Spontaneous Derivation

My first road trip in my life was a solo run.


I did it out of desperation.

When the University laid me off, I lost my monthly stipend, which hurt, and my tuition grant, which hurt much more. I had all of $4000 and a used Saturn to my name, and no safety net.

Something had to be done.

A friend in a consulting company offered to refer me. The problem: said company was not in the same state. Or a neighboring state. Additional problem: position might go away soon if I don't get there as close to "now" as possible.

This meant: road trip.

Preparations were not made lightly. It's difficult for me to locate the printer room on the floor I work on everyday, much less travel several thousand miles. Fortunately, there was MapQuest.

Early morning, I grabbed an egg salad sandwich and drove off.

The moment I left University grounds felt oddly mythical. Heading out on a quest, across the heartland of America. My steed untested outside of five miles at a stretch. In the back, an interview suit, self-assembled. On the passenger side, my talisman, How Would You Move a Mountain?. In my heart, fear and anticipation.

I passed the flatlands in silence, because my car didn't have a radio.

I thought about epics. Lord of the Rings. Beowulf. Gilgamesh. American Gods. I felt as if, at any moment, the fabric of space-time might rent and unleash all the psychotropism of Zelazny's Amber. When travelling across plains that stretch the horizon out all the way, resorting to the surreal is the only answer to all the space.

I got horribly lost in the city and spent two hours trying to find the fucking motel.

My night was sleepless, so I sat by the room window and watched the insect nightlife flit around the tall sulfur lighting in the open parking lot.

The next day: interviews and more interviews.

There was a certain lack of enthusiasm.

I left the same day and spent an awful hour trying to get out of the city. When my car once again sped across the endless plains, in the company of heroes, I breathed in relief. I didn't want the journey to end. I didn't want to come home. Let the highway never end.

Got lost in the cornfields skirting University for two hours, which was not so pleasant.

In my dorm room, I listened to the message from the consulting company.

So what? But of course, it mattered quite a lot to me at the time.

I lay down on my bed and stared at the ceiling. I had filled my brain with interview techniques and preparation and approaches to answering really odd questions. And still some damn snake had eaten the plant of immortality.

I needed something different.

On my knees, I hunted for a book under the bed. Then I got back in bed, because sometimes you need to do that.

And I started reading Lord of Light.

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Dedicated to Roger Zelazny. May he continue to write wherever he is.