by M. Blake

Sal and Dean were much less ridiculous when taken in at 20, the story less sad, yet 20 years later you see how, inevitably, it would peter out, racing down the countless roads that never did lead to the broken peaceful old age Sal talks about, when the retired old beatsters live on the same street with their families, no, their racing minds ran down long before their bodies did, they got old quick upstairs, crazy and muttering to themselves, tired of never finding that one satisfying place, that destination where they felt comfortable, always going (at least Dean who went out counting the tracks) and Sal finding no paradise in the next six pack. And some of the others cashing in on the Name of the generation, making careers on into old age playing the long gone daddies from another time when America really Blew! Wow, man.

Yet you could still feel, at 40, something for their early wanderings, the frenetic pace, the car trips and nonstop talk, the ongoing poetry-prose, the bop in the air, you could still feel a touch of that youth from that story of a different time, for you knew yourself that feeling of GOING with just a suggestion of a plan. You could sense the youngsters’ excitement, and that’s what really makes the story, their thrilling to the KICKS and unforeseen episodes that came their way, their willingness to take on whatever came along those miles of blacktop, in whatever territory, regardless the weather, the jazz in everything they did.

And you recognize things that are still the same about the road, the characters wandering here and there, still going just for the sake of going, tired old road dogs and excited youngsters new to it, though the law has made it much harder for hitchhikers, and men don’t ride the rails like they used to. You still and always will have people infected with the wanderlust who throw over past lives and routine for the sake of an adventure; you still have explorers and seekers out there. He had met plenty of them, characters who could very well have come from Kerouac’s pages. He had been one himself, and still was to some extent, at heart. He would be at sixty. There would always be that thrill of starting out on a road trip, what really made it all worthwhile – the going itself. The destination was always a letdown after a while. You could only hope to find some peace and understanding inside, and you’re rooting for Sal and Dean to reach that last and most important place, even though, at the end of the book, you’re not sure that they do. There is that sadness hanging in the air on the last page, with Sal back in Jersey, and Dean on the train west. By that time, as Sal seems to realize, the magic is gone; they left it somewhere on that road.

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