I read a book in high school about a guy who ran away from home at 18 (now technically one cannot run away at 18, but to say he just left undersells it), and rode cargo trains around the western United States. The book is called Hobo, and it made a part of me want to jump a train that would take me away from my banal high school existence. The only trouble was, my town did not have train tracks dividing the good neighborhoods from the bad. Towns of 2,000 don't really have the critical mass necessary for a split, though that's not to say there isn't inequality. Rather, I grew up understanding "Low Income" to be both an insult and an address--there was only one small complex in town.
That part of me that always wanted to jump a railcar is going to be pissed tomorrow, when me and my three days of snack food load that relatively comfy Amtrak passenger train bound for Chicago, then Boston. That part of me is going to be most frustrated in the relative direction of my travels--homeward bound. The Empire Builder isn't taking me away from, but rather delivering me towards banality. I left home not quite two years ago, and they've been the best fucking not quite two years of my life. I've been to Hollywood, the Redwoods, Portland, Seattle and Vancouver BC, as well as living for a couple months on a little island the natives call Manhattan. And that's just the places. I know going back to where I grew up won't turn me back to that transitional thing I was growing up, but sometimes correlation looks a hell of a lot like causation. If nothing else, Amrak's slow plod across the continent will delay the inevitable.
A lot of people who grew up in Rangeley will say they hate it, but if you really ask them they'll admit they love it. I don't love it. I don't love the lake, and I don't love the trees. And I definitely don't love the lack of creature comforts and culture. Now it's true Rangeley has some lovable quirks, and offers some things you can't find anywhere else. But you'll only find the world's largest twine ball in Kansas, is that a reason to be a Jayhawk? I love the people who love Rangeley. I'm like a soft spouse, and Rangeley's a poorly behaved small dog. I hate the stupid thing, but they love it. And I love them. I love the guy I worked with at the Grocery Store who used to be a chef. I love the owner of that store, who started out as a bagger. I love my high school english teacher who told me to go to New York, I love my social studies teacher who tells me to be amazing. I also love my parents. All these people in my life see something special in Rangeley. I don't see it. But I don't have to.
My friend and I need booze. He will be meeting up with me in Spokane and then we'll travel together to Chicago. He's the one I got this idea from, and he makes this whole process a great deal less stressful. I have not traveled extensively with friends. I came out west alone, and went to New York alone. Being with a friend creates a nice little pocket of certainty within the chaos of exploration and travel.
And we need booze. And we're both under 21, which makes this difficult. We have two good friends over 21, one of whom leaves tomorrow with his parents at 7:00 AM, the other of whom graduates college tomorrow, starting around 9:00. This frantic trying to score booze reminds me of freshman year. We'll have to figure something out. College has turned me into a drinker, and I think alcohol could greatly enhance the train experience. I remember wondering freshman year how effective it would be to just find some gentle looking homeless man and offer him a cut if he bought us some booze. I never did it because it sounds incredibly sketchy. The frustration of illicitly getting booze really gets to be, because a drinking age of 21 is plain ridiculous. I don't tend to get passionate about issues like I used to, but this one gets me going. I really think it's emblematic of larger problems within the American psyche. The logic behind a stiff drinking age is that young people use bad judgement, and it's a tragedy when young people die from stupidity. All this is true, but laws can't change behavior. Some people will argue that a lower drinking age would mean people would drink smarter, and maybe they're right. I'm not entirely convinced; but more than that, I am entirely convinced that this argument plays right into the logic which demands a higher drinking age: young people are stupid. I object to that.
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