road trip – Life In A Word

And Then There Were Three

Our daughter-in-law shares photos of her family through an online album titled “And Then There Were Five”. She used to have individual collections for her two girls but once daughter three came along she combined everything into one album. Add her and my son to the equation… “and then there were five”. It’s a phrase I thought about as I passed through the state of Alabama earlier this week. I’ve never been to Alabama but now I can claim that I have. To which I say… “and then there were three“.

In my (almost) sixty-five years of existence I’ve managed to visit 46 out of the 50 U.S. states. None of these visits were intentional, as in “I just want to say that I’ve been there”. Rather, they happened for the usual reasons we find ourselves in states other than the one we call home. Sightseeing. Visits to colleges and universities. Reunions with family and friends. Or simply traveling through one state to get to another. If you identify with any of these reasons, the number of U.S. states you’ve visited may be higher than you think.

Growing up out west in California, my parents recognized the value of a trip to the East Coast to see the sights of Colonial America. They designed a single month-long drive for me and my brothers that accounted for at least fifteen states in and around New England. Since then I’ve managed to visit most of the western states through short driving trips here and there. My wife and I honeymooned in Hawaii. One of my nephews got married in Alaska. And so on. All these years later the only states I haven’t visited are Arkansas, North Dakota, and Oklahoma.

But never mind the leftovers. Today we put the spotlight on Alabama, my most recent “acquisition”. Off the top of my head, here’s everything I know about Alabama:

Montgomery is the state capital (memorizing in elementary school is a beautiful thing).
Auburn University and the University of Alabama are consistently ranked among the best football programs in the country.
Alabama was a legendary country music band.
An Alabama Slammer is a fruity shot made with Southern Comfort.
“Sweet Home Alabama” ranks among the greatest rock songs of all time.

Now then, having just driven from South Carolina west into Georgia, then southwest down “The Yellowhammer State” and on into Florida, here’s everything new I’ve discovered about Alabama:

A good chunk of the state is covered by national forest.
They have a Buc-ee’s travel center.

Let’s be honest; I’m feeling a little rain on my parade of states right now. I mean, virtually every U.S. state has a national forest, right? As for Buc-ee’s, if you’re not familiar with their mega gas stations you will be soon. Buc-ee’s has added larger-than-life dimensions to the term “rest stop”. The convenience store in their Luling, TX location is a world-record 75,000 square feet of retail. The car wash in their Katy, TX location also breaks a world record – 250 feet from one end to the other. In Alabama you have four opportunities to stop at a Buc-ee’s.

To all of its residents, I say Alabama deserves more respect than a walk in the woods or a stop at a glorified gas station. A little online legwork tells me I can opt for the following instead:

Visit the world’s largest space museum, up north in Huntsville.
Raft on North America’s longest mountaintop river, just outside of Ft. Payne in the Little River Canyon National Preserve.
Spelunk in Cathedral Caverns outside of Woodville, including a look-see of a 45-foot stalagmite column nicknamed “Goliath”.
Reacquaint myself with America’s Civil Rights Movement in a multimedia museum in the heart of Birmingham (which is pretty much in the heart of the entire state).
Board the USS Alabama, a World War II battleship turned into a floating museum, docked in a memorial park down south in Mobile.

Okay, Alabama just moved up a few rungs on the ladder of respect, even if my upcoming drive back home only includes more views of the forest and a stop at Buc-ee’s. At least I know somewhere beyond all those trees and gas pumps lies worthwhile attractions. That’s more than I can say about Arkansas, North Dakota, or Oklahoma.

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Tryst With a Twist

I’m leaving my wife for another woman. There, I said it.

I never thought it would come to this; I really didn’t. My wife and I have been together for thirty-one bliss-filled years – as smooth and as satisfying a marriage as one could hope for. And yet, tomorrow afternoon, I’ll catch a ride to the airport, kiss my beloved goodbye, and board a one-way flight to Las Vegas. All my worldly possessions stay behind, save for the overnight bag in my hand and the wad of cash in my pocket. When I get there, I’ll dress up, head over to one of the finer restaurants on the Strip and reunite with a woman over thirty years my junior. We’ll smile at each other and raise our glasses in anticipation. A new adventure will commence.

Now then, let’s shed a little more light on my tryst, shall we? Yes, I’m leaving my wife (but only for a day and half). Yes, I’m going to Sin City on a one-way ticket (but then I’ll turn around and drive back home the next day). And yes, I’m meeting up with a woman thirty years my junior. She also just happens to be my daughter.

Here’s the detail. After a year of living and working in Los Angeles, our youngest has decided to return to Colorado to give Denver a try (the “new adventure” I refer to above). The drive between those cities – if you’ve ever done it – is Las Vegas and a whole lot of nothing else. Imagine a twenty-hour jaunt in a lunar rover on the moon, only somewhere along the way you get thirty minutes in Disneyland. That’s LA to Denver: no people (at least, no sane ones) and a whole lot of cactus, dotted with a single oasis of slot machines and casino-hotels. Come to think of it, I’d wager big money the moon is more interesting than LA-Denver, especially the never-ending portion of the drive known as southern Utah.

Anyhoo, (to use a word from my daughter’s unique vocabulary), I’m sharing the Vegas-to-Denver drive with her – responsible father that I am – fully fourteen of the twenty hours it takes from Los Angeles. Somehow the idea of my daughter and her cat all alone in the desert doesn’t sit well with me.

The more I ponder this little adventure, the more I wonder if I shouldn’t be worried more about my time in Vegas. Think about it. I’ll show up at the hotel, and the front desk will undoubtedly eye my much-younger companion from head-to-toe. “Oh!”, I’ll say with a sheepish grin, “she’s my daughter.” Yeah, right pal, your ‘daughter’. When I arrive at the restaurant for dinner, the maitre d’ will say, “Sir, if you and your – uh – ‘niece’ will follow me, I’ll show you to your table.” Or let’s say I get my daughter to blow on the crap table dice for luck. Stink eyes all the way around. Hey big spender; who’s your prom date?

This is a no-win situation. Short of a blood test and a doctor’s proclamation, “Holy cow, they’re actually related!”, I’m destined to a jackpot’s worth of dirty-old-man looks in the next few days. At least I won’t be mistaken for a gigolo.

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Sorry, I beg to differ. I’ll be pleased as punch to share the intimate details of my time with my “other woman” in Sin City. Heck, maybe I’ll even make it my next blog post. We checked into the hotel. We went to dinner. Dropped a few quarters into the slots. Went to bed early so we’d be rested up for the long drive head. Riveting reading, huh?

Carefree Highways

Here’s a connect-the-dots challenge, tapping what’s left of your road-trip driving fever from Labor Day weekend. Pull up Google Maps, pick two towns on opposite edges of the continental United States, and see if you can discover the longest driving trip. The only rules: you must start and end with U.S. cities, and your answer must be the blue line (not the grey line alternatives).

My first guess on Google Maps (above) is effectively the longest drive between the borders of Mexico and Canada. San Ysidro in California wouldn’t exist if not for the busy border crossing just to the south. Van Buren in Maine wouldn’t exist if not for a small group of Nova Scotia citizens exiled from Canada in 1785. As you can see, my southwest to northeast traverse gets me 3,291 miles of driving and takes more than two days (including a wealth of bathroom stops). In the process, I pass through ten U.S. states and three Canadian provinces. Label this trip a long-distance segue from “Ole!” to “Eh?”

My second guess chooses a sun-starved soul north of Seattle, seeking some beach time in the Florida Keys (though someone named Irma would object right about now). Our friend finishes his oyster stew in tiny Blaine, WA; points his car to the southeast, and arrives in Key West, FL two-and-a-half days later, just in time for a twilight margarita with Jimmy Buffett. His drive also passes through ten states (like my first guess) but lasts 3,559 miles. If our friend finished in Miami he’d drive the same distance as my first guess, but Highway 1 – further south through the Florida Keys – buys him a 160-mile tiebreaker.

A recent Wall Street Journal article asserts we Americans are endlessly romanced by the allure of the open road (a “four-wheeled traipse” if you will), and the Labor Day holiday conveniently marks the end of the summer travel season. Thus, you get a lot of drivers on the first weekend in September – 600,000 in Colorado alone, or 11% of the state’s population. That translates to over 3.5 million road-trippers across the entire United States. Traffic jam, anyone?

In the prehistoric times of street-corner pay phones and folding road maps (read: 1970’s), the American Automobile Association (AAA) offered a service called “Triptik”. Go to an AAA office, tell ’em where you want to go, and they’d hand you a step-by-step book of maps “prepared expressly for you”. My parents gave me a Triptik – and all the station wagon gas I needed – as a high-school graduation present. My buddy and I created a Western States round-trip starting in Los Angeles, driving as far north as Montana, as far east as South Dakota, and returning through the Southwestern states. Our aim was to hit as many national parks as possible. We spent a few nights in motels (on our own dime), but most nights in sleeping bags in the back of the station wagon. No agenda, no worries – just a couple of teenagers making a ton of memories on the open road.

On the topic of road trips, I owe a nod to America’s beloved “Main Street” – U.S. Route 66. Though nowhere close to the longest road trip in the U.S., Route 66 is certainly the most renowned. Built in 1926, the “Mother Road” ran from Chicago to the Pacific Ocean west of Los Angeles – fully 2,448 miles. Early 1900’s migration to the Western U.S. owes some of its success to 66, and all those road-trippers “got their kicks” at the hundreds of restaurants and motels born along the highway. It wasn’t until 1985 – sixty years later – the last remnants of Route 66 were replaced by newer segments of the U.S. Interstate Highway System.

Now then; time to solve the Google Maps challenge (with a twist). The winner of the point-to-point American road trip is some nearby version of my second guess above: Washington to Florida. However, for my money I’d much prefer the drive from Oregon to Massachusetts (above). The twist? You can do it all on one ridiculously long highway! U.S. Route 20 – “The Big Daddy” – starts in little Newport, Oregon (pop. 10,000) and ends in Boston (pop. 673,000). You’ll cover 12 states and 3,154 miles before you hit the checkered flag. It’ll take you almost two days without stopping, but please stop. Along the way you’ll find the Idaho Potato Museum, Yellowstone National Park, “Carhenge” (a Stonehenge homage made entirely of autos!), Iowa’s Field of Dreams, Hall of Fame’s for RV’s/motor-homes, rock & roll, and baseball; and most importantly, the Jell-O Gallery Museum, your one-stop-shop + tribute to the jiggly dessert. C’mon, how you gonna top that road trip (with a dollop of whipped cream?)

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.