Tripping out
MANILA, Philippines - ‘YS’ revs up some praise for the coming-of-age hipster road trip, a ride with as much allure as affectation.
There is something about the open road that drives people to explore its vastness with reckless abandon, having served as inspiration for countless books and movies ranging from the timeless classics to the temporal train wrecks. With some, there is the essence of well-laid plans and with others, a spark of thought and the privilege of time. As fun as these highly detailed, scheduled-to-the-minute road trips are, the element of unpredictability upon embarking on a trip lures the majority of those who are closeted free spirits. However, even the most spontaneous trips have some semblance of forethought, like the preferred choice of vehicle or the songs that will compose the ultimate road trip playlist that will, no doubt, be essential to the epic proportions of said trip, stumbling from one adventure to another. Brilliant ideas come about from nights of egregious inebriation and sloppy stolen touches, where the thought of spending hour upon hour with certain individuals in a mobile steel trap seems to be the stuff revelations and epiphanies about meaning and existence are made of.
From Ride To Romp
The ultimate car for trips out on the open road has to be the Volkswagen Transporter, or the VW Bus, preferably aged and reeking of spilled beer, sex and shame. However, due to availability constraints, intrepid travelers must settle for another vehicle steeped in character: those with a rearview mirror missing, ragged interiors, or busted windows. Passengers are in it for the car’s utility and to maintain an air of aloofness regarding society’s love for things shiny and new; cars that give the establishment the finger by way of oxidized metal and peeling paint. There are consideration in terms of space, ample legroom for the proper ratio of women to men, to relieve sleeping limbs and even more available spots for kisses and playful groping spurred on by cheap tequila.
“I had every intention of sleeping with someone from every town we hit. Isn’t that how a good road trip is supposed to be?” Sandro said. “I was away so, whatever. I was going to do what I felt like doing and whoever I felt like doing,” he added, a big grin on his face. I asked if he managed to achieve his original intentions and, without pause, he admitted, “No, not at all.”
When you find yourself half tripping out of a club and into the waiting weathered lap of a passable vehicle, there are no other chances for wardrobe changes save for the comfort of the backseat. You peel off your tattered tights and get out of your sequined top, slipping into something more comfortable like a pair of shorts that barely cover that young derrière and a DIY shirt that casually slips off one shoulder with certain gestures. Sit back, slip on those oversized acid-green Wayfarers, and tinker with your chains as you watch the sun rise on a fast-moving landscape.
Provided that your functional yet nonconforming vehicle has the necessary accoutrements necessary for accommodating your MP3 player, then you have what you need to give your romp a soundtrack. Roll those windows down and blast your latest indie obsessions, reveling in the fact that their music was seemingly made for your appreciation because they are, all too often — as you are — misunderstood but, at the core, incredible. Belt out those lyrics that hit straight to your gut, singing to the wind and feeling every word.
What trip with the people you believe you are going to spend your life with would be complete without the requisite stocks of cheap, accessible liquor and baggies of enlightening delta-9-tetrahydrocannabinol? For the times you find yourselves parked on a dirt road’s barely perceptible shoulder, feeling “infinite” as the warmth of the car’s hood permeates your clothes and hits the skin of your back, when mainstream lucidity seems to fail. Bottoms up and smoke it out while believing that yes, this is the best it’s going to get. Rex’s memories escape him. “It was hazy. Drunk, and really hazy. I don’t remember much of anything, really,” he says of his most momentous road trip, laughing.
Jack Kerouac once wrote: “…and I shambled after as I’ve been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time…” This may be the lifeblood of your joyous travail across the country; it’s the desire to live and to expect to live, getting drunk, getting high, and getting out alive, at least, until reality gives you a swift kick to the butt.
Nick said “I was pretty excited because I thought it’d be an adventure. I’d meet interesting people from all walks of life, meet some pretty girls, eat strange, exotic food, and just have the craziest time.” I asked him how that turned out. He exhaled audibly and said, “Yeah, that didn’t happen.”
