We sat in the park drinking coffee. Or, I should say, by the park in our car drinking coffee while it rained.
I looked way off to my left and saw the bridge of the highway crossing over the river. That highway is part of the Trans Canada Highway, and it made me a little wistful that morning.
Turning to my right, I opined to my dear one that I'd like to be travelling somewhere along that road or some such road. Except I didn't really mean it. What I meant was that it would be nice to be on the road in that moment: nice to be exploring something new or something barely remembered. What wouldn't be so nice would be to have to pack up and live out of suitcases in motel rooms for another month or two. No, that would really be too much of a good thing.
Some people, live for that good thing, however. I think of that kid in the old Ford (see post below) and how he had probably given up much to travel, for he had picked up a certain travel bug.
The bug really infects some folks. I once knew a father who despaired of his thirty-something son never settling down. He'd work just long enough to fund another trip. Second last thing I heard was that he had tried to cycle down the east side of Africa. The very last thing I heard was that he had to give it up because many of the locals weren't exactly friendly or sympathetic to his cause. I seem to remember dad telling me that the kids were fond of throwing rocks at that crazy white man.
I do understand that it would be easy to fall prey to the travel bug. Given unlimited funds, I could possibly be bitten. Maybe. But the other part of me thinks that I would get tired of it sooner rather than later. It ain't reality. Not really. Overdoing travelling would be like overdoing ice cream. After a while, as much as you like ice cream, you crave ... I dunno ... toast and peanut butter, I guess.