When I was 7, my mom took me and my then 5-year-old brother on a road trip from our hometown in North Carolina to her hometown just outside of Chicago over the course of 2 weeks, stopping roughly 4 times each way to and from to stay with various friends and family members. And I loved it. I grew up on a tree farm that spanned hundreds of acres without a neighbor in sight. Aside from trips to Chicago with my mom when I was a baby and a roadtrip that happened when I was too young to remember, this is my first recollection of being on an interstate. I became fascinated by the interstate highways, the local peculiarities like the way the symbol for state highways changes with each state, the way each state has to give you a quick rundown of local laws when you cross its borders, the way it becomes apparent when you do cross borders that you've definitely crossed from a high tax state to a low tax state, the slow buildup from rural to city and dizzying flurry of excitement that is driving in a city on the interstate. Each subsequent roadtrip, each new state traveled to was a welcome adventure.
I learned how to drive when I was 8. This shocks most people, as it probably should. I got it in my head that I wanted to drive. After not letting the damn issue be for long enough, my dad broke and taught me how to drive the truck. Our driveway was a half mile long, gravel, and almost completely obscured by trees. It was about as safe an environment for an 8 year old to learn how to drive a truck as you could possibly simulate, except for the trees. Oh, and the giant body of water on one particular side of the driveway. Oh and on the other side of that body of water is a land made dam that the driveway traverses and is characterized by a very steep drop. As I grew more comfortable, my dad let me starting at age 10 to drive the truck up and down the driveway by myself. By age 13, I was allowed to drive back roads from my dad's house to my mom's house, the bulk of which is hilly terrain. The day I got my drivers license when I was 16, I was chomping at the bit to get behind the wheel of that same truck by myself. My dad told me that I was free to drive around and wander as long as I stayed within the confines of our county. Not a problem, our county was large enough with enough twists, hills, and back roads upon back roads that I was constantly finding new terrain to cover. I would leave for hours at a time, take my CD collection with me, and not allow myself to back track. I had to find my way home using only my cardinal navigation skills. Running around in the woods every afternoon as a child instilled this in me in such a way that GPSs make me feel robbed. I used this method to help me process all the bullshit that came with being a damn teenager. To this day, nothing helps me destress quite like a good drive.
College brought me to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and my truck stayed in North Carolina. Free public transit with my student ID made it easy to get around the city, but there were times of distress where I wanted nothing more than to drive around and think shit out. The fact that I couldn't do this was almost more stressful than whatever I was upset about to begin with. It would appear the mold had been set, and that an instinct for flight would kick in quarterly. Furthering this mold was the fact that I was a member of my college's marching band, basketball band, and concert band for four years. I attended a division 1 school (Go Pitt!), so this meant several times per year traveling with the band to a different school. These trips had odd departure times like 3:30 AM and other hours of the day that shouldn't exist. These trips at times were so lengthy that we would have to stop in New Jersey to get a different bus driver or else they would break union rules for our all night haul to Connecticut. I loved those trips. In addition to the antics that would occur with being college kids on a road trip, being in a moving vehicle like that was a serene experience, like hanging out with an old friend.
I attended graduate school in Denver, Colorado, which is exactly how I ended up here. After graduation I came to North Carolina for 2 weeks before my mom, myself and my friend Dawn set out for Denver in my recently obtained car. I call her Vivian. She's an important actor on this blog.
That trip, and the ones that followed, were the first in my life to truly be on my own terms. They were times of intense processing and self discovery, spur of the moment trips to meet a friend off the internet in Minnesota, up and leaving for LA the day I was unceremoniously fired from a job (don't worry, I landed on my feet. And it was actually a paid suspension, but fired packs more of a punch), spontaneous turns up dirt roads in New Mexico, moments of panic in the Utah desert as my tank sat on empty, watching as the landscapes transformed in front of me. I have loved every last moment of it.
Wherever I go, however, my modus opperandi is always as follows. I am always alone. I am driving 5-12 hours per day. A loose route and series of destinations is determined beforehand, but I am in extremely rural country. No cell phone signal? No problem. And no GPSs allowed. I used to collect maps and every state's welcome center as they always have them for free, but now I just keep a United States atlas in my car at all times. I sleep in mid range chain hotels (more on why I do that later). I only eat at chains in moments of desperation, otherwise its “they're looking at me funny and the service is awful but I'll be damned if these aren't the best huevos rancheros I've ever had” local. The music I play has to match the scenery. Funny signs are photographed, tourist attractions are waved off. My trip will last 3-5 days. No partying and the only alcohol consumed will be something local I've never had and in limited quantities. No fun driving for 6 hours hungover. Itinerary can be subject to change. Many a time I've slept in a different state than the one I intended on that given night. Sometimes you just don't clock as many hours as you intend. Sometimes you don't get much sleep the night before because you forgot to pack earplugs again and suddenly you're exhausted at 3 in the afternoon and really don't want to sleep at a rest area. And sometimes you remember you're a professional with a job you need to be at at 9 am on Monday.
My intention for this blog is to update it twice per week with an account of some aspect of somewhere I've traveled. A profile of a hidden gem of a small town. A great motel I found once. A great restaurant I found once. An epic stretch of road. A weird sign. I will also update this blog on future trips I may take. I'm doing this to one: share more with my friends and family about these trips (those who know me have experienced at least once me taking off without warning. Those who really know me are no longer shocked when this happens) two: to demystify this part of America. The west and southwest are special, vast, beautiful places, and three: to encourage other women not to be afraid to travel alone. Every time I take one of these trips someone feels compelled to make a remark about how I put my safety at risk, or ask if I ever get scared, or even in one sick case joke about the horrible things that could have happened to me because I went camping alone. But then again I've always been one to believe that if someone were to seek to cause me harm, they would be ones with the problem, not me. And given that I use these trips for quiet introspection, I'm usually not looking to make friends. I've had a couple of tense moments, but nothing truly awful. Also, the crime rate in America has been dropping steadily since 1991. Quit letting the local news brainwash you into thinking you live in a war zone and go live your damn life.
Let's do this.
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