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The Anderson Independent Male

Posted May 16, 2008

To the guys who just completed their really cool cycling trip from Anderson to the Pacific.....nice job, dudes. Grinding along from SC to Cali is no small feat. I can only imagine the sores you endured. Plus, your adventurous spirit has created a buzz for many people, including me.

Allow me to expound:

My best friend of 20+ years lives in Maryland. Works for a little communications firm up there. He's rolling this way in a week or 2 to meet up with yours truly. And then we're headed directly, do not pass go, do not collect $200, to Key West. By the way, full credit to him for the title of this blog. He's got a PH.D in Mathematics. And he's proof (Get it? "PROOF"?) that Math-guys are occasionally witty.

In any event, 4 out of 5 Husband's/Father's agree: a road trip is, for us, a little mini-rapture.

It's a rare chance to pound Slim-Jims and Cheetoh's without fear of those sideways glances we dread. Inhale HoHo's by the crate. And Moonpies. Swill tooth-enamel dissolving, diabetic-coma causing teeny-bopper drinks. Main-line caffeine. Forget to shave. Or bathe, for that matter. Tell the girl behind the counter at the Waffle House "We'll be needing extra chili and tabasco ...." on whatever it is we order. Including waffles. Yes, waffles.

Listen to the B-52's. Loud.

Seriously, not being serious about the B-52's. Not that there's anything wrong with "Rock Lobster" or "Your Own Private Idaho". You're just not going to hear them in Doris the Freak-a-Taurus. (Yes, I drive a Ford Taurus. Is there a problem? I'm married. And it's unusually efficient. And comfy.)

Anyway, no B-52's. Or Foo-Fighters. Or anything to hit the charts after the Bush administration. (That would be Bush I, not Bush II).

Not on this road trip. This road trip will require that special 30-something male brand of music only we fully understand.

The Talking Heads.

Jerry Jeff. Some Robert Earl Keen.

Maybe a little ZZ Top.

Little bit o' Waylon and Willie. (My best friend is a fellow expatriated Texan.)

Bottom line is, if they heard at Luckenbach in '73, Texas Jam in '79, or Lollapalooza and/or Seattle in '91, 2, 3, 4 or 5, it'll be heard in Doris the Taurus. Plus a few more for good measure.

Oh, and Van Hagar. Come on, you know you love it. "That's what dreams are made of.....". Pure greatness.

We may wedge a change of clothes in there among the Twinkie's and Yoo-Hoo. But, it's doubtful.

Cell phones go in the glove box and will only be used for checking-in every 500 miles. We are going to be well below the figurative ice-cap on this trip. As such, "comms" with HQ will be minimal.

Flip-flops and Zantac-120 are mandatory. As are a pair of cheap sunglasses. The better to leave them on a beach somewhere. Next to the un-opened sunblock and Jersey Mike's wrappers.

Deodorant? Toothbrush? What's that?

Yes, the road trip. In all it's Kerouac-esque glory. With a little cherry on top named "Key West". Not that it matters. We could be going to Toad Suck and I'd still be excited. Yes, Toad Suck is a place. Look it up.

So thanks, cycling duo. You provided the perfect set-up for a much needed road trip.

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