My wanderlust is almost shameful. I desire nothing less than to try every town on the map, and Colby doesn’t mind too much, so long as I feed him wherever we go, and so far I always have.

Here is a list of places I’ve slept since Sept. 8: St. Johnsville, NY; Buffalo, NY—Motel 6, Silo City, Best Western; Allegheny National Forest; Oil Creek, Pa., Family Campground; Washington, Pa., KOA; Monroeville (Pittsburgh) Holiday Inn; Akron, Ohio; Rockford, Ill., Comfort Inn, Candlewood Suites; Mark Twain Caves Campground, Hannibal, Mo.; Columbia, Mo., in a real house; Hickory Haven Campground, Keokuk, Iowa; Milwaukee; NYC; Utica, N.Y.; back to NYC; back to Milwaukee; Lasalle, Ill.; Sullivan, Ill.

This reminds me of learning that Magic Johnson had slept with more than a thousand women; I always wondered how many days or years he spread that across. I mean, in 20 years, a tally of 1,000 women is not quite so epic for a guy who is clearly not shy. But fitting 1,000 into one highly active year? That would be madness.

A road trip can feel a little chaotic like that and it is time, I think, to consider a new strategy of campsite fidelity. Monog-campy.  How unlike the amped-up dash of Kerouac, moving the same way he typed—one long, taped-together sheet of paper threading through the typewriter, letting the words roll on and on like the road he traveled down with his stimulant-fueled consorts.

But let’s be real human beings for a moment. Remember: Each time Scampers such as  Colby and I move, it involves four basic steps:

1. selecting a new destination, which means poring over maps and checking event calendars online and reading the reviews of campgrounds, plotting a course, making a reservation…
2. Breaking down camp and hitching up the trailer, which I’m getting pretty good at but which still takes me at least five tries before the ball lines up right under the hitch (I’ve learned that the scamp is light enough for me to pull or shove it the final inch, though),
3. Getting to the new place, and
4. Setting up camp again.

I have decided to set up camp where I am for awhile, detach the trailer, and dash out for some day trips. It will be easier. And truthfully, it would be better for Colby, who is a creature of routines, and likes to feel grounded, I think. Every time I start to pack the car again, the look on his fuzzy face says, “really?”

I shouldn’t expose the boy to my geographic infidelities. We will sit. Stay.