It's not so ironic that I am currently reading John Steinbeck's classic Travels with Charley while on this meandering tailspin of a road trip. I didn't really plan it that way, but it turns out that it is the perfect accompaniment for an adventure like this. Not to mention the fact that my dog's name is also Charlie, our truck is as well-equipped as the mighty Rocinante, and I write every bit as well as Steinbeck. Maybe not that last part, but pretty much everything else is totally on point.
One of the opening passages in the book talks about a concept that completely aligns with our approach to this trip, one that I don't mind plagiarizing in this post because there really is no better way to describe it. He writes:
"In Spanish there is a word for which I can't find a counterword in English. It is the verb vacilar, present participle vacilando. It does not mean vacillating at all. If one is vacilando, he is going somewhere, but does not greatly care whether or not he gets there, although he has direction."
I often think of what is going through our two dogs' minds as we've made our way through northern California, Oregon, Washington, and now Idaho. Case in point, these two are vacilando to the T and I have a feeling that they're loving it.
Take Charlie for instance.
If you've met him, you would know that he and I are a perfect match. We're like two peas in a pod -- we're both easygoing (unless we're tied up on a park bench or tree and are left alone with no view of our loved ones), crave affection (almost to a fault), love attention (but don't know what to do with it once we get it), have poop problems (more on that later), have separation anxiety issues (ask Bret about that one), and can't carry a tune worth a damn (it's a beagle/Ross thing). I'm pretty sure that the unpredictability of this road trip has messed with his head, but I'm judging it as a success in the long run because this dog really needed to lighten up. And so did I. And we're doing it quite well!
Katie, on the other hand, is Charlie's antithesis.
Bret found her as a puppy just outside of Arcata 11 years ago. He has molded her into a dog of amazing fortitude and grace who is chill as f&%*. She would rather be left alone outside to watch the grass grow in perfect silence, away from Charlie's howls and out of arm's reach from those annoying people who want to pet her, rather than to sit on the couch next to you and put up with your human-ness. Unless you're eating, in which case she'll stare you down until she gets a piece of whatever you have and then swallows it without even chewing. She's an awesome dog and is a great role model for Charlie. Really couldn't ask for a better travel buddy (aside from Bret).
These two are masters of what Steinbeck means by vacilando because they have direction (whether they like it or not) but really couldn't care less whether or not we get to where we're going. That may be because they have no clue where we're going in the first place, but that's beside the point. We seriously have no home except for the bed of the truck, and they're totally ok with it. I think I may call them my vaciladores from here on out.
Here are a few pictures from their perspective during our early adventures on this trip:
One of the opening passages in the book talks about a concept that completely aligns with our approach to this trip, one that I don't mind plagiarizing in this post because there really is no better way to describe it. He writes:
"In Spanish there is a word for which I can't find a counterword in English. It is the verb vacilar, present participle vacilando. It does not mean vacillating at all. If one is vacilando, he is going somewhere, but does not greatly care whether or not he gets there, although he has direction."
I often think of what is going through our two dogs' minds as we've made our way through northern California, Oregon, Washington, and now Idaho. Case in point, these two are vacilando to the T and I have a feeling that they're loving it.
Take Charlie for instance.
This dog has spent 50% of his life in the cone of shame since he met me.
Katie, on the other hand, is Charlie's antithesis.
Katie and Arcata, reunited at long last.
Bret found her as a puppy just outside of Arcata 11 years ago. He has molded her into a dog of amazing fortitude and grace who is chill as f&%*. She would rather be left alone outside to watch the grass grow in perfect silence, away from Charlie's howls and out of arm's reach from those annoying people who want to pet her, rather than to sit on the couch next to you and put up with your human-ness. Unless you're eating, in which case she'll stare you down until she gets a piece of whatever you have and then swallows it without even chewing. She's an awesome dog and is a great role model for Charlie. Really couldn't ask for a better travel buddy (aside from Bret).
These two are masters of what Steinbeck means by vacilando because they have direction (whether they like it or not) but really couldn't care less whether or not we get to where we're going. That may be because they have no clue where we're going in the first place, but that's beside the point. We seriously have no home except for the bed of the truck, and they're totally ok with it. I think I may call them my vaciladores from here on out.
Here are a few pictures from their perspective during our early adventures on this trip:
Passed out after a long day of beer tasting and disc golf at Anderson Valley Brewing in Boonville, CA.
Going apeshit over the awesome waves at Clam Beach just outside of Arcata, CA.
Relishing the only shade after a 2,000 foot climb up Saddle Mountain in northwest Oregon.
I really couldn't be happier, even if I have no room to move.
More posts to come soon. Next time I promise they'll be about the human perspective of this trip!
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