Yes, Getting There Can Be Half the Fun

Or, as heard from the backseat: “Are we there yet?”

If given the chance to take to the mother road over taking to the skies, an array of experiences can be had that you simply won’t find when up, up in the air. Having lively (and at times eye-opening) conversations, arguing over road trip playlists, playing the “alphabet” and “license plate” games, and stopping along the way to explore small town snacks and eclectic giftshops, provide memories you just can’t get on an airplane. Driving to a destination, when it’s more convenient and makes more sense logistically, also allows us a chance to observe parts of the country through a different lens.

In keeping with this train of thought, as it were, here are some random observations I’ve made over the years when I’ve found myself behind the wheel or while riding “shotgun” and serving in the always important role of co-pilot.

• During a decade in my “younger” adult life, I proudly called Kansas City home. I’ve always said KC has the swagger of a big city but the heart of a small town – like if New York and Mayberry had a well-adjusted, BBQ-loving child. No matter which side of the state line you land on, it’s a lively, welcoming, and ever-expanding metropolis. Back in the day – err, 30+ years ago – if you were in a rush, you could hop on a quick one-hour flight instead of enduring a five-hour road trip. Multiple airlines offered non-stop, round-trip flights for a mere $59, which now sounds like an urban legend. These days? Well, buckle up, because if I want to fly, apparently, I must detour through Houston, wave to my home state from 30,000 feet, and then finally touch down at the gorgeous new MCI airport. In roughly 4.5 hours. Um, no thanks. Unless I’m trying to escape an ice storm, I’ll stick with my trusty I-35 route. At this point, I could do that drive on autopilot—not that I’d recommend testing that theory, especially given my, let’s call it, “seasoned” memory. When I was making the drive four or five times a year—with toddlers in tow (a true endurance sport) – I always got a kick out of the Kansas Turnpike stretch between Emporia and Wichita, where a sign proudly announced the “scenic Flint Hills.” Scenic? Debatable. But I’d squint into the horizon, half-expecting to spot the faint ghost of wagon wheel ruts from the gold rush days. I imagined those poor souls trudging across the prairie in covered wagons, bouncing over every rock and rut without so much as a foam seat cushion. My tailbone aches just thinking about it. And let’s not forget—no air conditioning, no indoor plumbing. Basically, 1860s-style glamping, but without the Instagram-worthy aesthetic.
• Speaking of I-35… let’s take a little jaunt south from the Sooner State to the Lone Star State and back again. At this point, I know this route so well I could probably drive it blindfolded – though for legal reasons, I won’t. What started as highly questionable college road trips has since evolved into an endless loop of business travel up and down this asphalt treadmill. This legendary stretch of highway, running from the deep-fried heart of Texas all the way to the frozen tundra of Duluth, Minnesota, is a true cross-section of America. One day, I might attempt the full journey – for the people-watching alone. But for now, every time I pack up and head south, I do so fully aware that I’m about to enter a fresh, new circle of highway purgatory. That’s right – road work. Endless, soul-crushing road work. Orange traffic cones have become my arch-nemesis, and concrete barriers feel like the set pieces of my own personal Truman Show. I swear, this highway has been “under construction” since I first got my driver’s license in the ‘80s, and I fully expect to pass the tradition down to future generations. Now, I’m not suggesting that this stretch of I-35 is the worst highway in existence, but I am saying that if you have any alternate route available, take it. Immediately. In fact, consider rerouting for the next two, maybe twenty, years. You’ll thank me later. Or go ahead and thank me now…might as well get it out of the way.
• Now surely, I can’t the only one completely hypnotized by those towering, slow-motion pinwheels of the modern age – also known as wind turbines? They’ve multiplied like rabbits in every U.S. state, but in the windy ones (like mine), they’re practically a new species on the tallgrass prairie. Something about their steady, swirling motion lulls me into a trance, like I’m about three seconds away from hearing that sneaky Jungle Book snake whisper “Trusssst in me…” Nope! Not today, turbine sorcery! Now, if you, too, find yourself mesmerized by these giant white giants, that’s totally understandable. But if you’re behind the wheel, I beg you – resist the urge to get lost in their spin cycle. Keep your eyes on the road, hands on the wheel. That’s not just solid life advice – it’s straight from the lyrical wisdom of Jim Morrison. And let’s be honest, ignoring Jim never ends well.
• Throughout my life, some of my best adventures have led me to Colorado…mostly because mountains, fresh air, and an excuse to wear flannel make for a winning combination. A recent(ish) October trip treated me to a dazzling display of trees ablaze in shimmering yellow, their white-barked aspen trunks standing tall like nature’s own art installation. The winding roads from Colorado Springs to Aspen were lined with this golden glow, making for a breathtaking drive. Bonus points to my driver for not only safely navigating those narrow highways during the ever-elusive “golden hour” but also directing me on which photos to capture of the spectacle. (Pro tip: Do not try this unless you have a driver or have extra lives stored up somewhere.) This trip lives on as a cherished memory, frequently revisited in conversation, proudly displayed as my iPhone’s home screen each Autumn, and – because I fully commit – featured in my seasonal home décor rotation. Yes, I’m that person who transforms their house into a fall wonderland the moment Labor Day rolls around, even if the weather outside is still doing its best impression of a furnace. Pumpkin spice lattes? You bet. Faux autumn leaves when real ones are still green? Absolutely. Call it seasonal denial – I call it dedication.

• Lastly, during a legendary pre-Covid road-trip, I found myself in a two-car caravan, herding the family to the Seaside area of Florida’s “Emerald Coast” (or as some locals affectionately call it: “the Redneck Riviera”) for a much-needed beach vacation and complimentary sunburn. We rented a spacious beach house just a short, leisurely stroll to the dazzling white sand and relaxing waves of the Gulf of Mexico – a genius idea, if I do say so myself. We took turns cooking our meals, dining out, studying the local wildlife (mostly seagulls and overly ambitious tourists), going shelling, and of course, trying to make sense of the barefoot locals wandering the nearby grocery store like it was Fashion Week. Our August adventure in the Sunshine State left us with a treasure trove of memories. To this day, not a summer goes by without someone casually pointing out “DeFuniak Springs feet” and, believe me, it’s hardly a compliment.

Let’s pause here and take that all-important stretch break for this month’s installment of: Cautionary Tales and Helpful Hints from the Road.

• Pack a lunch…the real deal, or, in this case, the metaphorical “I’ll need snacks to survive this nightmare” kind. In other words, get ready for road construction, surprise potholes, and weather delays that could make a sloth move faster. Navigation apps have come a long way in the last decade, especially when it comes to magically predicting roadwork that seems to pop up overnight. When I first started traveling for work, MapQuest was our trusty guide – kind of like the vintage GPS, except with more paper cuts and printer ink. Not quite as dangerous as the “good ol’ days” when my parents would navigate with those ancient, origami-like Rand McNally maps featuring the tiniest font size known to man. Clearly not the safest way to get from point a to point b, but somehow that old green station wagon always made it in one piece, aside from a flat tire here or there. Now we’re all glued to our phones and car apps like they’re some kind of digital oracle that tells us which exits to take but always misses those mysterious puddles that can swallow our tires. Some of us, of course, rely on rideshare options which have become our saviors. Especially in big cities where the idea of driving makes me break out in hives. I’m a 5-star passenger, by the way, and I’m proud to report that my drivers give me high marks, too. Gold stars all around for me!

• Now, unless you’re the type who thrives on chaos and considers “winging it” a legitimate life strategy, it’s probably a good idea to have at least a vague plan for your route. Use GPS, map apps, or even – brace yourself – a good old-fashioned paper map if you’re feeling nostalgic and have better than 20/20 vision. And hey, maybe do a little research on places not to wander into after dark. Unless, of course, you enjoy getting directions from a dude named Dexter on a dimly lit street corner and potentially starring in the next Dateline special about “mysterious disappearances and that pesky DNA.” Totally your call!

• In the winter months, keep a “what if” kit in your car…because “what if” you find yourself stuck on the side of the road in a blizzard, starring in this season’s blockbuster survival show? Same goes for summer. Because “what if” your car decides to turn into a sauna on wheels? My kit includes cozy blankies (because hypothermia isn’t cute), “Hot Hands” heat packets (aka tiny miracles), peanut butter crackers (for sustenance and stress eating), bottles of water (hydration is key, people), and phone chargers (because a dead battery means no emergency TikTok or Insta scrolling). Yes, I was a Girl Scout and took “be prepared” very seriously. But more importantly, passing along these nuggets of wisdom lets me honor my dear late father’s sage advice: Always be ready for anything. Especially when “anything” includes being stuck in the snow with only a granola bar and regret.

• Lastly, embrace your inner explorer and hunt down the hidden gems in whatever town, city, or mysteriously unchartered suburb you stumble into. Ask the locals where they go for the essentials – meals, coffee, cocktails, bookstores, manis, pedis, massages, and, if you’re feeling ambitious, exercise (or at least a scenic walk to the nearest bakery). Or all the above. The natives know best, and their recommendations will rarely lead you astray.

Here’s hoping Big Suitcase Girl continues to offer insight, suggestions, highlights and, at times, a smattering of lowlights, mixed with a bunch of levity around the big world of travel, no matter the size of suitcase you choose to bring and regardless of the mode of transportation you take.

Until next time – travel safe!