On the Road Again 2012 #T-4

I realized last night as I was trying to get back to sleep that I am nervous, anxious, apprehensive or perhaps even a wee bit scared of this trip. Perhaps I am always a little bit nervous before I take that first step out on the road but this time it feels a little bit more than that. I suspect that I have got a bit lazy the past few years. The trip out west has been predictable and all things considered, pretty easy. As I have said to so many people - I know the corners I will stand on, the curves of the road and I even know the spots to sleep – whether be a cheap hotel or soft bit of grass. But this time I am going in a different direction. Just after Portage I will be heading north along the Yellowhead highway. 

The fact is that I don’t know much about where I am going.  Oh I have a map but maps do not prepare one what will happen. Where will I sleep? Will I find a good place or will I get stuck in some dingy gas station overnight? What is the natural flow of traffic? Will there be lots of short rides or will I get a ride to Saskatoon and then another to Edmonton? Will I find decent food and more importantly enough water or will I feel hungry and dehydrated for much of my trip? A frequent reader of this blog could legitimately suggest that in the past I have suggested that this lack of knowing was part of the attraction of hitchhiking. And they would be right to remind me of that truth. 

But the reality is that in spite of the excitement and the incredible high I get from getting a ride – at least part of the time – I am, if not scared to death, at least aware of all of the bad things that can happen. I worry about where I am going to sleep that night and I always worry about having enough water. I have been doing this for awhile and one would think that either the charm or the anxiety would be reduced. But perhaps it is like public speaking or meeting a new class. If one gets so blasé about it that one stops being nervous- it is probably time to stop doing it.

However,  in spite of this annual ritual of internal critiquing as to why a 63 year old man would chose to travel this way, I know that as soon as I get on that train all those ties that bind me to this sedentary life, to this persona whose costume has never quite fit -I will be once again free. And surely that is worth a bit of anxiety.