Road Trip

Family road trips are one of the loneliest moments a man can experience. We are headed to Gulf Shores, Alabama for spring break. Because of the pandemic, flying seems risky. Looking on Google Maps, it looked like the gulf coast of Alabama was the closest place we could drive to to get to the ocean. Technically, the east coast is closer to Chicago, but we wanted to escape the frigid air of March for a warmer, quieter locale. Leaving after the kids got off school on Friday, we figured we’d drive for about six hours to split the drive over two days. The conversation with my son and daughter lasted all of ten minutes before they were lost to their screens.

Driving south on highway 294 is one of the worst ways to leave the Chicagoland area, especially from the north suburbs. You can drive for two hours and still be in the city vicinity. The tedious stop and go traffic of the late afternoon can wear down a person. The constant teasing of an open road along with perpetual construction was quite frustrating. As soon as I got up to 55 MPH, I had to hit the breaks because of another slow down. My wife and I shared the details of our days after a Starbucks run. Our conversation followed its usual pattern. “How was your day?” “Fine, how was yours?” “Same old, same old, nothing much happened today as usual.” We shared a couple of specific gripes which have lost their sting the further time has taken us from them. My one lifeline, my iced vanilla latte, melted into a water-down semblance of coffee. I had hoped it would get me further, but we were not even out of Illinois yet. My dad instincts kicked in, “Hey kids, we’re still ‘Out Diana,” but we should be ‘In Diana” in about ten minutes. Surprisingly, they laughed and repeated it as we crossed the state line.

Escaping the confines of the Chicago area, we could now start to put the miles between us and home. For a few glorious minutes, I was able to set the cruise control to 80 and listen to my Spotify playlist. Music was, for the most part, what kept me focused while driving. My co pilot was busy on her phone. She was researching outdoor dining sets for our deck. Of course it was at that moment when I heard from the back seat, “I need to go to the bathroom.” My daughter, notorious for her small bladder, had to go. She had to go bad. Now I had to go myself, but was hesitant to stop. Even though I was glad for her request, I complained that we had just started to make good time. We were hoping to pull over at a rest area for easy off and on access, but we had to settle for a Cracker Barrel in a congested area of Hammond, Indiana. My kids wanted to look around the store, but we had to keep moving, so I hurried them out after they had done their business.

Once back on the road and without any more delays, the quiet solitude of the drive set in. My daughter was watching some mermaid show that she had seen before. My son was on his Switch and immersed in his game. My wife had moved on from looking for outdoor furniture and was looking up hiking trails near the area we were staying. I would point out things I saw along the road. In this case it was a car full of nuns in full habits. I have nothing against nuns, but it’s not a sight you often come across. By the time she looked up, we were already long past the point of interest. It’s not just that she is on her phone, it’s that when I do try to talk to her, it takes her several moments to even respond. Whatever game or post or video is on her screen takes precedent over me. When we are sitting in the family room, it’s not that big of a deal, but the world during a road trip is fleeting. You are only ever in one specific place for a moment. You only have the time from when you see something until you pass it before that world is left behind.

This is the point where I stop trying to have conversations with my passengers. Instead, I focus on the music. I turn up the volume a couple of clicks and focus on the passing world. I’m always looking for interesting places along the highway. Particularly, I check out the blue signs that list restaurants at particular exits. I’m always looking for places that we do not have in our area. If ever we come across a Whataburger or Jack in the Box, I suggest we stop. Krispy Krunchy Chicken appears on the next sign I see. We bought sandwiches from the Jewel for the trip, but I suggest we stop anyway, “hey babe, look, a Krunchy Chicken. We should stop.” As usual, we are well past the exit when she responds with a “huh.”

Being the roadtrip copilot is an important job. It requires tending to the driver’s needs. Most of the time that means helping them with their snacks. I’m a fan of Starburst. Unlike most, my favorite colors are yellow and orange, not red and pink. The citrus flavors create a spark in my brain that keeps me awake. Unwrapping a Starburst is not easy when you should have your handles on the steering wheel, so a copilot is needed. Keeping the driver alert is the copilot’s biggest responsibility. My wife is not a very good copilot. When I look over, I see that she has nodded off. The kids are still awake. Ever since they were little, they have never been ones to fall asleep on a road trip, which can be annoying. Little kids have lots of needs such as snacks, books, and activities that can distract the copilot from their main duties. Now that they are older, they can take care of themselves, so my wife is not needed by them. She must not understand that I need her. For the most part, I can take care of my sustenance and comfort on my own. Conversation is what I crave. Deep conversation isn’t what I need or even really want. I think about the types of conversations I had as a teenager driving around Chicago on the weekends. My best friend, who has since moved away, and I would drive up and down Lincoln Avenue and Wells Street watching all the college kids coming in and out of the bars. We would talk all night long. Honestly, I don’t remember the specifics of those conversations, but I do know I miss them.

Just outside Indianapolis, we are going over a bridge for Eagle Creek, which looks more like a lake than a creek. I look out the window and excitedly tell the kids, “Look!, Do you see what’s in the water?”

They look out and respond, “Where, we don’t see it.”

“Right there. Look, can you see the dolphins?” I chuckle.

The kids and my wife groan with smiles. One of my jokes is to look out at any body of water and tell the kids to look for dolphins. The moment of levity quickly ends, and I continue driving. Continuing to drive, we cover the next hour in relative silence. My music is all that keeps me company. “Only Love” by Mumford and Sons begins to play. I reflect on old friends. 🎵”I was stuck / To the spot without a friend / Alone again” 🎵

I look at my wife and the kids in the rearview mirror. 🎵”And I hunger and I thirst / For some whispered words” 🎵It is strange to be surrounded by people you adore, who adore you, and yet feel so far away from them, feeling so disconnected from others. The only choice I have right now is to continue to drive, so I press on as the final darkness falls. We are making good time. I’ve been driving in the left lane since I have been going faster than most. I catch up to a mini van in front of me. The driver moves over as I approach, making it easy to pass. Looking to my right, I see a familiar scene. A dad is driving. His wife is in the passenger seat while his three kids are in the back. Their faces are aglow from their screens. As I pass, he looks to his left and nods.

I nod back.