Back in July, Erik told us about
the amazing journey of hiker Andrew Skurka, who walked across the United States from the Atlantic to the Pacific.
Somehow I came across Skurka’s website yesterday and had a little chuckle when I read this:
On August 6, 2004, I filled up a small flask with Atlantic Ocean water at Cape Gaspe,
Quebec. For the next eleven months the flask was a daily reminder of the ultimate objective of my efforts — to pour it
over my head with my feet in the Pacific. On July 10, 2005, I finally got to do it.
I was not laughing at Skurka’s incredible two-feet feat. In fact, I’m completely inspired and in awe of what he has
achieved. What struck me and caused some laughter was his ritual of carrying the Atlantic Ocean water with him all the
way to the Pacific. See, THAT, I actually have done, although I can’t personally take credit for it. Here’s the
story:
In 1991, I drove cross-country with my father on a business/adventure trip. We were delivering furniture to a client
of his on the west coast, and enjoyed some father/daughter bonding time along the way. My dad’s an artist and a super
creative guy, so we headed out in our Rent-A-Wreck with a glass jar full of water from the Atlantic. (His idea.) When
we got to St. Louis, we dumped some of the Atlantic into the Mississippi and kept some of the river water in the jar as
well. We repeated this at the Rio Grande and then again when we got to the Pacific Ocean. We also collected a stone
from each state we drove through, and actually took all these natural momentos back east with us on the plane ride
home. It may sound a bit zany, but ya gotta love Dad’s enthusiasm for cherishing the journey. This ongoing collection
of water and rock was odd, yes, but also one of my most vivid and cherished memories of the trip.
And here’s the kicker — since I’m currently living with my folks, I decided to ask Dad about the fate of these
earthly souviners while writing up this post. As soon as I utterer the word “jar”, my father walked into the den,
reached up to a top shelf behind the TV and produced a pickle jar filled with murky water and black grit. YES, almost
fifteen years later folks, and pop still has the jar, tucked away above the DVD player.
My goodness.
Skurka’s trip was obviously a totally different adventure than what Dad and I experienced, but I found comfort in
the fact that he chose a similar ritual to guide his journey. Skurka, however, dumped the water over himself, a kind of
ritualistic cleansing after a long and life-changing walk. Dad and I won’t be cleaning anything with the water from our
cross country trip, but I have a feeling it might be sitting on that same shelf five to ten years from now. It’s a
souviner that I don’t necessarily ever have to see again, but just knowing it’s still around somehow makes the memories
of the trip that much sweeter.
If you’ve got a cross country ritual story to share, please do. I’d love to hear what kind of trip you took and what
you collected or gathered to commemorate or guide your journey. And do you still have it!??!