The road less traveled: Returning to good old-fashioned road trips

I love traveling, but road trips are my least favorite way to do it.

I grew up taking road trips – in fact, my father was so into “going where the road took us” that we kept a bag packed and ready in the car at all times. The “runaway bag” had toothbrushes, toothpaste and a change of underwear among other things.

There always seemed to be an adventure around every corner, down every road. We played “I Spy” and “Slug Bug,” and tallied out-of-state license plates. We had the coolest tricked-out van with captain’s chairs that swiveled, a refrigerator and a bed built into the back. We even had a cassette player instead of an eight-track – yes, I’m that old. I grew up in a time when families took road trips to go wherever.

Air travel was a luxury for rare occasions. One of the things I was most proud of as a kid was that when I was 5, I flew on a plane to see my grandmother. I thought that it made me cosmopolitan. I had so few friends who had flown; I talked about it every chance I got.

As I got older, adventures seemed to stop being around-the-corner affairs. The desirable places weren’t accessible on road trips – you can’t drive to Paris. Flying became a necessity. Now, I’m on a plane every week. Compared to 30 years ago, it’s not so glamorous.

I spent a good portion of my young adulthood in New York City. In New York, it’s not typical to drive a car – jumping in with your friends, a bag and and a cooler doesn’t happen spontaneously. Spontaneity takes planning in New York.

But recently I was back at it – a road trip that followed warnings that my traveling companion, my fiancé, is a bit of a bear on the road. This was an admission she made herself, corroborated by my future sister-in-law. I had reservations about this trip.

What happened, though, was wonderful. Adventure was around every corner. We laughed and listened to music; I pointed out flora and fauna (I’m a bit of a hippie). Each time we looked up, time had passed, miles were behind us, and we both forgot that she gets crabby on road trips.

We told each other stories and loved each other and ourselves through the sleepy places. We had permission to stop as many times as we wanted. There was plenty of time.

I believe that was probably the biggest gift – time. It seems to me that so often we are taken over by the concept of time: What time we need to arrive, how long it’s going to take or how much time we have before we have to leave. Obsession with time keeps us from enjoying the journey.

When I was young, and we took all those road trips, I was so interested in what we could discover along the way that I didn’t mind the time it took to get there. I learned about where we were going, how many miles it was, and then I spent my time concentrating on all of the cool stuff in between.

Fast-forward 35 years to this trip, when I did the exact same thing. We saw so much salt it looked like snow, bikers with incredible custom hogs, 100-foot lighted clowns, and on the last morning, I saw two hummingbirds, the symbol of joy. There were bumps: I got tired of eating in the car. I wanted to stop for more exploring, but we always had to get back on the road. In fact, I think I was more crabby at times than she was. However, we arrived at our destination, our limbs and hair intact, still engaged, with smiles on our faces, and just in time for a birthday party barbecue with grilled oysters on the half shell and a bottle of pinot grigio. Life is good.

The big lesson I got from this harkens back to one of my favorite “anonymous” phrases: “life is a journey, not a destination.” It was a very Buddhist trip. We stayed present to experience every treat the road had to offer to us. It was this “present mind” that allowed us to enjoy each leg of our journey.