The Real Road Trips Aren’t About Destinations

It took me awhile, but I finally realized, when my buddy Bryan suggests to stop somewhere on a road trip….. do it. No matter how It sounds, or what you may be feeling a t the time, the man never misses with some side adventure on a stop for gas or a quick stretch of your legs. There is no mundane stops with Bryan, it’s always a chance to do something new or meet some other spiritual being encased in a human body that is connected to us on this whirling rock we call earth.  After two cross country trips with him, it’s honestly all his pit stops that I tell stories about, not the actual events and destinations that prompted the roadtrip.

                The first trip was in his parents van, lent to us to head to poetry slam nationals in Albuquerque, NM in 2005.  Six of us shared this van for over a week. Starting from the lush greens and deep browns of upstate New York we travelled 2200 miles to get to terra cotta pastels that embody the New Mexico desert. We had two hotel rooms for three of the nights, but our days were still spent in the confines of the van.  The Tennessee River was our first memorable stop after a seemingly endless drive across the state that shares the same name. We practiced poems for the competition on an observation deck high above the river, nestled in a wooded hill. This spot was a calming act for the group. It did not however, supply Bryan with the type of relief that he desired (and if he doesn’t get the relief he wants, he won’t let anyone else claim to have it either).  We ended up smoking some hashish at a campground resting our already weary bodies in a gentle area of the Tennessee River used for loading and unloading boats. It was entirely calming and relaxing.

                Many miles later, we stopped for breakfast just a few hours East of Albuquerque in a town called Santa Rosa. The stop was nothing amazing, just an average diner in a small desert town. On the way back to the highway, Bryan tells us we need to stop at a ‘cool spot’ down a side road. Everyone objects, as we have already been in the car for about 20 hours, and being only an hour and some change from hotel rooms and showers that were awaiting us. He still convinces us that we should go (im pretty sure just because he was driving, in fact I think I remember him insisting he drive after breakfast). He takes us to a park in the desert. There we see the Blue Hole. It’s a natural fed spring eighty feet in diameter, and eighty feet deep. The water temperature is never above 64 degrees. The sun had just started to make it presence more oppressing as noon in the desert rose around us. We all excitedly ran up to the section of rock that stood ten feet above the water and jumped in. The water was so cold that it took your breath away when you hit. By the time you swam to the steps that were carved out of the rock, you could feel your muscles tightening up. Two minutes out of the water though, you were dry and hot again, and ran to jump in. Score another one for Bryan.