Weight Does Not Equal Mass
57 years ago – 1955 – I was planning for a very specific type of life -- a small house, a happy marriage, three kids, and a steady job with a good pension. By 1960, I pretty much had that. We weren’t yet in the house of our dreams, and I didn’t have a secure, you-know-you’ve-made-it type job, but the final “i”s and “t”s just were a formality. By the end of that year, it was gone. I lost my wife and kids in a car accident, and I left New Hampshire on the first train to Boston. From there I went west. The train rattled through New York, Ohio, Chicago, and finally I got to Denver. I remember Kerouac’s Moriarity and the freedom that this place offered. My burdens were dwarfed by the mountains. The Rockies made me find a new sense of balance.
The train really did rattle. I’m not sure how or why certain people find this romantic. The rocking gets me a little sick, and I start to feel like I do on windy, windy days. Maybe by Denver I had had enough. Besides, Denver has great museums, great restaurants, great views, and beautiful women. After I stopped here, I never needed to go anywhere else and never have.
I wonder if the memory of New Hampshire would crush me if I were at sea level. 42 years of built up memories might have their own gravity. But a mile up, we’re all a little lighter. I had a girlfriend who almost convinced me to go south to New Mexico along the mountain route, but it seemed like more hassle. And why risk it when things seem settled?
57 years ago – 1955 – I was planning for a very specific type of life -- a small house, a happy marriage, three kids, and a steady job with a good pension. By 1960, I pretty much had that. We weren’t yet in the house of our dreams, and I didn’t have a secure, you-know-you’ve-made-it type job, but the final “i”s and “t”s just were a formality. By the end of that year, it was gone. I lost my wife and kids in a car accident, and I left New Hampshire on the first train to Boston. From there I went west. The train rattled through New York, Ohio, Chicago, and finally I got to Denver. I remember Kerouac’s Moriarity and the freedom that this place offered. My burdens were dwarfed by the mountains. The Rockies made me find a new sense of balance.
The train really did rattle. I’m not sure how or why certain people find this romantic. The rocking gets me a little sick, and I start to feel like I do on windy, windy days. Maybe by Denver I had had enough. Besides, Denver has great museums, great restaurants, great views, and beautiful women. After I stopped here, I never needed to go anywhere else and never have.
I wonder if the memory of New Hampshire would crush me if I were at sea level. 42 years of built up memories might have their own gravity. But a mile up, we’re all a little lighter. I had a girlfriend who almost convinced me to go south to New Mexico along the mountain route, but it seemed like more hassle. And why risk it when things seem settled?