It's All About The Ride...

I’m a little late in this week’s posting because we’ve been away visiting family.  Say it with me…

ROAD TRIP!

Man, that used to be fun.  What happened?  Oh, wait.  I remember now.  I grew up and now I have to be all responsible and stuff.  That sucks the fun right out of it.  As a grown up type, it’s now all about the destination.  Let’s just GET there, already.  But the kid in me remembers that it used to be all about the ride. 

The summers of my childhood were loaded with road trips and adventures.  Camping trips, visits to relatives, sightseeing journeys, summer custody transfers, and so on.  Oddly, my memories of those trips are more loaded with the voyage than the destination.  I’m sure I had a good time once I got there, but the getting there was the best part.

I know my kids don’t feel that way.  I also know that it’s mostly my fault they don’t.  In an effort to make things easier on myself, I’ve eliminated some of the best parts of the ride.  A DVD player on the back of the seat keeps my kids entertained and occupied to reduce whining and complaints.  Stops for food on the road also keep the whining to a minimum.  I tell myself that it’s for them.  It’s not.  It’s for me.  And I already regret taking the easy way out.

While at my sister’s house, reminiscing with my siblings about the good old days, I was reminded of all of those trips.  My mother didn’t have the luxury of McDonalds or whine reduction devices.  She had state operated rest stops, bologna sandwiches and “the look”.  You know the one…the one that alerts children that they’ve pushed things far enough and one more outburst will bring forth the wrath of no return.  Then we knew it was time to take a nap or review license plates from around the country.

What my mother also had was an abundance of patience and an adventurous spirit.  So while we’d drive all night to get somewhere, we’d also stop to “stretch our legs” at interesting places.  I remember a lot of those stops but more than anything, I remember the ride.

Once upon a time, we loaded 9 (possibly more, I get my trips mixed up) kids into the camper shell of Tom’s (my stepdad for a time) truck and headed west.  We took Route 66 and saw all of the cool Route 66 sites, camped and explored The Painted Desert and made it all the way to California to visit my aunt.  Granted, I was very young, but all I really remember of the destination was what we ate (Doritos with melted cheese!  Who ever thought of such a thing?!?) and seeing skateboards and hang gliders for the first time in my life.  The RIDE, however, I remember.

I remember sitting on a lizard that was caught by one of my brothers in the desert.  I remember collecting money to pay for a shower at the next rest stop because we couldn’t bear Pat’s pubescent stench any longer.  I also remember Rick’s reeking sneakers flopping in the wind as we drove down the highway because the other boys tied them out there so we could breathe.  I remember that we seemed to only have three 8 track tapes to get us across the country and, for this reason, Jim Croce still incites a facial tic to this day.  I remember mooning passing cars and I remember pumping our arms so truck drivers would blow their horn for us.

On another trip, we made it to Florida in a station wagon with something like 12 kids and 2 adults.  Toe wrestling, complaints about boys farting, and counting heads at rest stops got us there and I remember the miles fondly.  It makes me a little sad that my kids will never know that kind of fun. 

When we arrived at Disney last year – a surprise to the kids who should have been jumping out of their skin – they missed the giant lighted “Welcome To Disney World” sign because they were watching Underdog on the DVD player.  Modern safety laws mean they’ll always be restrained and never know riding in the back window or on the hump on the floor and surely they’ll never get to moon an innocent passing car.

When I think back on these trips, the real adventure came in the MISadventure.  I don’t remember Thanksgiving dinner at my uncle’s house in Minnesota, but I remember sleeping, reading, telling jokes and playing games in the snow bank we were stranded in along the way.  I  don’t recall details of a summer visit with my dad, but I remember riding home in my aunt’s station wagon under a bicycle in the back seat because we’d already had 3 blowouts and needed to more evenly distribute the weight we were carrying.

As I got older and was driving unreliable cars of my own, I never stopped to think about whether or not that $500 Chevy should be on a highway, I just went.  And I had misadventures.  I slept on picnic tables in probably shady rest areas and I relied on Good Samaritans (who are always there, by the way) to help me along the way.  I always got there.  I always had a story to tell about the journey.

Now, in 2013, we strap the kids in for 600 miles, so no wonder they whine.  So we give them electronic pacifiers and we forge ahead with the security of Responsible Grown Up AAA Gold Level Service, GPS devices and smartphones with internet access.  We stop in well-lighted areas with clean rest rooms and we remove all of the MIS from the Adventure.

Don’t get me wrong. I prefer not to break down and I want my children to be safe.  But maybe they need to experience more go-with-the-flow and less according-to-plan.  Within reason, of course.  I don’t want the Universe to think I’m inviting disaster here.  (Ya hear that, Universe?  Fun.  Not disaster!)

Years from now, when they are reminiscing about their own good old days, will they say “Remember that time we sat securely in our seats and made it to Grandma’s house in exactly the time we planned?” or are they going to say “Remember that wrong turn we took and we found that big ripe raspberry bush?”  (disclaimer:  that hasn’t happened yet, but maybe one day)  The destination definitely matters.  Safe is important.  Boring has it’s place.  But when they are looking back, I hope that they remember the ride.  The ride is where some of the best moments live.