Y10K

Jackson, Wyoming
August 6, 2001


Y10K! My car has 10,000 more miles on it now. It rolled over to 52,000 miles in Las Vegas. I retreated to the glitzy, kitschy, cheesy, yet mesmerizing land of excess a couple days ago. I left New York 62 days ago, much longer than the 45 days I expected it would take me to cross the country.

I stopped in Vegas when the trip became a mission of checking off blocks, rather than enjoying each moment. Something known as vacation or travel burnout; something rarely experienced for me when working since it takes at least a week on the road to enter this state. I found that two days in Vegas reset my fun meter and allowed me to once again wonder and marvel at things.

The days blended together with so many meals consisting of fast food consumed while I steered with one knee, rushing to the next destination. Most names ring familiar: Dennys, McDonalds, Burger King, Taco Bell, KFC, Wendys. Others not so familiar: Shoney's, Waffle House, Golden Corral, and egregiously non-PC, Bojangles (only in the South, of course).

Also, cheap hotels do not exist in the US for the most part, Motel 6, Comfort Inn, Hampton Inn (not down the L.I.E.) and Super 8 run minimum $40 per night and average $55-60. What happened to the gonzo cheap days of Hunter S. Thompson-esque road trips (and the trunk full of psychedelics).

Jackson, Wyoming, lay next on my path, the trans-US trip now two-thirds complete. Here, further recharging took place in a wonderful log home near Teton Village, where my friends family built a house and guest house. I played golf today at Teton Pines, guest of the CEO of AT Kearney (friend of my hosts).

My second shot on the par-4 18th, a 8-iron pushed right, thwacked off a tree and kicked hard right another 15 yards, landing in the rough near VP Cheney's house. Just in the shadows of a tree, a Sercret Service agent sits in a golf cart, watching the fairway bordering Cheney's backyard.

I wonder if I can go hit the ball. Do I need to ask permission? Should I leave it? How do I look like a hapless golfer (not too hard)? I decide to tromp thru the long grass looking for my ball, consciously ignoring the armed man twenty feet away, no doubt some sniper's crosshairs also locked onto my Titlelist cap. I find the ball and pitch it on the green. "Nice shot," says a Secret Service agent.

My car will probably see another 4000-5000 miles before I arrive home in San Jose in late August. But I feel an important lesson has been assimilated. Travel's ultimate purpose is to see things in a beginner's mind and be touched by what we see. When this does not happen, one needs to stop and rest for a while so as to remain in the present and not just go through the motions.