My mom lives a five-hour drive from me. Sometimes, on long weekends, we’d meet halfway for an Adventure Weekend. Usually, we’d stay in a cheap motel in some town that’s a tiny dot on the map, surrounded by a lot of space. We’d spend our days exploring the area and visiting other tiny towns nearby.
It was one Memorial Day weekend that we discovered Princeton, Wisconsin’s annual Rubber Chicken Fling. The event takes place in the city park. A goal post is set up, and everyone in attendance is invited to try flinging a rubber chicken through it. Whoever throws it farthest wins.
The emcee kept urging us to join the action. “If you’ve never chucked a chicken, now’s your chance!” The mascot, a man dressed in a bedazzled Elvis jumpsuit and a chicken head rubber mask, mingled with the crowd. We had dozens of chances, and neither of us touched a chicken. Why not?
My regrets are all the same: a long list of things I didn’t do, things I didn’t say.
Months ago, when I began seriously forming the idea of a nation-wide road trip, I thought about what the purpose would be. I didn’t want to just stay in hotels and visit tourist attractions; I wanted to experience a transformation. One day, an answer suddenly came to me: Fling the chicken.
It’s the same advice I’d give my younger self: Get involved. Try everything. Go everywhere. Take every opportunity. Fling that chicken while you’ve got the chance!
