U-Turn

Today, Erik and I drove to the end of the world. I say that with some seriousness and some sarcasm. In Ushuaia, Argentina which is the southernmost city in the world, everything is “at the end of the world.” We drank at the “Irish bar… at the end of the world.” We read the paper titled “Journal of the end of the world.” The sandwiches we eat are called “The Hamburger… at the end of world,” and every tourist t-shirt shop makes sure to include that ending on every shirt they sell. We have already added it into our standard conversation as well. “Want to grab a beer…at the end of world?” or “I have to hit the head… you know… at the end of the world.” It pretty much enhances everything we say, and as Erik says, it makes us sound “certified.” I’m still not sure what we are certified for, but I go along with it and will add “certified” to my résumé when I get home and start looking for a job.

In reality, arriving at the end of the world was the same feeling you get on New Years Eve when the clock strikes midnight. A lot of hype followed by the feeling “Wait, did I miss it?” It was probably the most overrated part of our trip and we hung out just long enough to snap a few pictures that we can over-glorify when we return as the conquering heroes.

The goal of driving until the road stopped felt self-explanatory. It was like when they asked Sir Edmund Hillary why he wanted to climb Everest: "Because it's there". Seems logical, but I still had a lingering annoyance that bothered me for much of this trip. Essentially it is the “reason we did this” question that we get asked over and over again. Anyone who sees the van always has that same question. It doesn’t matter if it's the guy at a gas station, national park, another tourist or whoever; it’s always the same question:

What made you decide to do this?

For Erik, the answer is easy. You can see him stoke his beard a couple times and ramp up an Obama-esque speech, building momentum as it progresses. “My wife is ready to have kids and I decided that I needed one more adventure before that next stage in my life. I quit my job on my 10 year anniversary and decided to get busy living. So we packed the car and headed south for some fly fishing and adventure.”

When I worked in sales, we would basically call that “The 30 Second Speech.” It is something that makes an impression in 30 seconds and leaves people wanting more. The info he rattles off with kids, early retirement and adventure leads to wide eyes and amazement followed by more questions. Trust me, it is a good sell.

Me? It’s a little bit harder. The person will usually look at me after Erik’s story and ask for my half. “Wow that is amazing. Why did you decide to do this?” I will squirm a little. “Hmmmm, well. Jeeze. How much time do you have to listen to the theories of my psychological makeup complete with Peter Pan Neverland hypothesis and a general restlessness of men under the age of 30?”

Actually that is not what I say. It usually comes out as, “I like fishing and driving” in my Forrest Gump voice. Exciting, I know. The follow-up question for my story usually is, “So Erik, do you know how many kids you are going to have?”

I’m not ashamed that I don't have the explanation for my decision. Honestly, I just don’t know. I think about it all the time, and as you can imagine, 17,000 miles has given me plenty of time to think; why did I decide to take this trip?

The other day I was tying flies in the lodge of a campground when I noticed an old guy watching me. When he saw that I noticed him, he got up and walked over. He was an old Argentinean guy with a voice that sounded like he ate sandpaper for breakfast and washed it down with a pack of Marlboros. He watched closely for a minute, then in deep deep voice he started to speak:

"I know a fisherman, he's son-of-a-bitch. But he does what you do. He makes these bugs. One time he told me that there is a bug. This bug only lives one day. Alive in the morning, dead by dusk. This bug he knows no night. Knows no stars. Knows nothing more than one day. I can not imagine such a life. Can you?"

I looked at him speechless while the hair rose on the back of my neck and chills ran down my spine. No. I can not imagine not knowing.

Now that we are at the end of the world, with many other travelers on their own quest, my response comes easy.

"I wanted to know" and I leave it at that.

That may be the certification I was looking for.