"I'm not one for experiences..." was an actual thing said by a human while we were trekking around Iceland last week. That statement boggles my mind. You don't... like... experiences? Why the fuck are you even alive?
Maybe that's a bit aggressive. I suppose other people are homebodies who like to collect model trains or stamps or baseball cards or whatever. I collected Beanie Babies when I was 10. I'm all for sitting around, but usually when I need to recover from my last adventure, or to prepare for the next one.
My buddy, Dan, documented our trip to Iceland more thoroughly than I will. You can read about it in his blog. I'm just here to rant about how much I like to travel.
I've seen a lot of places in the past year. Last March, I drove from New Jersey to Austin, Texas. I hiked in Arkansas. Camped at Enchanted Rock in the Texas hill country. Drove up to the White Mountains in New Hampshire (which I'll be doing again this summer, when the Mt. Washington auto road is actually open to cars). I climbed mountains in the Catskills and Adirondacks and bore my tits in victory. And most recently, I flew to Iceland, where I saw waterfall, geysers, glaciers, geothermal hot springs, and intense volcanic landscapes unlike anything I've ever seen. Oh yeah, and the aurora borealis.
I've been home less than a week, and I'm already planning more trips. Next weekend I'll be camping out in the Pines with the dogs, hopefully tacking on our last few miles of the mushing season.
This summer, I plan to (finally) see the west coast. Friends in Seattle and San Francisco, plus work in Portland, make these spots very attainable.
In the mean time, I'm drifting between New York and New Jersey fairly often. Somehow, working from home has lost its charm and the need to be in constant motion is winning out. Maybe these songs capture what I'm feeling better than my words can: