The Road Home, pt. 2
Back in Pennsylvania. The end of the road was coming into view, friends, and honestly we were exhausted enough that we’d started to almost enjoy the idea of finally making our return. I’d say our trip to Pittsburgh sort of suffered because of this, but we still managed to have a pretty wonderful time.
We went out to eat at Doce, a tiny taco spot recommended to us by our friend Kevin.
Ten out of ten. We’d eaten tacos all over the country at that point and these had to be the finest. After that, we stopped at another barcade for a few drinks and got to talking about just how shot we were.
Mulling over our options for the night, while looking out at the pouring rain, we came to the conclusion that it might be best if we just grabbed some beers and snacks and hung out in the hotel room we’d booked. A night off? Brilliant.
Where we got our beer for the night. The dude behind the counter was a gracious fellow New Yorker and good gravy is that a wonderful neon sign.
It was a calm and relaxing evening. I watched the New York Knicks brand new rookie roll his ankle badly in the first five minutes of the third game of the season and Gabby watched makeup tutorials on YouTube. We both drank pumpkin beers and ordered late night McDonald’s on Uber Eats like the sick animals we are. After that we Facetimed some friends who were at a party back home. Seeing their goofy drunk faces made us realize we were just about ready to get back to Long Island. We still had one more night left, though, over in the Cradle of Liberty: Philadelphia.
The trip to Philly was a pretty quick one and it wasn’t all that noteworthy. We arrived at our lovely La Quinta in the early afternoon and got to cleaning out Fishtank to prepare for his return to Jersey City the following morning. In his belly were countless artifacts from our many adventures: forgotten souvenirs, stashed receipts, unsent postcards. It was an unexpected moment of quiet reflection. All the bits and pieces of our great American romp spread before us like the estate of a loved one recently departed.
That evening we took it easy once again. We went out to an Irish pub for dinner and marveled together at the incredible journey that was all but behind us now. Sure, we were beat up and ready for the glorious comfort of our own bed, but still, it wasn’t easy knowing it had all passed us by like a flicker of light, our strange and beautiful American daydream.
The next morning we came down early for a more-than-decent continental breakfast and loaded up Fishtank one last time before setting out to complete the great circle. Once we hit the road we polished off one last crossword puzzle from the book we bought back in South Dakota, 9,000-something miles and a dozen-or-so lifetimes behind us.
We pulled up at the rental spot at 9:59, one minute early for drop off. The trip meter read 9,161.8 miles.
An employee came out and assessed the state of Fishtank. I showed him the San Francisco scratches and he gave us about a $400 estimate, which was $100 less than the insurance deductible. I was elated. We’ll take that one on the chin.
As we stood outside waiting for our ride to pick us up…
…we ran into our old friend Sean, the dude who set us up with Fishtank in the first place, arriving to work with an Australian Shepherd puppy at his side.
“How was it?” he asked.
How was it?
I knew I’d be getting that question endlessly once we were back home, but I realized then that I’d have no clue how to answer it. How do you sum up 32 days, 22 states, 29 stops, 9,157 miles in a simple sentence or two?
You don’t.
You say things like, “Unreal,” or “Unbelievable” or “Fan-fucking-tastic” and you leave it at that. You know, though, that there isn’t a descriptor in any known language that could deliver this experience to the idle mind of a random inquisitor. It can’t be done.
Our friend Tony arrived to pick us up a few moments later. We loaded our things into the back of his car and had him snap one last picture of us with our beloved Fishtank, and then said our goodbyes.
The ride home was sort of strange. Familiar places rushing by. Somehow it felt brand new.
I’m tempted to end this thing with some cliché advice about seizing the day, following your dreams, living your best life. I’m not so sure, though, that that would do justice to the message I’d like to impart on anyone who has followed us through our journey. What I really want to say is something like…it’s not as difficult as you think it is to throw caution to the wind and set sail.
Heaven knows I’m in no position to preach, but I do notice something about myself and a lot of people I’m close with that worries me: we’re always finding an excuse to put our ambitions off until tomorrow; always being dragged forward by the momentum of our everyday lives. We want to do all of these amazing things with our time on earth, it just never seems like the right time to go for it.
That’s the thing, though. It really never is the right time, because there is no right time. There’s only right now and what you choose to do with it. Then one day, out of the blue, it’s all over. We all know that somewhere deep down, yet we seem to put up these imaginary obstacles in order to prevent ourselves from being the daring, wild adventurers we wish we were. This trip was just the tiniest moment of defiance against that very trap. A little nod to inexplicable life, a tip of the hat to inevitable death. Here’s to hoping that it was only the beginning of a lifetime’s worth of little rebellions and unreal, unbelievable, fan-fucking-tastic journeys.
Cheers, America.
