At the moment I’m southeast of East Glacier Peak, South Dakota, high above some big, beautiful lake. The wanderlust got me. I’m flying west to meet my son in Seattle, where he’s finishing up a summer job.
This is a first for me: Posting from 20,000 feet up.
My son picked me up in Seattle on the second, and since then we’ve been on the road. Officially I’m helping my son drive his car back east, but we are taking our sweet time about it. Rather than heading straight east on I-90 like responsible people in a hurry to get back to their day-jobs, we have behaved badly and dawdled.
We’ve wandered down the coast of Oregon to visit a younger brother of mine we haven’t seen in twelve years, and then headed over to look at redwoods, and then to pick up my youngest son after a conference in S.F. We then wandered up to look at sequoias, and then south to look at L.A., and then east to look at the Grand Canyon, and then to Flagstaff to drop my youngest son off at the miniscule airport, and then headed east to Gallup, where I spent a day showing my son where I once lived. I managed to climb Church Rock, probably for the last time. Then we headed east towards a job interview my son has in Tennessee, and right now have made it as far as Little Rock. Or that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
Some may suggest I am not really a tourist, and am actually an agent of the Bitter Clingers, spying out the land, looking for things the media doesn’t report. After all, when the media reported the North Pole was melting, I scoped out that scene and reported it wasn’t. Therefore I suppose it is only logical to conclude that when I tour the Grand Canyon, I must be there for nefarious reasons.
If so, it is not because I mean to be nefarious. As a boy in math class, I didn’t mean to be nefarious when I looked out the window rather than at the blackboard. I just happened to find clouds more interesting than chalk.
In the same manner, even when faced with the mind-boggling majesty of the Grand Canyon, I sometimes found the tourists more interesting than the tour.
I find people fascinating, which is different from those in the media who refer to people as, “The Masses.” Anyone who uses that word, in my humble opinion, hasn’t met any. Either they spend too much time in a library like Karl Marx, or they spend too much time in the echo-chamber of Washington D.C. like the media. How can they know anything about “the people” when they never meet any?
I’ll write more about this later, when I get home. However my perception of America, so far, is of a people who are alive and well, even if they are misled. They are hale, healthy and huge, like an Elephant, and Washington is an annoying flea on their back, and the flea thinks it controls.