If you’re reading this in eastern standard time on Saturday, July 5, I am driving. I’ve been driving for several hours. Probably more than several, actually. But no matter how long I’ve been seated in a twelve square foot rectangle of metal hurtling down the highway at seventy miles per hour, I’m happy. It’s road trip time.
I love a good road trip. There’s just something about packing a suitcase, stocking the car with snacks and music, and riding off into the sunset. (Or, if you’re like me today, the sunrise. (4:30 a.m. is really, really early in case you’re wondering.)) For me, it all started with family vacations as a kid. I didn’t get on a plane until I was thirteen because each summer we opted to pile into the car and drove for hours.
I figured out pretty quickly, and much to my dismay, that I could not read in the car. I couldn’t even page through a magazine or do a word find. After hours of terrible headaches and several incidents that required damp napkins and Febreeze in a McDonald’s parking lot, I stopped bringing books altogether.
The next year, armed with my bright yellow Walkman and a thick clamshell containing fourteen cassette tapes, I set out to “read” A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Francie’s family and adventures were riveting to me in the same way Jo March’s and Laura Ingalls’ were. Books on tape quickly became my favorite part of each year’s vacation. Watching the landscape rush by as someone narrated a story was such a different experience than physical reading. The narrators had voices for each character and paused in the exact right spots. I couldn’t cheat by skipping ahead, so the suspense grew with each chapter in a way it didn’t when I sped through on my own.
Second only to books on tape was the food of road trips. Grand Rapids used to have this excellent store called Bulk Foods where everything was sold in bins. Sesame seeds, flour, dried apples—anything your heart desired. And, of course, candy. Jawbreakers that lasted half an hour, Tootsie rolls, golden squares of caramel wrapped in crinkly clear plastic, lollipops, Starburst… a kid’s paradise. Armed with our candy bags and something salty for variety, my sister and I would climb in the bucket seats of our minivan and snack until the floor was more candy wrapper than carpet. In the trunk, we stuck a cooler full of ice water so cold your hand burned after you reached in to get something. We always brought a pack of Welch’s juices (grape, apple, and pineapple orange) that came in glass bottles. The paper labels would get soggy and fall off in the cooler. The clink of glass and the taste of grape juice still take me back.
Today I’m headed to Washington, D.C. with two friends. We started before the sun this morning and hope to arrive around dinnertime (barring any traffic, construction, or other assorted disasters). We’ve loaded the car with suitcases, camping gear (for a rural excursion), and a cooler. But Bulk Foods closed a long time ago and Welch’s sells their juices in plastic bottles now, so I’m feeling a little forlorn (though I suppose my dentist is pleased that I’ve substituted pretzels and almonds for peach-os and Airheads).
I’m so excited to spend those hours with friends, though, because the best conversations happen en route. Maybe my introvert is showing (I feel you, Katie), but it’s always easier to talk when you don’t have to look at people or worry about what to do with your hands. And when you’re together so long, silence becomes comfortable for even the most talkative soul. The hum of tires on the road and the whoosh of other cars passing and the thump of bumpy highways has a way of drowning out the chatter of everyday life and transporting us smoothly to blessed vacation.
Long live the road trip.
Abby Zwart (’13) teaches high school English in Grand Rapids, Michigan. She spends her free time making lists of books she should read, cooking, and managing the post calvin.
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I’ve loved your Facebook updates– it’s the ridiculous flat-tire-in-Pennsylvania moments that become family lore. Our brakes went out on the Pennsylvania turnpike in 2007, occasioning a trip to the Little League Hall of Fame, which may have been the most memorable part of that vacation.
It’s not a road trip until every window is rolled down and you’re blasting The Allman Brothers playing “Jessica.” It should probably also be about 2 in the morning too.
Here, I’ll get you started: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WfM6nRVBvGs