Road Trippin’

Little BSG Remembers When…

Greetings, dearest readers!

At one time or another, several of you have asked if I’ve always enjoyed travel and exploration. The resounding answer is YES! My love for travel was instilled in me at an early age – you might say, as a little Big Suitcase Girl. And, although I didn’t board an airplane until I was in college, the call of the open road and lure of exploring other lands whispered constantly in my ear.

Growing up in what my parents always called a “middle class” family, our summer vacations predominantly involved road-tripping along the highways and byways of the middle of the country. Lunch was often something mom had thoughtfully packed for us to enjoy at one of the roadside clusters of picnic tables that seemed to appear just when someone in the car started announcing “I’m starving.”

Booking flights for a family of five was, frankly, cost-prohibitive for us. If we couldn’t get there by car, or the occasional railway, we simply didn’t go. This month’s post is lovingly dedicated to the countless comical escapades and the memories forever embedded in my heart and soul.

The Great Denver Zoo Disappointment

Allow me to pose a simple question: What 10-year-old child wants to take a tour of a presidential museum? Any takers Anyone…anyone?

In this case, it most certainly was not a 10-year-old girl who didn’t get to visit the Denver Zoo because her big brother just had to see the Denver Mint in person! Apparently shiny coins ranked higher on the family vacation agenda than live polar bears. I’m still processing that betrayal.

As a pacifying offering, and to put an end to the incessant pouting of the aggrieved baby of the family, we instead explored the Mile High City’s natural history museum, which, as I recall, actually quite delightful. While there may not have been live polar bears (which I was absolutely convinced I’d see at the zoo), we were fascinated by the fossils, gems, and the saber-tooth tiger and wooly mammoth on display. Score one for mom and dad.

Satisfied, tired, and hungry, we ended our time in Denver that hot August by dining at the famed Casa Bonita, complete with strolling mariachis and table-side cliff-divers. Once a popular regional chain, the last location still stands in the Englewood suburb of Denver, much to the delight of the cult following it so richly deserves.

Presidential Museums & Other Childhood Trials

The following morning, we loaded up our trusty Chevy and headed east to our next magical stop…hold onto your butts…the Dwight D. Eisenhower Museum in Abilene, Kansas.

I mean, who among us doesn’t want to spend a few hours taking in all things “I like Ike”? Especially after a long, thrilling drive from the Rocky Mountains to somewhere near the middle of the Sunflower State.  Honestly, I can’t recall a single detail about that museum. But I’m certain it was incredibly riveting…or at the very least extremely educational for everyone over the age of forty!

This was just what my family did on summer vacation. If there was a small landmark, oddity, or museum to be explored, count us in. Dad, who always drove with his hands at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel, would take the exit, park the car, and we’d add the spot to our growing “Sites Seen” list. Always dutifully signing the visitor’s guest book, of course. Welcome to the life of children of a US History professor.

Are You Not Entertained?!

Luckily, I’ve always been fortunate not to get carsick while reading in a moving vehicle (and I do not take that gift lightly). In the 70s and early 80s, counted cross-stitch embroidery and latch-hook pillows and rugs were all the rage, so those – and other tactile projects – would come out of their travel bags if the scenery out the window became, well, monotonous.

Who else played the “license plate” or “alphabet/state” games on family road trips? It was a constant with our bunch – especially because I-70 in eastern Colorado and western and central Kansas is the ultimate snoozefest on wheels. Second maybe only to I-40 in western Texas. And don’t even get me started on the Oklahoma panhandle. Yeesh.

Just wake me when I can ‘spy with my little green eye,’ one of the vestiges of the Ice Age – also known as a visible mountain range. It became a family tradition when we crossed into the Land of Enchantment (New Mexico) whoever spotted the first mountain got a Coke. Considering my parents and I didn’t realize how poor my vision was until nearly the second grade, BSG rarely claimed that prize.

Station Wagon Karaoke and Oddities Along the Way

As we merrily drove along, it was fun…but also maddening…to tune into local radio stations and hear the latest pop hits. We had only what the AM/FM dial had to offer, and if we landed on a song we all adored, we’d happily sing along, only to groan in unison when the static began as the station’s signal faded into oblivion.

Recently, while bouncing from SiriusXM channel to channel (as I’m often inclined to do) I stumbled upon You’re So Vain. And, yes, before you ask, it was probably playing on Yacht Rock Radio. Don’t judge. Instantly, I was transported back to the green station wagon (minus the wood paneling, thank you very much), with at least two of the three of us kids belting out that song – and others like Midnight at the Oasis and Baker Street – off key and at FULL volume. Boy, did we have some pipes on us.

If my parents could have seen the future and noise-cancelling headphones, my dad would have slammed on the brakes and pulled into the nearest Radio Shack before the next sax solo could begin. If those headphones had existed in 1978, Dad would’ve bought them in bulk.

That same obnoxious songbird scenario was on full display, by the way, when Girl Scout Troop #222 took a one-day, round-trip bus journey to ‘Seven Seas Marine Life Park’ in Arlington, Texas in the mid-70s. Multiply the three of us by five and just imagine the delight of that multi-hour trek, in a school bus not known for its comfort on short trips in town let alone when careening down the highway. Looking back on it, I find myself wondering if the troop leaders and parent volunteers may have brought roadies to get through the day.

Are We There Yet?

During our family vacays, we often found ourselves on any number of off-the-beaten path state highways and rural roads. The fact we somehow managed to find our way using those folded maps with the world’s smallest font is truly a minor miracle. After enduring the deafening drone of Dad snoring up a storm in the back of the station wagon during his mid-morning (or mid-afternoon) nap, we’d inevitably stop at a local grocery store or “filling station” for petrol, potties, and sustenance, usually in the form of a spectacular assortment of not-so-healthy snacks. We kids loved seeing the different packaging, flavors, displays, and store layouts found in other parts of the country. Fascinating for youngsters…and, honestly, still fascinating for this grown up.

Most of these detours usually happened because the three of us had relentlessly pestered our parents to take us to see something unusual or unique. Can we, can we, can we? Oh, please!

Ladies and gents, I give you: random ghost towns, an extinct volcano (Mount Capulin), the Great Sand Dunes, and – after several summers of determined lobbying – the much-ballyhooed Four Corners Monument.

Three insistent kids against two travel-weary parents isn’t exactly a fair fight.

The Amarillo Parallel Parking Incident

Next, picture a teenage boy…specifically, my older brother…begging at every turn, like all teenagers do, to practice for his upcoming driver’s test, even on the family vacay to Colorado.

After finally convincing our parents to let him give it a go (and after Dad gently noting that some of his driving skills “needed a little refining”), my bro rolled his eyes, jumped out of the backseat, and happily took his place behind the wheel.

All was going well until Dad declared it was the perfect time to practice the dreaded task of parallel parking. Apparently, there was no better place than downtown Amarillo, Texas.

Mom had joined me and my sister in the back seat when our brother took the wheel (and I’m certain Jesus was doing his part, too). With my sister and me giggling mischievously in the backseat, the comedy of errors soon began.

There were no backup cameras or warning beeps in cars way back then – only mirrors, neck-craning, and Dad barking instructions like a drill sergeant preparing a student driver for the Indy 500. My brother was simply trying not to hit a Buick. And as an added bit of helpful family encouragement, the lively peanut gallery in the back seat continued to offer constant expert advice.

At one point, there may or may not have been some confusion with the gas and the brake. As we inched ever closer to a nearby parked car, Mom began shrieking Dad’s name while stomping on the floorboard as if that might magically activate a back seat passenger-side braking pedal.

It did not.

Fortunately, no bumpers were harmed and we all lived to tell the tale, albeit with a touch of whiplash.

The Great Sleeping Bag Escapade

Now follow me as we head to church camp at Red Rock Canyon “adventure” park near Hinton, Oklahoma.

My mom and dad volunteered – along with other foolish, err, loving, parents – to drive several of us Methodist besties to an overnight retreat. The weekend included cookouts, ghost stories, hiking, Bible study, and, of course, gossiping and crushing on the cute teenage boys from the senior high youth group who served as our “shepherds.”

After loading up the station wagon at church and passing out copious amounts of Dunkin’ Munchkins, we hit the road, already well on our way to annoying my dad.

We weren’t five miles up I-35 when nearly all the sleeping bags my dad had “expertly secured” to the seldom-used luggage rack on top of the car began flying off onto the highway.

Imagine the horror.

My juvenile ego and pride didn’t pause long enough to be concerned about my dear father. At that moment, my greatest fear wasn’t highway traffic. It was middle school gossip.

Meanwhile, my dad was performing his best version of Human Frogger across the interstate, dodging cars and semis to retrieve everyone’s airborne slumber sacks – and, thankfully, salvage my reputation.

The Last Stretch of Our Drive

If you’ve stayed with me until the end, thank you! I hope these memories have offered a glimpse into BSG’s younger years and how the journey and, often, the destination has shaped who I am today.

Until next time, I hope Big Suitcase Girl continues to offer insights, highlights, memories, and the occasional travel “oops,” all sprinkled with humor, gratitude, and curiosity for this wide, wonderful world, no matter the mode of transportation, the road you take, or the size of suitcase you choose to (over)pack.

Because if my childhood road trips taught me anything, it’s this: The journey may build character, but snacks and good stories definitely help.