Sometimes triathletes are too uptight. I don't suppose I can cure that with one article, but if every word helps a little, below are words I’m lending to the cause.

I rode with Pete Penseyres, he of RAAM fame, yesterday. I was working him pretty good on the hills, I must say, but I did also feel, nonetheless, a need to barf. I explained that while there may not have been a causal relationship between my present gastrointestinal state and last night's gastronomical antics—including the off-polishing (no dangling prepositions on Slowtwitch) of two bottles of red wine—such possibility could not be discarded.

"Do you suppose," he said after thinking deeply, "that such a lifestyle is inconsistent with a high-caliber athletic existence?"

"Absolutely not," I said, and went on to explain that neither was I alone with the bottles, nor were the three of us swapping swigs of T-bird. These were two bottles of '85 Rioja, Gran Riserva, four years in the barrel. Not only that, this wine washed down seared ahi and giant prawns stuffed with foie gras on a bed of risotto with truffles. So there.

"Two advantages to this," I explained to Pete. "First, the experience of a truly great wine. Second, the knowledge that—should you come around me during one of our regular sprints—you’ll know it is at your peril. I still feel a desire to hurl, which manifests itself in particular when I'm out of the saddle sprinting hard. I’ll be glad to lead out."

This may seem, at face value, not to have much to do with an essay about Road Tripping. But the fact is, triathletes do not overmuch engage in Road Trips, and this episode with Pete is illustrative of the reason why. It is the downside to the great sense of responsibility embodied by overachieving athletes. It kills the spirit of adventure. Makes one too prudent. Perhaps it's the propensity toward achievement—first and foremost—with the requisite sense of responsibility erected afterward. (You can't enjoy the first unless you develop the second.)

All that is well and good. But one day you wake up and realize your sense of adventure, while still being there, is nothing you allow yourself to exercise. Hence, no Road Trips.

I shall attempt to define Road Trip. Being in your car, and driving, does not make you "on a Road Trip" any more than being in a garage makes you a car. Road Trip is a state of mind. You can be on a Road Trip with others, or you can take one alone. You can take one in a car or on a bike (or on foot, for that matter). Road Trips always involve adventure, freedom, a little danger, and a sense that your Trip is a "counter-encounter." The idea behind a Road Trip is to go against that which is normally your—and society's—status quo. So your Trip is an encounter with that which is counter to your normal state.

Best, I think, for me to recommend some classic Road Trip reading. Two books that immediately come to mind are Jack Kerouac's "On The Road" (the Road Trip bible) and Hunter S. Thompson's "Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas." You must divorce yourself from the drugs, alcoholism, misogyny, narcissism, firearms, ordnance and exceeding of posted speed limits.

There's a spirit inhabiting these books. Keep that and throw out the rest.

A natural intersection between triathletes and Road Trips occurs. Being a triathlete gives one the power to go places, and triathletes are always up for challenges. There are two particular kinds of Road Trips I like. The first is the "UPS/credit card" trip. This is where you figure out where you’re going to ride to from day to day, and then you send your change of cycling clothes via UPS, along with some tape, to each destination. Then you take off on your bike with a credit card in your jersey pocket and come back in four or five days. When you return you send out UPS call-tags to each hotel, where your previous day’s clothing is boxed up (hence the tape you send in each box). With this sort of trip you’re ready for high-speed bike travel to interesting and exotic places.

My second favorite kind of trip is where you take your cycling and running stuff and drive to the mountains for a few days with some routes in mind. You could make motel reservations in advance, but that dampens the spirit of adventure

I’m thinking about this right now because Pete—my usual Wednesday riding partner—will not be around for the next few Wednesdays. He’s taking the train tomorrow to Eugene, Oregon, from where he intends to ride forthwith over hill and dale on secret BLM roads, through the Avenue of the Giants, and on to San Francisco. Then he’ll take the train back to San Diego.

I have to stay here and work. So much for Pete and his over-developed sense of responsibility. So much for my lack of it.