I've never really been fond of the concept of "planning," or "routine." People recognize me as a go-with-the-flow kinda gal, which is often coupled with "insane" and "most likely to die before age 25." We'll call that coincidence.
For me, there is nothing as amazing as waking up one morning, still drunk from the night before, and deciding right then to leave the state.
I didn't even tell my parents I was going on a road trip with my best friend, Adam, to an unknown destination for an unknown amount of time. I knew they would be less than thrilled to know I'd be living in the back of a truck with a guy they had never met before. The fact that this was not only a bad idea, but dangerous, made it all the more appealing.
I was appointed co-pilot, which was probably our first mistake, considering I don't even know how to use a map. We had an atlas, which included an overview of the U.S. with only the major intrastate highways. Much to Adam's protests that I would land us in Mexico, this is the only map I used for our weeks of travel.
Before we left New York, we made a quick stop at Tops so we could have food on hand if we got hungry - both of us hate fast food, so Mickey Dee's was never an option. Our groceries included canned salmon, a jar of green olives, sunflower seeds and a gallon of water. Since the back of the truck was both our storage area and our "bed," - ridged, hard plastic is hardly a bed - we had to travel light.
We ate only once a day, usually buying a rotisserie chicken and eating it in the parking lot of a grocery store. Needless to say, we got a lot of strange looks.
Maintaining hygiene, however, was not as easy as finding dinner. Still using my U.S. map, I accidentally directed us into West Virginia. It was somewhere in this surprise state that we found a truck stop where you could pay $3 to use a shower. I felt dirtier after the shower than I had upon arriving.
We quickly developed a system for bathing, which consisted of finding a public restroom to fill a five-gallon water bag, and then locating a secluded area to shower. For a few days, we stayed between Durham and Raleigh, N.C. - we found an apartment complex to park at, then ventured across the street into some woods. Tying the water bag to a tree, we had a makeshift shower by a river. Adam would keep an eye out for people while I bathed, and then we'd switch. Not that I'd be able to do anything if people came wandering through the woods, but whatever.
We meandered into Durham, otherwise known as ghetto central. It was lunchtime, and we were sick of rotisserie chicken, so we decided to make a meal. We had a variety of groceries in the back of the truck, which included the salmon, olives and sunflower seeds from N.Y., as well as a block of cheese that was in there for who knows how long. After agreeing the food needed to be used up, Adam prepared for us what will for the rest of my life be the worst meal I have ever had - the infamous fish burrito. Even now I gag just thinking about the atrocity that was the fish burrito.
We found a residential street to park on and sleep. As we lay in the back of the truck, cuddled up together for warmth in the cold January night, we could hear people having gunfights around the block. It occurred to me that we could easily die right then. I felt safe, though, with Adam next to me. We slept the night there, but left Durham the next day.
People ask me what we did on our road trip. We did do a few tourist attractions, and we hiked a lot, but mostly we just drove and talked for hours. I can honestly say there was never a time when I was bored. I felt so alive and so fulfilled each moment, just being on the road, music blaring and Adam next to me, with nothing ahead of us except pavement and adventure.
Adam and I are discussing meeting up in Virginia, or maybe the Appalachian Mountains, over Thanksgiving break. I was never one for planning though, so maybe we'll end up in Mexico this time.
