Go home said the man in the moon go home
Go home said the man in the moon go home
Because its gettinsorta late and Ill soon turn out my light
Go home said the man in the moon
Go home
We didnt know who we were, we didnt know what we did
We were just on the road
We didnt know who we were, we didnt know what we did
We were just a ridin on
We were just a ridin on the road*
I've taken exactly three road trips in my life that were “serious” road trips.
The first was in 1980, when my mother and I drove from Colorado to California, in summer, in a car with no air conditioning. (It was a blue Subaru named Arnold.). I remember that she tried to order beer in Salt Lake City, and that we mocked street names like G1/2 (in Grand Junction, CO), and city names (No Name, Colorado and Silt, Utah) and that neither of us were terribly impressed by the Great Salt Lake.
The second was in March, 1995, when Fuzzy and I drove all my stuff from California to South Dakota. Summer would have been better, because at least we wouldn't have had to buy chains for the moving van, which, ironically, we didn't even need to use, because the snowline kept changing right as we approached it. (We did get snowed in at Kearney, NE, but it was romantic, not awful.)
The third was when we moved from California to Texas last year, and I can't elaborate on that, because the story's being published in September, but on all three trips, I remember watching the moon at night and thinking that there was nothing to fear because the moon was the same moon.
It's only just struck me that in all three cases I was going TO a new home, not fleeing an old one.
He was born in the summer of his 27th year
Cominâ™ home to a place heâ™d never been before
He left yesterday behind him, you might say he was born again
You might say he found a key for every door. **
*”On the Road,” John Denver
**”Rocky Mountain High,” John Denver