**** I set off from Pittsfield, Massachusetts, in July 2011...and ended up in Aspen, Colorado, in February 2012. Along the way, I visited 28 states, three countries, dozens of national parks, hundreds of cities and towns, and countless friends and strangers. Why? Why not? In fact, I lost my job of seven years when Berkshire Living, the regional magazine I helped launch, folded. Then my apartment building burned down while I was in Miami for the weekend. A breakup and a stolen bicycle figured in shortly thereafter. Wouldn't you hit the road, too? Enjoy my virtual scrapbook of anecdotes and eye candy from a freewheeling, cross-country, cross-cultural odyssey--past, present, and future.Amanda Rae Busch
amandaraewashere@gmail.com
![I’m sitting in a coffeeshop in Sedona, minding my own business and furiously click-clacking away on my laptop, when an older guy sits down at the table to split a bran muffin with his wife. When I pause to look up, he turns to me.
“Are you writing a book?” he asks.
“Not right this minute,” I reply, sort of caught off guard, “but maybe soon.”
“About your travels?”
“Yeah, actually. How can you tell?”
We talked about the Grand Canyon for a moment, and then I went back to my work.
Twenty minutes later, the couple gets up to leave, and the guy places this napkin on my keyboard.
“Enjoy Arizona,” he said. “It’s a special place.”
[Sedona, Arizona, January 22, 2012]](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ly9tavuL6g1qloi1ho1_500.jpg)
I’m sitting in a coffeeshop in Sedona, minding my own business and furiously click-clacking away on my laptop, when an older guy sits down at the table to split a bran muffin with his wife. When I pause to look up, he turns to me.
“Are you writing a book?” he asks.
“Not right this minute,” I reply, sort of caught off guard, “but maybe soon.”
“About your travels?”
“Yeah, actually. How can you tell?”
We talked about the Grand Canyon for a moment, and then I went back to my work.
Twenty minutes later, the couple gets up to leave, and the guy places this napkin on my keyboard.
“Enjoy Arizona,” he said. “It’s a special place.”
[Sedona, Arizona, January 22, 2012]
Oh, the People You’ll Meet!
Sometime after my visit to Hearst Castle and before the German hitchhiker waxed poetic about capturing memories sans camera (which I protested vehemently), I met the Peace Artist.
Actually, I saw him earlier in the day, ten miles up the road near a beach that sparkled with elephant seals fighting each other for the right to mate. He was on the shoulder of the road, pushing a baby carrier….without a baby.
So when he came into Sebastian’s General Store in San Simeon, home to legendary burgers made with Hearst beef (as well as the Hearst Ranch Winery tasting room and the San Simeon Post Office), I had to find out what his story was.
The German, a musician who’s been living on the road for three months, beat me to it. But he introduced us.
Turns out, this guy is RUNNING across America—from Seattle to San Diego to Georgia and back—and spreading peace along the way. The baby carrier is for camping gear and art supplies.
So far, he’s traveled 1,525 miles. He’s currently wearing Asics; though he did snag a pair of Brooks (oh, hey!) before that, and thought their support was stiffer. He wears and eats whatever is given to him; he doesn’t ask for anything. He survives solely on his own adaptability and on the goodwill of others.
“I have another 500 miles [to San Diego],” he said, grinning. “Then I can finally make a left turn!”
His last words, as he turned to leave? “Find me on Facebook!”
Look him up.
Spellbound by “Trail Magic”
I met Marc in August, at the Rocky Mountain Irish Festival in Windsor, Colorado. We chatted about the Emerald Isle with my pal Kevin O’Hara, and during our brief conversation I may have mentioned that I would be passing through Montana…because he emailed me later that week and offered up a room at his sister’s cabin near Big Sky.
He was headed there later in the summer, anyway, he said, and he was intrigued by my journey. How could he help me out?
(This was long before I realized that I knew anyone in the area.)
On Friday, as I climbed the steep gravel slope to Kildare House, I wondered: What have I’d gotten myself into? Instincts always win, yet there was a nasally voice in the back of my mind, straining to be heard: YOU ARE ACCEPTING LODGING FROM A TOTAL STRANGER?!?!
What-ever. I ended up spending four days there. We hiked with my friends, we cooked with his friends, we sampled Montana microbrews and chatted up fellow tourists. I took photos of snow-white horses and suntanned fly-fisherman; he tooled around on his mountain bike in the garage. We watched a fascinating PBS documentary on FDR’s Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) and Countdown with Keith Olberman, then discussed each.
The log “cabin” was a stone’s throw from the Gallatin River and submerged in a cellular dead zone, which was fine by me—all the more time for us to sit on the expansive deck and talk about life, the outdoors, human nature. And, of course, the kindness of strangers.
Three years ago, to celebrate his fortieth birthday, Marc hiked the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine with his dog and a friend.
“I thought it would be about getting back to nature and sort-of a personal test—to see if I could do it—but it turned out to be more than that,” Marc said. It was the ebb and flow of relationships formed along the way and the inherent goodness of his fellow hikers that stuck with him.
Marc’s eyes twinkled when he talked of TRAIL MAGIC—a special blend of anonymous generosity and sheer luck, seemingly right when you need it: a surprise cooler of drinks, here; a sweatshirt intentionally left behind, there; the Easter Sunday omelet station set up in the woods by a family of former hikers; a ride into town—dog? no problem—from an SUV-steering soccer mom…and a farewell fistful of spending money to boot.
If trail magic can be applied to road trips, then it’s safe to say I’ve found my fair share.
Cheers, Marc!
