I’m still making my way through the audiobook version of Neil Peart’s Ghost Rider as part of the on-going Neil Elwood Peart Memorial Festival. In this morning commute’s “reading” (was it in a letter to Brutus? Most of the book is letters to Brutus) he mentioned Nantucket. He didn’t go there, although I did get a mention of riding through Massachusetts today, he just mentioned it.
I’ve never been to Nantucket. I have never been to Martha’s Vineyard either. Growing up we used to take occasional weekend escapes to Cape Cod, but its been over 30 years since I’ve crossed the bridge. I’d like to go back. I’d like to see the islands. Maybe this summer I can talk the family into making a mid-week escape. Getting to the Cape on the weekends is hell on Earth, so it would need to be a mid-week thing.
Today’s “reading” also included a discussion of the Pacific Coast Highway. Jen and I have driven on some stretches of that road. Hearing about it today made me miss California. It made me miss the Pacific ocean. It made me want to go back to San Diego. It made me want to stick my toes in the water again. It made me want to drive through the mountains to the desert and see Julian. Neil’s description of the Saltan Sea was far from favorable, but Jen and I drove out to it once and even though it was bordering on ghost town I wouldn’t mind seeing that again. What about Joshua Tree? What about Palm Springs? We drove through that town once, but didn’t stop anywhere.
Our last few big trips have been to Florida, and our next one will be as well. After that there’s another one on the agenda for next year too. I love going there and I will never say no to an opportunity. I just don’t want to get used to it. I don’t want it to become common enough that it stops feeling special. I also want to go to other places.
Ah, just ignore me as I fantasize about world traveling. I just need a vacation.