The Bell Curve -- Joseph N. Bell

My wife and I spent most of last week in Boulder, Colo., where we

helped celebrate the graduation from high school of my youngest grandson,

Trent Simpson. He will be off to George Washington University in the fall

to study international relations. If we can keep the world from imploding

until he finishes college, he might be able to save us. He has more

breadth and humanitarianism at age 18 than I had when I came home a lot

older from a war.

There were 500 students in his graduating class, and the ceremonies

were held in the University of Colorado field house before a crowd of

extended families probably greater than the university basketball team

drew all year. It was uncommonly hot, and the program -- with all those

diplomas to hand out -- was long.

But despite the heat, our weekend was an altogether satisfying and

rewarding coming together of people who don’t see each other nearly often

enough and were connected powerfully on this day by their love for an

18-year-old kid -- and allowed that love to permeate all the events we

shared.

It was well worth the almost six days we spent on the road. My wife

and I drove to Boulder, an indulgence made possible by her new work

regimen out of our home. There is no exhilaration greater for me than

pointing a car away from home toward distant people, places and

adventures unknown. Even the familiar is fresh and exciting with each new

trip.

And the familiar en route to Boulder is a chaotic mix of natural

wonders and some of man’s most unnatural creations. That would be the

canyon land of Utah and the stately Rocky Mountains on the one hand and

Las Vegas on the other. Unhappily, they all hold great attractions for

me.

We stopped in Vegas briefly both coming and going. I managed to win

enough on the way out to feel temporarily flush and then lose it on the

way home. The rest of the trip was much more satisfying. In the process,

we relearned some lessons about increasing the comfort level of a long

car trip that might be helpful if you have one in mind.

At the top of the list would be to give yourself enough time slack to

wander off the interstate occasionally to have a closer look at the

people and places that are little more than a blur from the highway. Two

cases in point in Utah. We remembered Cedar City as the site of a Tony

Award-winning Shakespearean festival and drove into town to pick up a

brochure and visit the splendid theater complex on the campus of Southern

Utah University that will house a provocative summer and fall schedule.

Then a few hours up the road, we tired of eating picnic food in the

car and detoured into the town of Richfield for a real meal.

And there we found the Little Wonder Cafe. And one of the wonders --

in addition to an excellent chicken fried steak -- is a booth with a

plaque over it that reads “Wilford Brimley Sat Here.” Brimley is a

character actor you’ve seen in a thousand movies, probably without

remembering his name; he, too, must have turned off the highway for some

home cooking.

Vail, Colo. -- too crowded and too expensive during the ski season --

is wonderfully quiet and peaceful in the summer. The biggest rush of

activity is the stream that bisects Vail and is hustling this time of

year to carry melted snow to some unknown destination. We had lunch

beside this stream, whose sound restored the peace of mind that had been

severely threatened in Las Vegas. It also delivered the epiphany that

almost always comes to me at some point during my auto trips.

At Vail, it was a man in a kayak just below where we were having

lunch. He was trying to paddle his kayak upstream and would get it to the

point of a tiny waterfall, scarcely more than a gurgle but strong enough

to turn him around and send him back downstream. There he would patiently

try all over again. We watched this exercise in futility throughout

lunch, then just as we were leaving, he actually made it across the tiny

rapids. But even before I could applaud his success, he allowed himself

to be carried back over the rapids and was starting a whole new series of

efforts to paddle upstream again.

The lesson seemed implicit. Paddling upstream against a strong current

is an enormous waste of effort and finally becomes an end in itself when,

after a small success, you allow yourself to be sucked back into that

same situation.

It was a lesson especially useful on the road where you have the time

and opportunity to allow small irritations to fester. Before we reached

Vail, I did that several times, paddling furiously upstream toward a

conclusion that probably wasn’t going to happen and was never worth the

effort. I hope I’ll remember that kayaker now that I’m home. But

especially the next time I take off on a car trip.

* JOSEPH N. BELL is a resident of Santa Ana Heights. His column

appears Thursdays.