He comes equipped with noise-reducing headphones, GSM cell-phone unlocking, and Bluetooth connectivity. His right hand is soldered to a laptop, his left to a BlackBerry.
He chills his drinks with a USB cable connected to a computer beverage cooler. His SIM cards are secured.
He is so wired he's wireless.
He is road warrior, version 2007.
Better stocked. Better trained. This latest edition is the best yet.
The whole "there is no there there" thing? For him, there is a there there. Because "there" is his here. And his here is everywhere.
He is so automated he is almost not human. Except that he very much is. He is your husband. Or, yes, your wife.
We see him in our mind's eye, striding the planet. Oatmeal for breakfast in Dublin. Bouillabaisse for lunch in Paris. Crispy whole fish, if he can make the connection, for dinner in Shanghai.
If it's Tuesday, he must be … somewhere … anywhere.
He is a modern-day Ulysses. Mythic.
But he isn't mythic. A road warrior is a person like everyone else - except with a boatload more miles. And he misses the comforts of home. No electronic gizmo, even that really special one on the Internet, can make up for the road warrior's inevitable loss of intimacy.
In fact, the nickname is unfair.
I mean, road warriors?
First of all, they're not on the road. Not in the Jack Kerouac sense, driving around until they get all bleary-eyed and disoriented. No, they're in the air, flying around until they get all bleary-eyed and disoriented.