Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity-Jig!

Our good fortune in skirting bad weather ran out when we returned home to the Atomic City. After spending the past two weeks in balmy temperatures—upper 90s in Las Vegas and Scottsdale, high 80s through Utah and even upper 70s at home when we left—we found upon our return that the Polar Express had moved into town and rolled out a chilly welcome mat for us. We found the interior of the house cooler than the outside air.

We also found a very happy little dog waiting for us. Our faithful companion has reached 109 in Dog Years, so every good day is a cause for celebration. Though Caroline and I did not talk about it on the road, I think each of us privately worried a little bit in the back of our minds about the possibility of returning to an empty house. But not this time. When we walked inside, the elderly cur gave us a good scolding after giving us a good sniffing just to reconfirm that we were indeed her masters and not merely a doggie hallucination or cleverly disguised intruders. In truth, I think we missed her more than she missed us. But she was starved for a walk and we wasted no time in getting her out on the trails. As we walked, her nose catalogued a whole host of new smells that had appeared on the trail during the past two weeks and she made the walk as if everything was new and this was her first time in a foreign land.

Returning home is always bittersweet. Returning home means mowing the lawn and loading the washer with piles and piles of laundry. A homecoming also means that work is just a day or so away and there obviously will be plenty to do. But homecomings also remind you that you have a place in the world, some stability, a home base. When we stick around home too much, we tend to take this fact for granted, forgetting what life could be like if we didn't have anywhere to go or any connection to any community anywhere. Without connections, we would be apparitions—like the ones we try to ignore, the ones haunting boxes and heating grates in the inner cities or holding up cardboard signs at intersections and parking lots in Everytown, USA.

We were pleased to find a bounty of produce waiting for us in our garden upon our return, and we feasted with gusto, thankful that for the first time in a fortnight the evening dinner was not road food.

Some people have asked why we prefer road trips to other means of travel. There are many reasons, but I like to think that a journey on the road is preferable because of the connection you get with the land and its people. You can't have the chance to check out a roadside marker or stop for a slice of pie when you're humming along at 35,000 feet; you can't roll down the window and smell what's outside when your traveling in a pressurized cabin; you can't stretch your legs or make the decision to take the scenic route to an out-of-the-way town when your points of departure and arrival are booked and locked in two weeks beforehand and include only major airline hubs. For me, the destination isn't what a trip is all about; it's how we got there and what we found along the way that matters. I believe we lose a little bit of our humanity with each Frequent Flyer mile we log. But that's just one man's opinon. Feel free to disagree as you breath your recirculated air and gnaw on your thimbleful of peanuts. Me? I'll take the scenic route and a piece of Pie-Town pie every time.

See you on down the road.