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If you were to take a road trip, and I mean a really big one, say from New York to San Francisco, you would probably make a few strategic pit stops on the way. For instance, you might (if you were me) stop and linger at one of those wonderfully multi-faceted toll plazas off the Pennsylvania Turnpike. You might also slide off Interstate 80 long enough to catch a Cubs game at Wrigley, argueably the best field in America. You definitely wouldn´t miss a side trip in the Lake Tahoe region for some hiking. And when you arrived at the Pacific, 2904 miles after you left the Atlantic, you´d be satisfied. (Despite a new found hatred for the entire state of Nebraska.) But what this metaphor (hooray for symbolism!) is really about is all that you missed - like a stop to gawk at the squeaky clean streets (and people) of Salt Lake City or a detour in Des Moines to search for Bill Bryson´s childhood home, among countless other sites. Yet as you sit on a beach near San Francisco, facing a disappearing sun, the lot you missed no longer really matters.
And so it is with us.
As we sit on our beach in Southern Mexico, having barrelled through Panama, Costa Rica, Nicaragua, El Salvador and Guatemala in under four weeks, what we skipped is irrelevant. What mattered most was the open road and every mile we personally experienced along the way.
2 comments:
Josh...keep it rockin' down there man...I am so jealous...enjoy it and tell your sister hello for me...hope all is well...I am going to try to keep up with you better now that I just stumbled onto your site...
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