IN Other Words

Road Trip

by Becky Slatten

I LOVE THE IDEA OF A ROAD TRIP, especially in the summer. There’s just something exciting about hitting the road without a schedule or a care in the world, looking for adventure and discovering new favorite places. Some of my best college experiences include those spontaneous trips with a carful of friends laughing and singing at the top of our lungs to the music blaring from the cassette deck; the memories of them always make me smile. However, having just returned from one, I can tell you firsthand—road trips are a lot different when you’re old.

It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing. My mother, sister and I had been combing through our calendars looking for a few free days we might have in common to visit my brother in Asheville, and, just like that, our window of opportunity presented itself with less than a week’s notice. Too late to book reasonable airfare, we decided to road trip it like Thelma and Louise (and Louise), but without the cliff and also the convertible because I find them hot and windy and I don’t have one. Like the old ladies we’ve become, we planned everything, which is a far cry from the road trips of my youth when we planned, literally, nothing. We mapped out the driving route, scheduled the bathroom breaks to coordinate with gas fill-ups and driver rotations; we purchased snacks and bottled water and equipped the backseat with a pillow and blanket for the resting driver, all in an effort to minimize our stops on the long drive to North Carolina. I don’t know who we thought we were kidding—we made it an hour and a half and we were starving. After that, we only stopped five more times and then got lost, so the 10-hour drive took only 12 hours.

I find it’s always fun to eat in the car, especially while driving, so, after carefully weighing all of our dining options (as we made yet another unauthorized bathroom stop), we settled on Taco Bell. Don’t ask me why. I know what you’re thinking, and I’d agree with you, except we were starving again and getting hangry and we unanimously refused to go to McDonald’s (except for the Egg McMuffins we had for breakfast). I find there’s nothing more ‘road trippy’ than scarfing down tacos with the tunes cranked up while driving 80 mph on the interstate. When we finally reached our destination, we did our best to pick off the shredded lettuce and hide the hot sauce stains, but I’m certain the bellmen thought we were there to panhandle because, in addition to being covered in fast-food residue, we were also VERY comfortably dressed. And once they got a look at our luggage, they surely must’ve thought we were moving in for good.

For some reason, I feel compelled to bring anything and everything I own when I travel by car, and, as it turns out, my mother and sister feel the same way; for example, between the three of us, we probably had 24 pairs of shoes for three days of activities. We each held our breath when the bellman opened the back of my car and saw the massive amount of luggage we felt we couldn’t live without for five days, but he didn’t even flinch. As it turns out, it’s a universal truth that the vast majority of women grossly overpack when they go on road trips. The bellman said so, so we gave him a big tip.

We had a great time in Asheville with my brother. It was a rare occasion for the four of us to be together, and we made the most of it. But for me, the best thing about our road trip was being trapped together in a car for 20 hours with nothing to do but spend time together. We reminisced and retold stories we’ve all heard a hundred times; we psychologically evaluated friends and family with our amateur psychology degrees; we gave each other sage advice on how to live our lives; and when we finally pulled into the driveway, we were through talking and happy to be home. And then there was the little matter of unpacking …