Ghosts of the Road
Growing up in the Colbert clan, family vacations usually meant one thing – road trips. Rarely would we travel anywhere by anything other than the family’s trusty 1969 Volkswagen Bus. With Mom and Dad up front and us kids (my brother, sister, and myself) packed safely away in the back seat, we drove all over the Western US from our home in Colorado. Destinations from Seattle to South Dakota and all points in between. However, looking back on those trips, my memories are made up almost entirely of the destinations. In my young mind, the trip was a necessary evil, something to be endured, a means to an end. Perhaps being crammed into the backseat of the VW during the warm summer months with no air conditioning and my brother seated firmly in front of the only window which opened in the back seat had something to do with that. As a child, the trip was just that, a trip. In those years the destination was the vacation. As I grew older, the road trips became less frequent and for several years after college they were only a memory. I had moved away and found myself living in Los Angeles, a city of constant traffic on congested roads leading only to more traffic on slightly different but no less congested roads. I had lost my connection to the road, it had become only something to dread.
Three year old weekend warrior…
It was then, in 2003, many years removed from those memories and hardened against the LA traffic that I found myself once more thrust into the world of the road trip. My father began to use LA as the jumping off point for what would become an annual road trip to explore Southern California and Nevada. An opportunity too good to pass up, my sister and I turned these road trips into partial family reunions, both looking forward to the chance to hit the road with our father. While I had always enjoyed the trips as a child, I found that my love for the open road had grown with me. I had come to enjoy and even look forward to the trip itself, realizing that the journey is just as, if not more important than the destination. On the road one has a connection to the world that they are passing through. They can see not only what lies ahead, but also what has come before them. For those that take the time to listen, one can hear the ghosts of the road - the memories and echoes of those that have passed before us reflected in the cities and towns that dot the road, the abandoned buildings and long forgotten towns that reside further off the beaten path, or simply the road itself – a man made path cutting through the landscape. Over the years, these trips had become an almost spiritual journey with my father as our guide. I had the pleasure of tagging along as he explored and luxuriated in his self described “love of place.” The ghosts of the road called and my father answered. Traveling with him I was aware of the call. Now that he is gone the ghosts have focused their attention on me. Now when they call I answer.
Thirty-four year old weekend warrior…
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