"What is Roadjag, anyway?"
If we had a nickel for every time someone asked us this question, we'd be spending a weekend at the slots in Reno right now.
First of all, a brief word about what Roadjag is not. It is not a "'Thelma and Louise' thing."
Don't get us wrong -- "Thelma and Louise" is a fine movie, one of our favorites. But to imply that we are merely craven wannabes is insulting. Roadjag is unique and much more than an homage.
And consider this: The U.S. premiere of "Thelma and Louise" was May 24, 1991 ... after the first documented Roadjag. Case closed.
So then, what is Roadjag? It helps to look at the etymology: two words, road plus jag, make Roadjag.
Fairly simple: Most of our excursions involve driving, although we've been known to fly when necessary. (And we wouldn't say no to Concorde tickets.)
Driving means we get to stop for snacks, take wrong turns, organize and re-organize the passenger area, read crappy romance novels, complain about other drivers, listen to quality local AM radio, remain vigilant for Highway Patrol officers late at night, and watch the scenery out the window during the day. Driving means it takes almost as long to get there and back as we spend at our destination -- which means that truly, getting there is half the fun. Or not getting there, as the case may be.
The romance of the road has been well-documented in American letters. Aside from Jack Kerouac, there's Joan Didion, who wrote
Catherine participating in the road, 1991.
Mere driving on the freeway is in no way the same as participating in it. Anyone can "drive" on the freeway, and many people with no vocation for it do, hesitating here and resisting there, losing the rhythm of the lane change, thinking about where they came from and where they are going. Actually participants think only about where they are. Actual participation requires a total surrender, a concentration so intense as to seem a kind of narcosis, a rapture-of-the-freeway. The mind goes clean. The rhythm takes over. A distortion of time occurs, the same distortion that characterizes the instant before an accident. It takes only a few seconds to get off the Santa Monica Freeway at National-Overland, which is a difficult exit requiring the driver to cross two new lanes of traffic streamed in from the San Diego Freeway, but those few seconds always seem to me the longest part of the trip. The moment is dangerous. The exhilaration is in doing it.
(From The White Album)
And then, of course, there's Hunter S. Thompson, whose ür-voyage in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas has pretty much set the standard. Although the entire book is in fact required reading for anyone who aspires to the Way of Jag, here's a brief automotive-related snippet demonstrating the kind of road bravado to which we aspire.
About five miles back I had a brush with the CHP. Not stopped or pulled over; nothing routine. I always drive properly. A bit fast, perhaps, but always with consummate skill and a natural feel for the road that even cops recognize. No cop was ever born who isn't a sucker for a finely-executed hi-speed Controlled Drift all the way around one of those clover-leaf freeway interchanges.
Few people understand the psychology of dealing with a highway traffic cop. Your normal speeder will panic and immediately pull over to the side when he sees the big red light behind him ... and then he will start apologizing, begging for mercy.
This is wrong. It arouses contempt in the cop-heart. The thing to do -- when you're running along about a hundred or so and suddenly find a red-flashing CHP-tracker on your tail -- what you want to do then is accelerate. Never pull over with the first siren-howl. Mash it down and make the bastard chase you at speeds up to 120 all the way to the next exit. He will follow. But he won't know what to make of your blinker-signal that says you're about to turn right.
This is to let him know you're looking for a proper place to pull off and talk ... keep signaling and hope for an off-ramp, one of those uphill side-loops with a sign saying "Max Speed 25" ... and the trick, at this point, is to suddenly leave the freeway and take him into the chute at no less than a hundred miles an hour.
He will lock his brakes about the same time you lock yours, but it will take him a moment to realize he's about to make a 180-degree turn at this speed ... but you will be ready for it, braced for the Gs and the fast heel-toe work, and with any luck at all you will have come to a complete stop off the road at the top of the turn and be standing beside your automobile by the time he catches up.
He will not be reasonable at first ... but no matter. Let him calm down. He will want the first word. Let him have it. His brain will be in a turmoil: he may begin jabbering or even pull his gun. Let him unwind; keep smiling. The idea is to show him that you were always in total control of yourself and your vehicle -- while he lost control of everything.
It helps to have a police/press badge in your wallet when he calms down enough to ask for your license. I had one of these -- but I also had a can of Budweiser in my hand.
Our heroine. Note the hanky clutched
in her hand, a remnant of her recent
"crying jag." She has already moved
on to something else.
No, not jag as in the TV show, and not jag as in a Jaguar convertible (although we wouldn't say no).
We're talking about jag as in a streak, a spree, a slightly-uncontrollable burst of something. Webster says of jag:
jag vb jagged; jagging [ME jaggen] vt (15c) 1 chiefly dial: PRICK, STAB 2: to cut indentations into; also: to form teeth on (a saw) by cutting indentations ˜ vi 1 : PRICK, THRUST 2 : to move in jerks -- jagger n
jag n (1578) : a sharp projecting part: BARB
jag n [origin unknown] (1597) 1: a small load 2 a: a state or feeling of exhilaration or intoxication usu. induced by liquor b: SPREE <a crying ˜>
Of course, we didn't choose the word out of the dictionary. We picked it up from one of our favorite movies, Gone With the Wind. It's just after Frank Kennedy has died and Scarlett is in mourning. Rhett comes to visit and the following crucial exchange ensues:
(Scarlett comes down, and shows Rhett into the living room.)
RHETT
It's no good, Scarlett.
SCARLETT
What?
RHETT
The cologne.
SCARLETT
I'm sure I don't know what you mean.
RHETT
I mean you've been drinking. Brandy. Quite a lot.
SCARLETT
Well, what if I had? Is that any of your affair?
RHETT
Don't drink alone, Scarlett. People always find out. And it ruins reputation. What is it? This is more than losing old Frank.
SCARLETT
Oh, Rhett. I am so afraid.
RHETT
I don't believe it. You've never been afraid in your life.
SCARLETT
I'm afraid now. I'm afraid of dying, of going to Hell.
RHETT
You look pretty healthy. And maybe there isn't any Hell.
SCARLETT
Oh, there is. I know there is. I was raised on it.
RHETT
Well, far be it for me to question the teachings of childhood. Tell me what you've done that Hell yawns before you.
SCARLETT
I ought never to have married Frank to begin with. He was Sue Ellen's beau and he loved her not me. And I made him miserable. And I killed him. Yes, I did, I'd killed him. Oh, Rhett. For the first time, I'm finding out what it is to feel sorry for something I've done.
RHETT
Here, dry your eyes. If you had it to do all over again, you'd do it no differently. You're like the thief who isn't the least bit sorry he stole but he's terribly, terribly sorry he's going to jail.
SCARLETT
I'm glad ma is dead. I'm glad she's dead so she can't see me. I always wanted to be like her, calm and kind and...and suddenly I've turned out disappointing.
RHETT
You know what, Scarlett? I think you're on the verge of a crying jag. So I'll change the subject and say what I came to say.
SCARLETT
Say it, then get out! What is it?
RHETT
That I can't go on any longer without you.
SCARLETT
Oh, you really are the most ill-bred man to come here at a time like this...
RHETT
I made up my mind you were the only woman for me, Scarlett, the first day I saw you at Twelve Oaks. Now that you've got your lumber mill and Frank's money, you won't come to me as you did at the jail. So I see I shall have to marry you.
SCARLETT
I never heard of such bad taste.
RHETT
Would you be more convinced if I fell to my knees?
SCARLETT
Turn me loose, you varlet and get out of here.
RHETT
Forgive me for startling you with the impetuosity of my sentiments, my dear Scarlett, I mean my dear Mrs. Kennedy. But it cannot have escaped your notice that for some time past, the friendship I have felt for you has ripened into a deeper feeling. A feeling more beautiful, more pure, more sacred... dare I name it? Can it be love?
SCARLETT
Get up off your knees, I don't like your common jokes.
RHETT
This is an honorable proposal of marriage, made in what I consider a most opportune moment. I can't go all my life waiting to catch you between husbands.
SCARLETT
You're coarse and you're conceited. And I think this conversation's gone far enough. Besides, I shall never marry again.
RHETT
Oh yes, you will. And you'll marry me.
SCARLETT
You...you? I don't love you. And I don't like being married.
RHETT
Did you ever think of marrying just for fun?
SCARLETT
Marriage, fun? Fiddle-dee-dee. Fun for men you mean. Hush, do you want them to hear you outside?
RHETT
You've been married to a boy and an old man. Why not try a husband at the right age? With a way with women?
SCARLETT
You're a fool, Rhett Butler. When you know I shall always love another man.
RHETT
Stop it. You hear me Scarlett, stop it. No more of that talk.
SCARLETT
Rhett don't, I shall faint.
RHETT
And I want you to faint. This is what you were meant for. None of the fools you've ever known have kissed you like this, have they? Your Charles or your Frank or your stupid Ashley. Say you're going to marry me. Say yes. Say yes.
SCARLETT
Yes.
RHETT
Are you sure you meant it? You don't want to take it back?
SCARLETT
No.
And so RoadJag means what, exactly?
The scene above embodies much of what Roadjag is about: wild mood swings, alcohol on the breath, brazen acts, impulsive decisions, and deeply felt but fleeting guilt about being bad and going to hell.
Concretely, "roadjag" is our moniker for the road trips we take from time to time.
But it's so much more than that. "Roadjag" is apt for describing not only the physical voyage, but also the vagaries of our minds. It's not just the route on a map: it's also the state of mind in which the route is undertaken.
It's the certain giddy feeling that rises up from the roadway with the realization that we could just keep going until we reached the Atlantic or the Mexican border. It's the exhilaration that comes from mapping out a meticulous plan, only to let fun take its course and send that plan right out the window like a discarded candy wrapper. It's committing earnestly to an itinerary and then, with just as much gusto, abandoning it, making a hard right onto what seems to be a main thoroughfare because there are some bright lights over that way and that must mean there's a Denny's or something and is that really the time?
Loss of control is always implied somewhere. In fact, any situation that reels in an unexpected direction may be labeled "a roadjag moment" or "a momentary jag."
Similarly, we use "roadjag" or "jag" to describe any kind of spree or erratic burst of activity. As in, "Felicia came over to clean my house today. She's already cleaned her house and garage twice and apparently she just needs to keep cleaning to keep her mind off the creditors. She's clearly on a jag of some sort, so who was I to say no?"
Got it? Good. If not, stop trying to understand. Just go with it.