Road TripFred Bingham was raised on the novels of Jack Kerouac and the music of Cisco Houston, so deep within the recesses of his middle-aged body still beat the heart of an adolescent. But he married right after college, had children almost immediately, and went to work as a financial consultant for a company in Chicago. Still, late at night, he heard the siren call of the road. At first he turned away from the temptation, pretending not to hear. But, after much soul-searching, Fred felt compelled to answer the call. "I'm going to hit the highway, alone, for at least the next two weeks," he told his wife, as she made plans to visit her family. Resigned to the inevitability of this day, she pleaded with Fred, "Be sure to bring the cell phone. "And call me every day." "Yes, dear," he said. Secretly, Fred was nervous about the trip and he appreciated Beth's concern. After all, he wasn't much of a risk-taker. He was born in Maryville, Missouri, went to college in Denver, and followed two jobs to his present position in Chicago. According to Fred's original plan, he was to open his trusted Rand McNally and hitchhike a blue highway west, following adventures wherever they may lead, like a modern day cowboy. "But times have changed," he worried. "And you hear so many horror stories about hitchhiking," Beth added. Fred thought long and hard about his dream journey and finally decided to take the Ford Explorer. Once his wife was safely on her way to Omaha, where her family was from, Fred packed for his journey. "I want to pack light, free to float like a feather in the wind," so he took only a few changes of clothes, including a blue blazer, light tan pants and a matching tie, just in case, a few pairs of shoes, some sweaters, a cooler with turkey sandwiches, fat-free Fig Newtons and a six-pack of Perrier. He set the Explorer's computerized map to take him west to California and he rationalized that I-80 was just as adventurous as the less traveled roads, only easier to follow. Preparing for the trip, he had already purchased CD's of such Kerouac favorites as Miles Davis and Charlie Parker, (Cisco Houston CD's were nowhere to be found), but he soon decided that his personal mix of James Taylor and Kenny G. better fit his mood. About forty miles from home, he got hungry. "You're free," he said aloud, almost singing with excitement. "Eat when you're hungry; sleep when you're tired." Fred decided to save the turkey sandwiches for later and impulsively pulled off the road in search of a small cafe, the kind where cowboys and wild women hung out. Fred stopped at a Cracker Barrel and ordered a salad, vinaigrette dressing on the side. Let the adventure begin. |