In wishing to complete a coast-to-coast trip, I made the brilliant decision to start my journey at Ocean City, New Jersey, at the brilliant hour of 4:30 in the morning, suckering my brilliant friend Amy to join me. Being almost as daft as I am on occasion, she agreed to accompany me for this first leg of the trip. I really wanted to see the sunrise on the first day of my trip, you see.
It was a moment more conjured than remembered, with attention to detail forfeited for an overall desire for importance: to fix my eyes over all that is America and demand a mere tenth of the anticipation I'd felt over the last six months to live up to its potential.
Amy and I sat in a lifeguard tower, slowly losing ourselves to exhaustion, while finishing a bowl of fruit salad, dropping forks in the sand, relieving ourselves under the boardwalk, singing "Under The Boardwalk," eating breakfast at a small cafe, then heading back to the car parked a mere hundred yards from the beach.
It didn't happen, this moment of grandeur that belongs to the beginning of all long and epic voyages. It couldn't have. I stood there, with the Atlantic at my back, and all the rest of America in front of me, and said, "well, here goes nothing."