Rocinante

Reimagining the journey: Williston, Vermont to Philadelphia. Friday, March 6, 2026

It’s hard to let go, but let go I have. In my fairly recent post, Dénouement, I came to terms with the realization that completing the state highpoints from “sea to summit” under human power is no longer realistic, reasonable, or fair to my family. I’ve done over half of them (26) that way, and will content myself with completing them less rigidly. Like everybody else, I will rely on internal combustion to get me at least part of the way there.

At least I’m good company. Many of the great travel narratives, from the likes of Jack Kerouac, Bill Bryson, William Least Heat-Moon, John Updike involved automobiles, and perhaps most notably John Steinbeck, in his Travels with Charley. Steinbeck outfitted himself with a new campervan for his journey, and responded to the skepticism and sarcasm of his friends by naming it Rocinante, the steed of the man of La Mancha, wingman for his impossible dream. I looked up the name on Wikipedia: “In many ways, Rocinante is not only Don Quixote’s horse, but also his double; like Don Quixote, he is awkward, past his prime, and engaged in a task beyond his capacities.”

Seemed about right. This highpoint quest has always seemed vainglorious, a grandiose expedition. In the two years since my last installment I’ve resisted, with limited success, emulating Bryson’s waddlesome sloth. The gym and a bunch of shorter journeys have only partially kept me away from the ravages of my beloved easy chair. It’s time to get moving again, to tilt at a few more windmills. Steinbeck had his Fair Elaine, and I have my Fair Jane to accompany me. We needed a new minivan anyway, so why not name it Rocinante?

You heard that right. Jane is accompanying me. I get to have my cake and eat it too. We’re lighting off for the horizon, in search of gardens, antique stores, and highpoints (the eight “easy” ones in the South and southern Great Plains.) We listened to the Steinbeck book on the first leg of the journey, to Jane’s sister’s house near Philadelphia. Seven hours of driving, migrating from snow-covered mountainsides to the dreary, not-yet-spring countryside of the middle Atlantic states. Our e-bikes are mounted on the back, constantly triggering the auto-stop brake when I put it in reverse, and doubtlessly getting coated with salty road spray. We tried covering them up, but that completely blocked my rear view.

Hi-Yo, Rocinante! Off to the Deep South with my Dulcinea! And that’s not just whistling Dixie.