Welcome Home
A rather subdued last-day-on-the-road map meeting. We are driving the 150 mile hop to Laguna Beach to spend the final three days on the beach-front in unashamed fuck-you luxury; the last time we were here we bedded down in La Cockroach Motel so we’re moving on up; and we’ve earned it.
We love Laguna. An uncomfortable longing to come back will be satisfied, sunsets on the beach, Cali-forn-i-a, watch the surfers, wear cool clothes, feel like one of the privileged few – that’s us. It’s been talked about for years: “One day we shall return ‘home’ to Laguna and stay in a bollocking great beach-front apartment, yes we will.” Let’s go to Ralph’s and not worry about the damage, let’s pretend we can surf, feel warm sand between your toes and a get the Hollywood glow. Everybody born of woman loves this place. And, man, we do know how very privileged we are to be able to do this stuff, we know it at every stop and we know it every morning when we throw the bags in the back.
I will miss the many hours a day driving and having no idea of what’s around the next bend – when there is a bend. The familiar cries of “My word look at that” will have to wait for another day. The end of these road trips have an unexpected sadness, you’ve seen so much and hammered so many miles without complaint or gripe, as long as the car works and you know the general direction you’re heading you cannot fail. It will be odd not to be up and ready to get in the car at 6:30am, clean clothes, post-shower, passport-wallet-phone, wiggle in the seat until comfortable, check you’ve got water, look at each other and say “Right.”
These blogs are not about telling anyone how to get from a to b, what to see in Bonne Terre Missouri on a Friday afternoon, how to avoid the rush hour in Memphis or St Louis or how to not get bizarrely murdered by hillbillies in Cajun Country. That’s a job for the all-powerful might of google. The joy of setting out on the road with only 3,000 miles to go is everything, the rest is just vanilla.
