When There's No Destination . . .

Early Saturday morning I left for Newark, New Jersey with my new computer and a few other things I’d forgotten to bring with the first time around.

A note: My choice of cities might seem ludicrous to some (e.g. Newark), but I picked these cities by looking at a map and choosing the largest dots that weren’t too far out of the way of my general route. I know nothing about any cities besides a few in the Northeast, hence this trip.

I wandered around Newark for a while, but leaving my van unattended didn’t seem like the best idea in the world and all the bookstores I went to were either closed or weirdly religious and full of incense, so I didn’t stay long. I did get a bunch of pictures of the buildings and parks in the downtown area, and I was there long enough to get made fun of for wearing a fanny pack.

Another note: I’m developing Fanny Pack Wearer’s Rage (yeah, it’s real, look it up). So what if I wear a fanny pack? Does every single person I walk by have to snicker at it? And just so you know, it’s the kind of fanny pack with two Nalgene bottles attached on either side, so, extra cool. You should also know that I wear my fanny pack in the front, just to prevent against fanny theft. Fanny packs are great inventions, and the fact that they’re made fun of really bothers me. How else am I supposed to drag around all the stuff I have to carry? That’s all for now, kinda.

I left Newark and headed toward Pennsylvania. At the midway point I stopped at a Starbucks off the highway to check my e-mail and things. As I walked in, I noticed the barista staring at my fanny (fronty) pack and smirking. As I approached, I caught his eyes with mine, and nodded down towards my fanny pack, as if to ask, “Do you have a problem with my fanny pack?” He got my meaning immediately and tried to play it off as though he had been admiring my fanny pack.

“Going hiking?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m going hiking.” My mood carried over into my tone. It was the tone of someone willing to jump over the counter and defend the honor of his fanny pack.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” I said, with the same level of hostility.

It was obvious that he was getting nervous now. “That’s the way to do it,” he stammered. “Just kinda head out in some direction.”

From there I drove toward my campsite in French Creek State Park in Elverson, PA. Twenty minutes before the campsite, I stopped at a restaurant labeled: Diner. It was only about 3:30 so the place was pretty deserted. Despite the emptiness of the place, there were about seven waitresses on, each more buxom than the last. All of them served me and I couldn’t figure out which one was my waitress. I must’ve had about ten cups of coffee. Every time I took a sip, one of the young women would come over and top it off. It was very difficult to regulate the amount of cream to add. The cold meatloaf sandwich was very good, and the conversation I had with one of the waitresses about whether or not the Brady Bunch theme song belongs on the radio was very entertaining.

After eating and tipping heavily, I drove to the campsite and set up my tent for the first time. It’s a small simple tent and only took a couple minutes to assemble. I built a small cooking fire, heated some soup, read the second half of Travels With Charley, and slept well despite the rain pounding on my tent.

I wish I had a dog with me—not some uppity French gentleman dog, though.

BTW, no one in the campsite looked twice at my fanny pack. They all wear the same exact thing. It’s really hard not to snicker at them.