(Needles) Why 66?

I truly think that what is left of Route 66 can be the road to freedom for those “retirees” wanting to escape societies great plan of prematurely shuffling us off — “for your own good” — into an “assisted living” facility.  If you absolutely insist on planning the inevitable to the last detail, know that Good Sam had a pre-paid policy to ship your useless carcass anywhere you want, though this traveling is by necessity, baggage class.

As a newborn footloose and fancy-free American looking to finely travel to your dreams, here is what I would do. Fly to an access point to reach Highway 66. Rent a small land yacht that will fit into the less than “big rig” campsites at National Monuments, as Joshua Tree.  Go exploring, on a fact-finding mission.

Do this for two reasons. Do you remember back to the days before TV when we were in control of what was visually exciting?  What the view over the next hill, or around the next corner —even if the “barrens” of New Jersey— would be?

My unpaid for advertisement is, that contrary to what the supposedly well-intended Sierra Club would have us believe, every state in our Union is beautiful and should be respected. And, that those who actually make a living ranching without resorting to the madness of feed lot cannibalism for profit, or harvesting dead trees for calendars, or prospecting for the minerals needed to build cell phones, are more in tune with nature than these self-styled environmentalists living in cities whose very existence depends up stealing water from a desert they look upon as a wasteland.

Point two. Take clinical notes of this trial trip in a small unit of the 24/7 phenomena with your spouse of 40 years. Remember your first apartment you left to keep up with the Jones.  Don’t even talk about the office “wives and husbands” left behind.  Escaping to motor homing is where the rubber meets the road in long-term relationships. “Yes dear I love you,” has a different sound to it confined to 200 to 400 square feet of living space —not counting your living room outside.  My point being, don’t spend your retirement nest egg without knowing what it is like to be, “without a house, but not homeless,” together. Especially when it can be such a rekindled romantic experience. The sad part is if one begs out of the encounter on account of a headache, know the whole idea is doomed.

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