great groaning glaciers on this trip, or
climb pink granite peaks, or camp along an Ozark Highlands trail, or sleep on deep snow hoping
to scale Mt. Shasta. No, I’ll head east
on a bicycle, hoping to cross the desert before it gets too hot, and meet Illinois after all the icicles have
fallen from eves.
 |
| I remember Jackrabbit Trading Post, Route 66, Joseph City, AZ |
Route 66, the “Mother Road” in John Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath, brought Dust Bowl refugees to California in the thirties. And again in WWII they came for jobs in our war plants, where my Aunt Vera died. And this war baby remembers riding in a ’49 Plymouth past Jack Rabbit Trading Post.
This is not a logical trip, for bicycling close to cars is never sensible. They are always dangerous. But I’ve gained confidence over many rides,
and feel ready to do it again for a sentimental journey. That third grade attitude still prevails over
reason.
 |
| I remember gas stations like this, and they say a few of them still exist |
I will ride alone and unsupported, and some say, with courage. But they are wrong; it’s shear necessity—a
need to do something adventurous.
I chose Route 66 for its history, its culture, and because the
train ride home from Chicago sounds pleasant. I’ll visit campsites of those dust-bowl
pioneers and the motor courts of post-war migrants to California in the
fifties, and places where I, as a child, went on summer vacations. 
So, with nostalgia, anticipation, and a sense of danger, I
will set off on April 5 from Pasadena, arriving in Chicago about June 15. Please join me in some way, commenting here
on the blog or by email. I welcome your
thoughts and poems. But, of course, you
can ask to be removed from this list, if it’s all too much.
“You may be saying ‘She
wanders the world in full circles and comes back two months later’
I always eat with
strangers
The hours pass and time
turns to wood.
There is a hero inside
you, bigger than you are.
Jackie Chou—from her chapbook
of March, 2017
