Opinion

Interrupted trip finally finished

Viewpoint
Robin Lord
Published: November 19, 2009

Out of the blue, I got a call from my old college roommate. He said it was a matter of unfinished business: He wanted me to join him in Yellowstone National Park. We had planned a visit back in 1972, but our cross-country hitchhiking trip was cut short. Outside Salt Lake City, a man desperate to return to his sick wife had asked if we would swap driving with him back to Pennsylvania, and so it was that we never made it to Yellowstone.

My head flooded with memories of past adventures as I accepted his proposal, and I wondered what it would be like to meet a friend whom I had not seen for 32 years. I was pleased to find him pretty much the same. Beneath his veneer of mature family man and responsible architect, he is still a free spirit at heart. His extensive Boy Scout training is alive and well, and our adventure was augmented by his eagerness to rough it, just like the old days. He is adept at gathering firewood and preparing campfire cuisine, an impressive innovator for rigging temporary shelter from impending downpours, a compelling story teller, and a Zen master with the hatchet, the knot and the knife.

Our itinerary was as follows: fly into Jackson Hole, Wyo., and pick up a rental, explore the Tetons for two days until his daughter arrived with her friend, and then it was on to Yellowstone. The girls were headed to Portland, Ore., where they hoped to find work. My friend's daughter has prospects as an artist. Her artistic depth came to light when she showed me a bronze she had sculpted of a man who seemed eternally haunted.

We enjoyed a day of hiking, a day of kayaking, a day of sightseeing and museums, a day of exploring hot springs and waterfalls, but for me the highlight of the trip was the day-long drive around the park. Words cannot describe the herds of bison, elk and deer, the soaring birds over snow-capped peaks, the spotting of black bear and grizzlies, the multicolored gorges and hot springs, and the streams, rivers and lakes that hold intolerable cold at the surface and boiling hot currents beneath. It was an experience that needed to be shared.

It's funny how an old friend's familiarity is never lost, and catching up is simply a matter of a smile and a handshake. It would have taken too many words to summarize our mutual life stories, so we skipped all that, and during Father's Day breakfast at Old Faithful, we talked about our dads.

It was also the day I learned how much my old roommate had mellowed with age. Back in 1972 we had just procured a 200-mile ride when our driver tossed his cigarette butt out the window. In no uncertain terms, my traveling companion extolled his disdain for both littering and smoking until the driver was ready to give us the boot. The point was finally made that beggars can't be choosers, and the ride was saved, but a tense silence ensued. This time, however, when his daughter grew annoyed at his brief lecture against her after-dinner cigarette, he apologized for acting like a father. She accepted, and the tension quickly passed. It was a smart move on his part, even though he was right about the perils of smoking.

The return flight offered time to reflect on the contrast in travel modes between my carefree college days and the overregulated present. Bad weather had caused numerous flight delays, first at Jackson Hole, and then in Denver, where my flight taxied to a standstill outside the terminal because the ground crew was not allowed to work in lightning storms. I somehow preferred long afternoons waiting for a ride over prolonged doses of exhaust fumes inside an idling jetliner. Back in the old days, I was able to stretch a hundred dollars through an entire summer and trudge 40 pounds of gear through the woods and up mountains to avoiding camping fees. Now I paid a small fortune to endure a grilling over a forgotten keychain penknife and the confiscation of my shampoo and toothpaste because airport security deemed them "too large" for travel.

But it was all worth it in the end. The experience taught me the value of renewed friendship and how it can enrich the monotony of everyday life. My only regret is that I hadn't been the one to make the first call.

¢¢¢

Robin Lord lives in Rowley.