Today is my wife’s birthday. I won’t give away how old she is, but it’s somewhere between 40 and 42. I gave her a gift that I had ordered online and then hid in the RV for nearly eight weeks. It’s a print that shows a little red trailer festooned with hearts and beneath it a few words:

THE JOURNEY
NOT THE ARRIVAL
MATTERS

And over the past decade or so, Amy’s birthday has usually taken place right in the middle of a journey. In fact, it has emerged as a traveling tradition amid our summer RV excursions. Last year, Amy was in Washington, D.C. with her sister. The year before, she was in her hometown of Highland Park, Illinois, with her parents. The year before that? San Francisco. She turned 35 in Lake Nebagamon, Wisconsin, joined by my parents at the summer camp that has been special to our family for generations. She turned 31 in Malibu, our RV parked at a campground on a bluff high above the Pacific Ocean.

Amy isn’t big on celebrating her birthday. She prefers to escape the hubbub, figuring it just means she’s one year older. But at least these varied locales provide her with an annual sense of uniqueness, a notion that each birthday is special in its own way. So this year, Amy celebrates the anniversary of her birth in… Buckley, Michigan.

Now I know there must be some of you out there wondering, Is that really what Amy wants to be doing on her birthday? Is that really where she wants to be? Well, consider our day:

We woke up and did a quick TV interview (in the RV) on the Fox news affiliate in Grand Rapids. Which went well, except for the part when the hand microphone fell apart mid-interview. But that was a temporary blip. Then we spent the rest of the morning strolling around the grounds of Meijer Gardens, which is truly a jewel in that city. It is a garden (sculpture and plant), but also a children’s playground, a boardwalk hike through wetlands and a sort of landscape art gallery (Dale Chihuly’s blown glass masterpieces were masterfully coordinated with the surroundings, as if part of it).

Not a bad morning.

Then we had a late lunch in the RV – ham, brie and apple sandwiches. Afterward, we drove a couple of hours north along Hwy 131 through the forests and lakes of Michigan (the boys watched a movie; we watched the scenery through the big windshield – actually, Amy spent most of the drive receiving birthday wishes on her cell phone).

Not a bad afternoon.

When we arrived at our campground in Buckley, we played a family game of Wiffle ball, followed by some cheese, chicken  and broccoli baked potatoes for dinner, then a family game of Nebagamonopoly (it’s a version of Monopoly devoted to that summer camp – I had it specially made for my dad’s 70th birthday this month). The kids ate ice cream sandwiches for dessert, then they read books in their bunk beds for a half-hour or so before turning out the lights.

Not a bad evening.

That’s pretty Rockwellian day, no? Almost nauseatingly so, right? But really, not a bad way to spend a birthday.

Still, my favorite traveling birthday for Amy was the one in 1996, during a 314-day excursion that represented our inaugural foray into the RV experience. On July 26 of that year, we were headed toward a lonely South Dakota hamlet called Faith, along an unpaved road, past long-abandoned homesteads. That’s when the weather rolled in – armadas of dark clouds, followed by thunder like cannonballs and the relentless pounding of a Heartland hailstorm.

We pulled over to the side of the road and waited. And then, a few long minutes later, it stopped as suddenly as it had arrived. We were bathed in bright sunlight and beautiful silence. Just the two of us. And a rainbow arched over the prairie, gift-wrapped for my wife.

In honor of our visit a couple of days ago to the Dr. Seuss Sculpture Garden in Springfield, Massachusetts, birthplace of Theodore Seuss Geisel, I’ve decided to pay homage to the finest children’s author and illustrator there ever was. And because Independence Day is almost here, I’ve decided to write an American road-tripper’s version of a Dr. Seuss classic.

But what Seuss classic conjures an image of an RV cruising down a highway? With a tip of the cap to the feline chap, the green-themed breakfast and the obsessive elephant, the choice is easy: Oh, the Places You’ll Go has long been a popular graduation gift. It is a whimsical-but-wise commencement speech of sorts, an attempt to mentor, motivate and prepare the reader for the ups and downs on the road ahead.

You’re on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.

So let’s take it on the road. And oh, the places you’ll go…

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!

With a big house on wheels and nothing to lose,
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.
You’re out on your own with a traveling home base.
So hit the road now, go at your own pace.

You’ll look at a map. Say, “I want to go there.”
And head out of town to the wide open air.
It’s much wider there, and it’s opener, too.
So many grand sights to go rumbling through.

Go south if the mood hits. Head west if you dare.
Head north by northeast and everywhichwhere.
Along the road less traveled, much less steeped in fame,
You’ll find unusual places with exotic names.

So make your way out to Kalamazoo,
To Goosepimple Junction and a town called Wahoo.
Find Nimrod and Noodle, Hoople and Zap,
Those dots between squiggles on your tiny map.

I hear Wanderoos is a wonderful spot.
And a town known as Why. And another, Whynot.
Head squarely toward Oblong and straight to Zigzag,
Jugtown and Peever, Ding Dong and Drag.

Go for Goofy Ridge. You might even try Odd,
Cheesquake and Bowlegs, Gackle and Nod.
There’s a hamlet called HooHoo and, of course, Walla Walla.
Or Cuckoo. Or Ubet. Or Bobo. Eufala?

From Monkey’s Eyebrow, head toward Lizard Lick.
The options are endless. Just take your pick.
Perhaps Girdletree, Goochland or Crum,
Nanty Glo, Neversink and a town called Tum Tum.

Eek! That’s another. Humptulips and Yaak.
Head for the highway. Come on! Don’t turn back.
There’s a town called Woonsocket and a place called What Cheer.
So set a course that-ways. There’s nothing to fear.

In those open spaces below that big sky,
You’ll find what you seek – that is, if you try.
There are wonders out there. Somewhere, yes indeed.
(98 and ¾ percent guaranteed!)

You’ll realize out there, with each passing mile,
Where the tumbleweeds twirl and the sunflowers smile, 
Out there, where the arches and hoodoos are growing,
That the be all and end all is not where you’re going.

Your destiny is not about your destination,
Not your final stop on this RV vacation.
You’ll soon understand, amid this road swing,
The lesson we all learn.
The journey’s the thing.

Why doesn’t every author do a book tour in an RV?

I’ve been writing about the places we’ve seen, the insights we’ve gleaned, the people we’ve met, but I haven’t told you all that much about the other aspect of this two-month summer journey – my book launch.

TURN LEFT AT THE TROJAN HORSE: A Would-be Hero’s American Odyssey was officially published about a month ago. Did I mention that it’s the best thing I’ve written? That it’s a journey both intimate and epic about a search for the heroic ideal? That it was one of only 20 books chosen to the Indie Next “Great Reads” list this month? That anyone who enjoys my blogs and likes to travel would likely LOVE to come along on my cross-country journey from Iliad (Montana) to Ithaca (New York)? But I digress…

Those first few weeks are crucial to any book’s success. So what better way to spread the word than by traveling with my family from city to city, bookstore to bookstore, all the while never leaving home? It is, after all, a travel memoir. I suspect that if Tom Wolfe could have publicized The Right Stuff by hopping aboard a Gemini rocket, he would have done so in a heartbeat.

So I’ve done author events in Detroit and Rochester and, just a few days ago, in Framingham, Massachusetts. I’ve stopped in bookstores to sign my books in places like Batavia (New York) and Burlington (Vermont) and Farmington (Maine). I’ve done TV interviews in Syracuse and Bangor and Providence. I’ve appeared on the front page of the Ithaca Journal, standing alongside my family and in front of the Winnebago Vista that has carried us some 2,500 miles so far.

The flexibility provided by our means of travel is evident in how we’ve arrived at the bookstores. In Detroit (actually, West Bloomfield), we drove straight to the Barnes & Noble, parked in the big lot and walked into the bookstore. In Burlington, we parked at a couple of parking meters, strolled along a charming pedestrian mall and happened upon a Borders bookstore. In Rochester, we parked a couple of blocks away from Lift Bridge Book Shop. In Framingham, we parked for the night in front of my cousin’s house, a couple of miles away from my appointed author appearance. We all went out for dinner and then to the event. Whatever works.

But it does work. And it helps me as an author. I read from my book at each event – and I have more coming up in Fairfield (CT), White Plains (NY), Philadelphia, Bethesda, Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Lexington, Louisville, Mishawaka (IN), Petoskey (MI) and Chicago. But before I read, I discuss the book – the genesis, the process, the epiphanies. Having arrived at the bookstore by traversing the nation’s highways – approximating the same movie-of-America feeling that I benefitted from while researching the book – I’m in a better place (metaphysically speaking) to discuss my travels.

So we motor on… and I’m only halfway done with my tour. Maybe I’ll see you at one of my upcoming events. I’ll be the guy in the RV.