An American RV Road Trip

Yes!  We do get 8 miles to the gallon.

Like everything else, RVing is a choice of what you do with your life and how to spend your money.  It is the ultimate get-away.  The wheels eat up the States and point out the mundane of the ordinary.  It is perspective and attitude adjustment.

With the RV loaded with my favorite CDs the GPS was set for Vermont, the land of maple syrup.  Seemingly simple, yet it is the journey more than the destination.  The locals and travelers met along the way, the varying landscape of America and the pride shown by each welcoming State model our diversity and sameness.

Any basic right turn on any country road or small town easily mixes corporate fields, white-fenced horse ranches and mountain country estates with dilapidated barns and silos, homes with peeling paint, abandoned industry and closed strip malls.  On the interstates of commerce, pre-pass Fed-Ex, Wal-Mart and Caroll Fulmer 18-wheelers gun past weigh stations queued with independents and other unnoticeable counterparts.  It is distinct separation between corporation and America.

Of the people I met, curious friendliness was characteristic.  Beyond the highlights of Vermont’s marble quarries, whale watching and lighthouses in Maine or Florida’s theme parks, family and community was fixed into passive conversations.  Foot traffic trudging across the overpasses during our four-hour trip across the George Washington Bridge appeared tired and used up.  Inner city connections fronted cities with boldly displayed collections of garden apartments, dreary and isolated in their severity like their inanimate occupants.  A premature turn enroute to the I-695 bypass around the Harbor Tunnel took us through blocks of urban depression.  As innate as those propped against decaying storefronts, we robotically paid toll booth extractions regardless of differing RV classifications written by nameless authorities.

It was surprising, but to Americans, ‘settling’ is second nature.  Whether your little pink house is owned or rented, or if you’re born into poverty, this is your lifetime albatross.  The paths upward are blocked by incomprehensible rules and laws that destroy passion, desire and freedom.  Taking personal responsibility is laughable when inevitable control is dictated by a ruling class.  There is only an ‘accept’ button to press.

Opportunity isn’t sold in KOA or Camping World stores and a hundred more RV trips will not change the fact few Americans are ‘bothered’ that merely being American is not good enough.  We didn’t start out this way, but it is surely where we are.

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