The roadtrip isn’t over (or how denial is a lovely delusion)

So yes, I completely suck. No updates regarding from the end of our roadtrip from the shows in LA and SF, no info on late night drives or a final, pithy wrap up once we returned home. To reiterate — I suck, and I know it. In fact…I embrace my suckitude, because I know that writing the Big Trip Wrap-Up means that the trip is over, and I still deny that it is.

Yes, I’ve been back at work for over a week, and Izzie is resting her weary tires in her usual parking place in the shade behind my building, and I’m not making random stops at places called Casa de Fruta/Casa de Diesel/Casa de Coffee for afternoon fill-ups and snack replenishments, but mentally, part of me is still out there, driving on some meltingly hot highway, and I’m loving it.

Frankly, I don’t know that I’ll never get back from this trip, fully. Anyway, since I’m still mulling everything over, I won’t really say much about those last few days, or the sojourn as a whole. That belongs to those of us who were there. I will, however, share some random photos taken at various points on the road, that rather than capturing specific places, give a flavour of things seen and experienced.

A sampling of roadtrip images

In the meantime, we continue on in our own manners of denial — pretending that we’re only at work as a break and driving is actually our jobs, leaving on pit wristbands to prove that the tour is ongoing, and imagining that we’ve won the lottery and have upgraded to our own fabulously customized tour bus, filled with hundreds of mango sours, and that only stops at Denny’s and Taco Bell, and that features an on board bar stocked by the fine folks at Red Square.

The wildfires, cracked windshields, laaaaate nights driving, cranky waitresses, flipped motorboats, clueless hotel attendants, and tour flu? They’ll continue to fade from memory, their disintegration only serving as fuel for our growing delusions. Please be kind…we’re temporary refugees from the rock ‘n’ roll circus, just waiting for the big top to be pitched again. The barker whispers, “Hang on, August will be here before you know it.” And boy, he’d better be right