“When I was very young and the urge to be someplace else was on me, I was assured by mature people that maturity would cure this itch. When Years described me as mature, the remedy prescribed was middle age. In middle age I was assured that greater age would calm my fever and now that I am fifty-eight perhaps senility will do the job. Nothing has worked” John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley.
50 years ago, Steinbeck, John Steinbeck, embarked on a trip with a large dog, of the color which the French call “Bleu”, by the name of Charley, (formally, Charlie Le Chien)… He went in search of America… a place he thought he knew, a place he called home and loved… I like to think sometimes I am following…
He stayed in a wide variety of places… expensive, fine, urban hotels, where Charley was bathed and pampered, but also spent time in a classic camper… he carried rifles and fishing poles… so the locals would not question why he was traveling… “I was told that a Stranger’s purpose in moving about the country might cause suspicion. For this reason I racked a shotgun, two rifles, and a couple of fishing rods in my truck, for it is my experience that if a man is going hunting or fishing his purpose is understood or even applauded.” Then wandering is not always acceptable… but hunting or fishing were common and understood, particularly in the far west… Steinbeck understood the west, knew how to fit in, and adapted. Today, 50 years later things are simpler, the traveler, the wanderer the simple tourist is better understood He called on previous experiences…
I read the Travels with Charley for the first time in the late 1960’s… my copy cheap paperback copy of the book, the kind poor high school and collage students would purchase, says it’s the 25th printing from October 1968, 42 years ago… at the time, Steinbeck was still alive, among us, but had abandoned his native California for New York…
Now in my middle age, a bit less than Steinbeck’s 58 years, but close… I find myself falling for his restlessness and wanderlust. I like to travel and wander, with road trips are my preferred but by no means exclusive method of travel. Like Steinbeck, I like to alternate camping and hotels/motels… occasionally returning to civilization to shower, clean up and rejoin the regular world. Unlike Steinbeck, I am not generally traveling with a dog (Emma the wonder dog stays at home, mostly) so don’t have to deal with those issues… But I suspect many of the travels would be better with Emma the wonder dog…
Now rereading the tome… increasingly, Steinbeck’s words speak to me…
“When the virus of restlessness begins to take possession of a wayward man, and the road away from Here seems broad and straight and sweet, the victim must fist fine in himself a good and sufficient reason for going. This for the practical bum is not difficult. He has a garden of reasons to choose from. Next he must plan his trip in time and space, chose a direction and a destination. And last he must implement the journey. How to go, what to take, how long to stay. This part of the process is invariable and immortal.”
In chasing John Steinbeck, find myself too often planning, changing plans… justifying the journey. ( This for the practical bum is not difficult. J.S.) I make plans, a make schedules… there are maps involved… I use Google… I read books, … Sometimes I believe the planning is more important, and more enjoyable that the trip… I suspect Steinbeck would agree… but then I leave and understand, as he did, that the trip is always better… but the planning and dreaming is good.
My copy of travels with Charley is now 42 years old… pages now brittle… my name and address inscribed on the first page… an address that the family abandoned (but did not forget) in 1976 or now 34 years ago…
In 1960 Steinbeck was worried about being known, being identified… I don’t have that problem… I am Anonymous , unknown … Steinbeck named his camper Rocinante, after Don Quixote’s Horse… In 1972, I named my 1960 VW camper bus (my second car) Rocinante after Steinbeck’s camper… No one questioned the name then, today I would have to explain it… I suspect we are collectively less literate… He had New York plates then… occasionally people questioned him… I have California plates… Steinbeck’s home, and people judge me by those plates…
Now, rereading my Steinbeck, I am beginning to understand the wonderlust, my wonderlust.
Bye for now, Randy
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