Reluctant Road Trips
Love em or hate em, few childhood memories are as strong as those of the family road trip. Sometimes the destination matters, sometimes what you find along the way is more memorable, sometimes who you drive with defines the journey, and sometimes you just take pictures of funny signs.
To celebrate Durango we want you to share road trip stories and especially photos. Post your road trip stories and photos as comments to this post or email them to me. –Lee
May 25th, 2008 22:10
Revisiting Durango while beginning work on The DNA Trail, I can’t escape the realization of how much my understanding of my place within my family (and my country) was formed on early family road trips. We didn’t exactly take vacations when I was growing up, but every summer we drove from our ranch in Mulhall, Oklahoma to Raton, New Mexico to watch our horses race. I can still see in my mind Mom’s thermos of coffee, reimagine early lessons in language (mesa) and the water fountain shaped like a lion in a park in Tucumcari (hear my Dad’s voice telling ghost stories ending with Tuuuuucummmmmcarrriiiii)…. I learned to play cards on those trips, to tell stories, to sit still, to fish chairs out of the hotel pool because the wind was always that strong. One year an artist in the park did a pastel portrait of me–I am preserved forever in my parents’ hall as a scrubby overalls kid with a scrunched-up nose. In the museum of my parents’ wall art, I am the Road Trip Kid, and I am always on the way to somewhere else.
May 30th, 2008 09:36
My family was never the vacation or road trip type. Home was truly were our rumps rested, until I graduated college and decided to move to Chicago, move in with my boyfriend (now husband) and find some theatre! Having very rarely ventured from the great state of New York, I needed a co-pilot. I enlisted my mom; this trip would be the furthest west she had (and still has) ever travelled. I crammed (packed) my clothes, plants, food, and mom in my two door Pontiac Sunfire and set off on Interstate 90. Not even three hours into the trip, my clutch gave out in the parking lot of a gas station in Ashtabula, Ohio. I was off my rocker. This was NOT the plan. Thank the Lord for AAA and their trip interruption plan. They towed us to a great machanic that treated us like old friends. We rented a car since there were no hotels in walking distance. We went to the beach to try and relax when a big wind and rainstorm came blowing through and kicked us out. I insisted we look for a place to stay with a pool, and we stopped at motel. The sign on the door said “Sailors welcome”, we had a good laugh over that during dinner later that night, and reluctantly looked at one of the dingy, mothball scented rooms. We opted for Howard Johnson’s instead. The next day we were back on the road and no problems until we got near Chicago, tons of traffic and signs that say “express” and “local”. “What does that mean?” I ask mom as I carefully take us closer to our destination. “I DON’T KNOW!”, my mom replies almost in tears as she’s frantically searching the map. I asked her to find where we were on the map and tell me when I should get off next. She then informs me that she doesn’t know how to read maps very well. I later confirmed this fact with my father. THIS could have been brough to my attention sooner. I kept going, got off somewhere, found a McDonald’s and called Kevin to come and find me. It was dark and rainy, my car was pooped, my mom was pooped and I needed a beer. Kevin found me, like he always does, and took us back to his apartment. The next day the sun was out, we unpacked my car, I started my internship and my mom took the Amtrak back to Buffalo, New York. I think back and wish I was there for that part of her adventure too, but I hope there will be another trip or two. And this time I have a cell phone and will invest in GPS.
Kevin and I are looking forward to seeing “Durango” tonight. Congrats Silk Road!
June 4th, 2008 15:42
My favorite road trip is my annual trek to hike in Zoar Valley Mutipurpose Area in Gowanda, NY. Depending on where I am in the country at the moment, it has taken anywhere from one to eleven hours to get there, and there is nothing like getting out of the hot cramped car in that wilderness - the smell of a muddy creek and a shady forest is so good for the soul!
Least favorite memory: having to fetch the park rangers and arrange a helicopter airlift for one of my fellow hikers after he lost his footing and slid 30 feet down the gorge wall and into the water below. He suffered a minor concussion but was released from the hospital and back on his feet the next day.
Most favorite memory: Though our fellow hikers challenged us to leap from one of the cliffs into a deep swimming hole, my friend Mark and I were too chicken. Instead, we waited until we were farther up the creek and scaled a smaller waterfall. Our friends took pictures of us standing on the top waving - the triumphant conquerors!