Travel Lust Started Here

“A rule of the blue road: Be careful going in search of adventure—it’s ridiculously easy to find.” William Least Heat-Moon, Blue Highways: A Journey into America

As you know, I have great respect and love for my hometown, Braidwood.  I owe so much to the people who surrounded me during those critical growing years. In many ways, I was, and still am, Braidwood.  

It was inevitable, however, that I would be drawn to see as much of the rest of the world as possible, while never ignoring my roots. Never forget where you came from. But in fact, Braidwood was the primary reason for my departure.

Directed by the Legendary Roadway

Unlike other small towns, Braidwood had geographic and population differences that made it unique while I was growing to adulthood.  Route 66 and the railroad dissected the town and it had some diverse population elements.  In addition, coal mine hills and lakes dotted the landscape. 

In particular, it was the sounds and sights of trains and trucks roaring through our town that whetted my appetite for travel. 

Although the hills and lakes planted the seeds of visualizing mountains and oceans, it was the sound of train whistles and truck air horns that filled my head with thoughts of wanderlust. The sound of drivers down-shifting, then speeding up again, train horns higher pitch as they came nearer, lower as they departed.

Their solitary sonorous solicitation subconsciously sifted through my windows prior to sleep and subconsciously into my dreams. It seemed as if I were being called to the road. Was it the song of the sirens?

“Blest is the man ordain’d our voice to hear. The song instructs the soul and charms the ear. Approach! Thy soul shall into raptures rise! Approach! And learn new wisdom from the wise!” The Odyssey

I Hit the Road and the Skies

When I joined him on occasion, my father’s sojourns in his truck to other places within a twenty-mile radius also contributed to my restlessness as well as bus trips to schools in Wilmington and Joliet. College basketball trips, one as far as Washington D.C., padded my growing stockpile of new experiences.

I then actively sought and created a career that somehow required distant journeys.  My work at the University of St. Francis was underlined with initiating and overseeing multiple campus locations throughout the country. While at Regis University for 27 years, travel increased incrementally until I had pursued and developed consulting jobs and partnerships throughout the United States and internationally.

As with any travel that I had, personal and professional relationships were established and cultivated. I have worked with people from the Philippines, Ireland, England, Australia, Costa Rico, and Puerto Rico as well as countless others throughout the United States. Many of these folks continue to be active friends. (Below left: Pat and Kathleen in Ireland; upper right Professor McFadden in France; middle Luis and Roxanna in Puerto Rico; bottom Albert and Danny in Manila.)

While many people say that they don’t like or don’t mind driving or flying. I actually look forward to it. Yes, highway congestion and flight delays are annoying, but they needn’t be game stoppers.  Music, writing, and reading fill the void nicely when the elements are against you.  If others are near, conversations are waiting to happen.  I never met a stranger. Might even learn something.   

Because of my continued work even after I retired from full-time positions in 2013, I was able to continue my appetite for travel.  Work responsibilities have taken me to the Philippines, Ireland, Australia, Canada, Scotland, Puerto Rico, England, China, Brazil, Costa Rica, Dominican Republic, France, and every state in the Union. My vocation with Ana G Mendez University of Puerto Rico continues with campuses in Florida, in D.C., and Dallas.  

Braidwood Never Replaced

While in Braidwood, the strip mine pits were my lakes, the hills my mountains, the baseball field was my stadium.  Later in life, the pits became vast oceans, the hills became the Rockies, and Wrigley my stadium, but they never truly replaced my Braidwood fantasies. And when I fall asleep even now, I still hear the train whistles and the trucks’ airhorns better than ever. And the sirens continue to sing celestial songs.

“Travel makes one modest. You see what a tiny place you occupy in the world.” Gustav Flaubert