It was time to hit the road again and Tyler knew it. He always got almost a physical itch in the back of his mind when he’d been somewhere long enough. Sometimes, it only took hours. Other times, it could be months. Once, it was even a few years. But he always moved on.
A little more than a dozen years ago, Tyler decided he’d had enough of corporate stoogery and ladder climbing that felt quite a bit more like running on a hamster wheel than any kind of a fulfilling life. He’d plunked down a wad of cash at Rick’s RV in Joliet, let his lease renewal in Wicker Park go unsigned, donated nearly all he owned to the Salvation Army and packed away most what was left at a U-Stor-It on Ashland. The few items that remained in his possession he hauled aboard his new Thor Motor Coach Vegas-model Recreational Utility Vehicle and set out south on I-65 toward Indianapolis.
After his first year on the road, he bought a used motorcycle he could carry on the back of his RV on what amounted to an industrial-strength bicycle rack. This facilitated exploring areas not easily accessible by the larger vehicle. Partway through his second year, he caved in and gave his RV a name: Rover.
Since leaving Chicago, he’d spent at least a little time in every state, taking highways and byways both, seeing the big cities and the small towns, the truly magnificent and the wildly trivial. He’d taken trips into Canada and Mexico, too, but the bulk of his time was spent traveling the enormous and diverse country he called home.
For the past few days, he’d been parked in a state park just outside Portland, Maine. He’d come to the state a couple weeks before and had already hiked around the rocky beauty of Acadia National Park, strolled the stately campus of Bowdoin College, experienced the tourist haven of Kennebunkport and seen and photographed more lighthouses than you could shake a stick at. On his way back out toward New Hampshire, he wanted to spend some time in Maine’s largest city.
So he’d seen what there was to see of it and enjoyed some nice local craft beers and some requisite lobster and now the road beckoned. So he rode back out to the park, situated his bike on the back of ol’ Rover and headed south on I-95 until he turned west on New Hampshire’s Route 101.
He decided his next destination was Niagara Falls, via Worcester, Massachusetts and Schenectady, New York. He thought he’d probably stop off and check out the Oneida Community Mansion house in Oneida and learn more about one of America’s more interesting religious cults.
Parked outside Prospect Park in Shrewsbury, Massachusetts and bedding down for the night, Tyler though to himself, It’s good to be free.
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