And I was there

“It was amazing,” the college student cum journalist was emoting about a road trip he and a few buddies had taken out into the desert. “I never knew there were that many stars.”

Young journalists who write columns or “thought pieces” often fall into a syndrome I call “…and I was there.” They report incidents that occur for the first time in their lives but which tend not to be particularly amazing to older folks.

The novelty of such events is quickly lost as years go by and I suspect most readers experience ho-hum reactions to wide-eyed descriptions of firsts that aren’t news to them.

“There was no traffic. Like, I mean absolutely NO TRAFFIC. We parked the car and I lay on my back, right … in the MIDDLE … of the road! It was awesome to discover that there are roads where practically no cars go by late at night.”

Listening to a travel report on public radio this morning, it occurred to me that such accounts lend themselves to the same kind of naïveté – an innocent, inexperienced sort of response that’s at least 80 percent amazement.

By gilding the lilies, travel writers sometimes tend to eliminate mosquitoes or other negatives. The beauty of desert landscapes described without mention of heat, blowing sand and a level of discomfort that is literally life threatening without artificial shelter (have you considered that it’s called Death Valley for a reason?)

The idea of writing some sort of traditional travelogue about my trip never felt like a good one. I tend to be more interested in ideas and events than in places or vistas. Maybe the requirement that one overlook some negatives in order to present positives more –well, more positively – keeps me from embracing this genre.

In any event, I probably haven’t shared enough of the sense of awe that I’ve actually experienced along the way when encountering natural beauty. I can’t imagine anyone driving 18,000 miles of American highways without gaining an appreciation for the vastness and majesty of the land.

Perhaps the most amazing thing about the 3.5 million square miles is that, even in the 21st century, one can still lie on their back in the middle of most of the 4 million miles of streets, roads and highways late at night without being disturbed by traffic.