In the olden days I was a great fan of assorted guys who wrote books about Travel. Sometimes these were guidebooks to certain places, as in the Franz collective and the People’s Guide to Mexico, which tells how to get your van in shape for a trip south, and what to do when you get there–by no means a dry Frommer’s listing of starred hotels. Other times, not. (Colin Fletcher just told you how to do long hiking trips.)

The Euro specialist guy was named Rick Steves. I’ve never been over, but I’ve read him pretty deeply. Where I have been, in the last two years, the public radio has his show on at times convenient to my former driving schedule. He’s probably older than me, and he’s the last man standing, that I know of, among the group of people I once read so avidly.

The NYTimes podcast had him on recently. I’ll leave it for you to dig out–it’s worth it. He lives up in WA state, describes himself as privileged now, and is a dedicated stoner.

His version of the spill isn’t daily or published. He has a collection of journals that he only writes in when he’s high. In the podcast he reads us bits. It’s stoner stuff, but it’s pretty good anyway.

My favorite part of this interview was him describing a meal on an Italian farm where everything they had, right down to the wine, was made on the site. It’s connected with this idea of dying free, living free, in my head.

Today I’ll be travelling too, for the first time in a good long while. Merciful fate allowed me a little extra time at the dawning of the day to tell you this, because we all know how bad I suck at spilling daily when I’m on the road.