road trips
The first rule of a road trip is, "Seize the opportunity." Even if it means a crab sandwich at 9:30, ten miles after two poached eggs and coffee in a one-gas station town. Pull off the freeway when you see the sign for Crab Shack, because you never know when you'll drive past another.
The same goes for Salmon King River; that's where you pull off, otherwise you may be going home without smoked salmon.
In some ways, a road trip is a series of dashed hopes and missed opportunities; at least, that's how it goes if you're out of practice, as I was when Axel and I took our road trip to Oregon. I took several road trips in my twenties: coast to coast twice, three times north to south.
My first drive across country started in Virginia, the day after Thanksgiving, and ended in Berkeley, the day before Christmas. I took a lolly-gagging northern route, sleeping on couches, in a motel room with a hitchhiker, in my car, on floors, in the parking lot of the Mormon Temple in Utah, and once, memorably, in the back of a university theater in Madison. (Hiding in a bathroom stall, feet pulled up, when the cleaning crew came through. It was below freezing and drastic measures were called for.)
The most fun on a road trip was with my brother, driving to Mexico. He downed two large Peet's coffees in Berkeley, I made him give me the wheel before we got out of the East Bay. The highlight of the trip was running out of gas on a private highway somewhere in Mexico sometime near midnight. There weren't any exits off the highway, we didn't have a map, and had arbitrarily decided to follow it to its end. Except that we ran out of gas. Our only options were fancy resorts or even fancier resorts, so we pulled into one and, at the entry booth, attempted to explain our predicament in some very pitiable high school Spanish. In much more sophisticated Spanish, the guard explained that this was a private resort and that they did not have a gas station on the premises. Textbook imperfectly, we pointed out that they must have some way to get gas into the golf carts. The guard --sweet faced, pudgy in his white uniform, motioned us to pull over and disappeared. He returned with a few other guys and a canister of gas which my brother fed to the car while I fed the guys some twenties and half a cake we'd brought along. Over cake, we found out that the guys had siphoned the gas from some of the guests' cars. We drove most of the night and in the morning found ourselves in a small town by the coast where we found a super cheap motel, parked the rental car, and spent the rest of the week buying cheap boots and every variety of street food.
The least fun trip was the southern coastal route with an on-again, off-again boyfriend. We squabbled most of the way and split ways, of course, well before the destination. In the meantime, though, we had some incredible pulled pork, saw Graceland, and I ran ten miles along a river at dawn one day in Texas, where the temperatures had already passed 100.
None of these trips prepared me for a road trip with my toddler, though this may be because my memories of them had sufficiently dropped into the netherland of my mind, trickling to the surface slowly as the miles ticked away en route to Newport, Oregon.
But, also, nothing really prepares you for traveling with a toddler, except, that is, the experience itself. If a road trip exists as a series of hopes and opportunities, it is, essentially, a trip dictated by your desire's whims. Unless your whims are hostage to your sweet-faced, pudgy, tyrant of a toddler. Axel threw approximately one tantrum per hour of driving; most of these tantrums were futile attempts to control his environment--such as it was for Axel, this meant expressing his anger at the fact that the armrest console was "clicked" (latched shut). Our stops were timed according to meltdowns, which took place approximately every one and a half hours. And all stops were suspended while he slept, which meant passing by homemade ice cream, fresh cherries, tug boats, crab shacks, taffy stores and a historic train from Oregon's Coastal Railroad. On our return, though, I broke down and woke Axel up so that he could see the sole train of our road trip.
Sometimes, though, instead of a tantrum, Axel would pretend he was Tuncer (our cat) throwing a tantrum. Which is very funny, for a minute at least. By the thirtieth minute of Axel being Tuncer throwing a tantrum because he wanted food, I was ready to leave him by the side of the road. So we discussed it, and it was decided that Axel didn't really want to walk home from Redway.
Stopping according to Axel's whims created a different kind of trip, one which landed us at a lot of fountains and statues, which, for some reason, maybe it's a question of scale, or perhaps because of their recognizability, he really appreciates. And also a fair share of ice cream stores, as well as well-situated benches, including the series that lined an elk prairie outside of Eureka. According to the logic of tantrums, one was thrown for a fountain for which we did not stop, as well as for the beach vista, where we didn't stop long enough. And, as the adult, whose life is composed of these stops and starts, I share the exact sentiment.
The same goes for Salmon King River; that's where you pull off, otherwise you may be going home without smoked salmon.
In some ways, a road trip is a series of dashed hopes and missed opportunities; at least, that's how it goes if you're out of practice, as I was when Axel and I took our road trip to Oregon. I took several road trips in my twenties: coast to coast twice, three times north to south.
My first drive across country started in Virginia, the day after Thanksgiving, and ended in Berkeley, the day before Christmas. I took a lolly-gagging northern route, sleeping on couches, in a motel room with a hitchhiker, in my car, on floors, in the parking lot of the Mormon Temple in Utah, and once, memorably, in the back of a university theater in Madison. (Hiding in a bathroom stall, feet pulled up, when the cleaning crew came through. It was below freezing and drastic measures were called for.)
The most fun on a road trip was with my brother, driving to Mexico. He downed two large Peet's coffees in Berkeley, I made him give me the wheel before we got out of the East Bay. The highlight of the trip was running out of gas on a private highway somewhere in Mexico sometime near midnight. There weren't any exits off the highway, we didn't have a map, and had arbitrarily decided to follow it to its end. Except that we ran out of gas. Our only options were fancy resorts or even fancier resorts, so we pulled into one and, at the entry booth, attempted to explain our predicament in some very pitiable high school Spanish. In much more sophisticated Spanish, the guard explained that this was a private resort and that they did not have a gas station on the premises. Textbook imperfectly, we pointed out that they must have some way to get gas into the golf carts. The guard --sweet faced, pudgy in his white uniform, motioned us to pull over and disappeared. He returned with a few other guys and a canister of gas which my brother fed to the car while I fed the guys some twenties and half a cake we'd brought along. Over cake, we found out that the guys had siphoned the gas from some of the guests' cars. We drove most of the night and in the morning found ourselves in a small town by the coast where we found a super cheap motel, parked the rental car, and spent the rest of the week buying cheap boots and every variety of street food.
The least fun trip was the southern coastal route with an on-again, off-again boyfriend. We squabbled most of the way and split ways, of course, well before the destination. In the meantime, though, we had some incredible pulled pork, saw Graceland, and I ran ten miles along a river at dawn one day in Texas, where the temperatures had already passed 100.
None of these trips prepared me for a road trip with my toddler, though this may be because my memories of them had sufficiently dropped into the netherland of my mind, trickling to the surface slowly as the miles ticked away en route to Newport, Oregon.
But, also, nothing really prepares you for traveling with a toddler, except, that is, the experience itself. If a road trip exists as a series of hopes and opportunities, it is, essentially, a trip dictated by your desire's whims. Unless your whims are hostage to your sweet-faced, pudgy, tyrant of a toddler. Axel threw approximately one tantrum per hour of driving; most of these tantrums were futile attempts to control his environment--such as it was for Axel, this meant expressing his anger at the fact that the armrest console was "clicked" (latched shut). Our stops were timed according to meltdowns, which took place approximately every one and a half hours. And all stops were suspended while he slept, which meant passing by homemade ice cream, fresh cherries, tug boats, crab shacks, taffy stores and a historic train from Oregon's Coastal Railroad. On our return, though, I broke down and woke Axel up so that he could see the sole train of our road trip.
Sometimes, though, instead of a tantrum, Axel would pretend he was Tuncer (our cat) throwing a tantrum. Which is very funny, for a minute at least. By the thirtieth minute of Axel being Tuncer throwing a tantrum because he wanted food, I was ready to leave him by the side of the road. So we discussed it, and it was decided that Axel didn't really want to walk home from Redway.
Stopping according to Axel's whims created a different kind of trip, one which landed us at a lot of fountains and statues, which, for some reason, maybe it's a question of scale, or perhaps because of their recognizability, he really appreciates. And also a fair share of ice cream stores, as well as well-situated benches, including the series that lined an elk prairie outside of Eureka. According to the logic of tantrums, one was thrown for a fountain for which we did not stop, as well as for the beach vista, where we didn't stop long enough. And, as the adult, whose life is composed of these stops and starts, I share the exact sentiment.
posted by aelis at 4:15 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home