A Cautionary Tale

 

“Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.” ---Helen Keller

The steamed-up windows make it difficult to see outside. You strain to get a breath of fresh air. Can’t really spread fully out to sleep. You could simply roll down the windows if not for fear of evil reaching in. Car seats aren’t for camping. Could have cuddled if both of you were talking.

Years ago (in a time before cell phones), much more so than now, ‘Zimmer Fries’ abounded in Germany. It literally means, ‘room free,’ and is a type of accommodation in Germany where a local rents out a spare room in their house to travelers. The property owner posts a sign indicating a vacancy. Find the sign, check in, stay the night. Easy.  

Our travelers left late that day with the assumption that seeing a sign would be easy. Like a Vegas hotel in neon. So it may have been, on a crisp, clear day. But the rain came. Not softly like the gentle touch of a new lover. It came pouring down like it had something to prove. The wipers zipped back and forth with a fury. The only view, ropes of rain as headlights reflected off the road. And what of our couple in the car?

 What would you hear if you could listen in to their conversation? This couple, on vacation in Germany, in the midst of a great adventure? Bickering. Fear and frustration giving voice as blame. “You should have planned better!”, “You told me it’d be easy to find one.” They could have spent the time laughing, or praying, or talking each other through square breathing. The dark didn’t lift and the rain kept coming.

Late into the night our out-of-towners spy a hotel. Before paying for the room they asked if they could see where they’d be sleeping. Tired, grumpy and angry they are ready for the relief of a bed. Peering into the room their hopes are dashed. The bed is not made. Sheets are everywhere. Unkempt. They shake off the imaginary vermin clinging to them and head back off into the night.

If only they had danced off into the darkness, betting on each other despite the lack of sleeping quarters. That’s not how the story unfolded. Driving on roads they don’t know. Shoulders stiff, tension in the car mounting as they motor on. Ultimately pulling off into a rest area where they spend a cramped night in discontent.

It's a cautionary tale I tell. I’ve spent too much time imbibing particular people’s poison. I’ve let the elements and circumstance crush me instead of hoping God’s working things out for the joy set before me. That night in the car was one night on a long road. A day I wish I had embraced and not spurned.

 “Seize the day ' seize whatever you can, 'Cause life slips away just like hourglass sand.” --- Carolyn Ahrends

 Photo by Tahamie Farooqui on Unsplash

 

Road Tripping Baja

The Mexican Federal Highway 1, was completed in 1973. Google maps claims that’s twenty-one hours of driving to La Paz (click on the ‘family road trip’ icon and that time doubles). Their marriage tenuous, my parents seized on the idea of going south through Baja. I was thirteen, my sister eleven. Was this road trip borne out of an article in Westways magazine? An aching hope that peninsular beaches would wash away present pain? For the kids? Adventure called; Baja beckoned.

A seed of the wild was at work in my folks. Evident in each parent when separately seen. Mom took us to the mountains. Dad played with photography. Somewhere in them, between them, this connection. A seed stifled.

An album in a box contains black and white photos from that trip. Taken with my Brownie camera; mom, dad, sis, a statue celebrating the 28^th Parallel. I have few memories of that trip. Fighting to stay awake---the rocking of the car lulling me to sleep. Watching the scenery in-between fights with my sister. Many bathroom stops—mom was taking a diuretic. Pemex gasoline—that’s funny when you’re thirteen. Roadside shrines, and ribs at Senor Frogs. I can’t say what the trip stirred in my parents. Still a portal opened, a seed planted. 

Is this hankering for road trips my nature? The same DNA driving my parents to drive? That same DNA motivating my grandfather to flee Russia—the most grandiose of road trips. Or was I nurtured by highway? Solid and safe the car takes care of all my needs.  Transporting me to a place where hope is just in the distance. A seed takes hold.

I've seen countless backroads since then. Cresting hills and plummets into washes. Hours in the cab with close friends. Honeymoon with the wife. Weeks in the summer with the daughter checking out ‘America’s best ideas.’ Every October and Summer seeking adventure. Other people’s stories. Vistas and visions of beauty around every turn. Hope just beyond the horizon. A seed blooms.