ON THE ROAD - Short Story 3 (Short Stories for Artists, Poets and those who Wander)

 

Many years ago I was feeling down, it seemed like all my ships had sunk. But my luck changed one day when I was able to buy a Moped. A Moped stands for motor pedal bike, which meant you could pedal it like a normal bike but it also had a 2 stroke engine. Unlike a normal motor bike you need not wear a helmet which is unpleasant in hot weather, (and need not have a license). But for a small bike it could go faster than anyone expected. My wandering abilities were greatly enhanced for this small bike could take me through the roughest roads.

One day I realized that because people live everywhere the road network crisscrosses the whole island, but even a famous politician would have traveled on less than 3 percent of the roads. This is because most people use only highways and the by roads that lead to their homes, workplace and the homes of friends. So typically a person would have seen only a small fraction of the island they lived in, so I decided to explore some of the obscure roads of my island on my moped, eating at any roadside boutique I came across. Those were carefree days, and how I enjoyed them, and although like most people responsibilities eventually overwhelmed me, I have fond memories of the roads I traveled in the bygone years of my youth. Alas, my moped eventually broke down from over use, and I still have it in my back yard rusting a little more everyday, but I can’t get myself to sell. So when I read Jack Kerouac's novel "On The Road" it really moved me.

When 'On the Road' hit bookshelves in 1957, it wasn’t just a novel—it was a jolt. A literary sparkplug that captured the restless heartbeat of postwar America, Jack Kerouac’s defining work became the anthem of wanderers, outsiders, and anyone who felt the country’s highways humming with possibility. More than half a century later, the book still feels alive. Wild. Impulsive. Human. And, most importantly, free. Kerouac wrote On the Road in a feverish burst of creativity, famously typing the first draft on a 120-foot roll of paper over the course of three weeks. The result was a novel that reads like the country feels when you’re barreling across it: loose, musical, and honestly imperfect. The story follows Sal Paradise and the magnetic, reckless Dean Moriarty as they hitchhike, bus-hop, and speed across America, from New York to Denver, San Francisco to New Orleans, chasing experiences that might explain something about life, themselves, or simply the next sunrise. Beneath the movement lies Kerouac’s aching search for meaning in a world changing faster than anyone could fully grasp. The book challenged conformity, questioning authority, and injecting music inspired spontaneity into prose. But Kerouac himself was a shy, disciplined writer with the soul of a wanderer. A man steeped in Catholic spirituality yet drawn to adventure. A poet who romanticized freedom but struggled with its consequences.

Kerouac's life mirrored his art: long journeys, intense friendships, restless searching. Yet fame unexpectedly crushed him. Despite becoming the reluctant voice of a generation, he felt misunderstood: celebrated for promoting rebellion, though he believed he was writing about spiritual yearning and human connection.