Tag Archives: Road trip

Classic Post: Summer Driving, Going Crazy

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Image by Devexcelsure from Pixabay.

This post first appeared on June 13, 2018.

Is road construction a good thing?

During my pre-driving days, I liked it, especially on long family trips. Bright-colored signs, flags, cones and barricades broke up eternal stretches of highway. Burly men (no women were road construction workers then) drove huge trucks, bulldozers and graders. Lines of traffic snaked along roads, semitrailers’ air brakes whooshed and horns honked — all very exciting.

Road construction kept Dad and Mom occupied. Flapping maps, they forgot to monitor my siblings and me. When who-was-looking-at-whom crises arose, we kicked each other freely.

Dad’s mutterings graduated to addressing aloud the sins of fellow drivers and construction workers. A pastor, he didn’t swear. Instead, he called them Zeke, Pete, Cedric and Mephibosheth:

“Zeke and Cedric, are you going to yak all day? Or actually work?”

“Park it or drive it, Mephibosheth!”

Image by Pexels from Pixabay.

He addressed irritating women drivers as Gertrude. Unless he was really mad. Then they became Sister Shumpett.

“Sister Shumpett, you’ll send us all to Jesus!”

We kids loved the drama.

As an adult, I’m not so thrilled. Hostile plastic barrels target my car. Reduced lanes can’t accommodate a skateboard, let alone semis rocking around me.

Image by Lilly Cantabile from Pixabay.

Other drivers go crazy, too. Speed limit signs become mere mirages as they rocket past at warp speed. Others meander across skinny lanes as if they are middle schoolers riding bikes on a summer afternoon. Pete, Cedric, Mephibosheth, Gertrude and Sister Shumpett are alive and well on summer highways during this millennium, too.

So how can I ask a stupid question like, “Is road construction good?”

Before you add my name to the above list, consider this: The only thing worse than road construction is no road construction. In the Bahamas, Hubby and I nearly drove into the sea because no one had bothered to barricade a washed-out road, let alone, fix it. In Ecuador, we smacked our skulls repeatedly on a bouncing truck’s ceiling, following la calle para burros (the road made for burros).

Image by Natalia Kollegova from Pixabay.
Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay.

We’ve also driven in Michigan, a state whose annual highway repair budget is $15.83. Unfortunately, for family reasons, we continue to drive in Michigan.

I’ll soon pull our pop-up camper, as Hubby insists I spell him. Look out, Zeke, Pete, Cedric, Gertrude, and Sister Shumpett!

And you thought you already were being driven crazy.

Your Extraordinary Ordinary: What’s your favorite — or least favorite — road construction story?

Road Trip: Grand Adventure

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Image by Mohamed Hassan from Pixabay.

I missed Southern siblings and friends. I’d signed up for a writers’ retreat in Savannah, Georgia. Time for a road trip!

Why not fly?

I dislike heights. And oxygen masks. I’d rather wear a parachute.

Second, flights are delayed, cancelled and rescheduled ad nauseam. Would a camel prove more efficient?

Image by Christel from Pixabay.

But camels spit. Ergo, I drove.

Third, I felt old. I craved adventure.

So, I packed a huge suitcase. “Ha! No charge!”

Hubby couldn’t leave, so he demonstrated — again — how to operate Lavinia, my snooty GPS. With a goodbye kiss, I began my Grand Adventure.

Image by Erich Westendarp from Pixabay.

I conquered a high, Ohio River bridge without hyperventilating. Kentucky and Tennessee’s hilly terrain didn’t faze Lavinia and me. However, she now refused to talk, and I nearly bypassed my Tennessee friends. Eventually, we enjoyed our visit.

Image by Pexels from Pixabay.

Did Lavinia navigate the Appalachians?

No. We both freaked. Hoosiers shouldn’t be allowed to drive through mountains when roads under construction teem with a million semitrailers.

Whew! I arrived alive at my sister’s and celebrated a fun reunion with siblings.

Attempting to reach Savannah, though, I wandered in the wilderness. Not 40 years, but it seemed like 100, thanks to Lavinia, who still sulked in silence.

The elegant entrance to a Savannah home.
Fellow authors Gayle Roper and Janet McHenry and I at the Books & Such Literary Agency retreat.

Eventually (a key word), I found the Savannah retreat. Writing friends and I learned lots and cheered each other on.

I wanted the flattest route home — hopefully, without detouring to Kansas. Though a major storm occurred at night when every motel posted “No Vacancy” signs, the return trip proved easier. Hubby welcomed me, even with a huge suitcase of dirty clothes.

And a huge Visa bill. Given gas, hotel and food costs, driving hadn’t saved money. Semis nearly nosed my car over cliffs without offering either oxygen or parachute. I risked my life crossing bridges.

Siblings who once lived together wished each other on the moon, but now brave even miles through mountains to see each other.

Yet …

I’d embraced the freedom of the open road.

Mountains stunned me with beauty. I crossed five high bridges without needing an ambulance. Motel clerks, though unable to offer a room, refreshed this tired traveler.

Plus, the blessings of connecting with family and friends cannot be measured.

John Steinbeck journeyed with a friendly poodle and I with hostile Lavinia. Still, we shared joys he expressed in Travels with Charley. Though old, we risked adventure. I think Steinbeck would agree our journeys were grand.

But coming home was grander.

Your Extraordinary Ordinary: Was your last road trip a grand adventure?

OMG, It’s Monday! Prayer: Unanswered Prayer

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O Lord, I’m sure You remember my griping to You about road construction last summer. Griping out LOUD. OMG, I’m so glad You—and the workers—didn’t listen.

Classic Post: Look Out, I’m Pulling a Camper!

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This post first appeared on October 10, 2018.

Pulling a camper is like being followed by a shadow that’s gained 2,000 pounds.

Sure, I’ve spelled my husband en route to nearby campgrounds. When straight roads send him to Lullaby Land, I save our lives by driving short stretches on state highways.

But brave roaring, dragon-like semis on interstates? Motorcycles whipping in and out of lanes at Star Wars speeds? Han Solo, I’m not.

Especially as the rearview mirror is rendered useless.

My husband installed extended mirrors. However, they warn that reflected objects are closer than they appear.

That’s nice. Even humble, and I admire humility. But sorry, nice mirrors, when changing lanes, I want accuracy. And if up-close-and-personal encounters with construction barrels throw you off, I really don’t need views up my nostrils.

Especially when parking. We often need to stop for gas, food, and/or restrooms. Those paltry reasons pale, however, as we focus on more profound questions: Will we find a place to park the camper? Afterward, can we get out?

Once, as I contorted truck and camper in my 100th effort to leave a convenience store, Hubby lost all hope. “Will we spend the rest of our lives behind Kwickie Mart?”

Not exactly the retirement we’d envisioned.

I tried to console him: “Living on Little Debbie® cakes and beef jerky wouldn’t be so bad.”

My attempts scared traffic to a dead stop. A hundred yards away.

Thus, we finally left Kwickie Mart.

Hauling a camper never bores us. Once, while I was driving down South, purple-cloud giants charged us. They spit lightning and smothered us with avalanches of rain that drowned car taillights ahead. If I had risked pulling over, my flashers would have disappeared, blown out like candles.

Did I slow down? Not much. Storm or no storm, drivers who never drive less than 85 mph — on roads, shoulders and in parking lots — can be found everywhere. Even in easygoing Mississippi.

My prayer life shot up several notches.

Hubby’s, already flourishing, set new records.

Jesus took the wheel.

Afterward, when He had guided us to sunshine, Hubby tried to talk Jesus into taking all my shifts.

He smiled and said, no, we needed to grow in faith. Together.

Though Hubby still had theological doubts about Kwickie Mart experiences, and I struggled with mirror-nostril crises, we indeed have learned to depend on Jesus and each other. With His help, we and our 2,000-pound shadow return home, safe and sound.

We will hit the interstate again soon.

It’s only fair I give other drivers advance warning: Look out, I’ll be pulling a camper!

Prepare to grow in faith.

Your Extraordinary Ordinary: Have you ever pulled a camper? Driven an RV?

Summer Driving: Going Crazy

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Is road construction a good thing?

During my pre-driving days, I liked it, especially on long family trips. Bright-colored signs, flags, cones and barricades broke up eternal stretches of highway. Huge trucks, bulldozers, and graders growled and spouted smoke. Burly men (there were no women road construction workers then) drove the heavy equipment. Jackhammers appeared to enjoy breaking up Planet Earth. Lines of traffic snaked along roads, semitrailers’ air brakes whooshed and horns honked — all very exciting.

Road construction kept Dad and Mom occupied. Flapping maps, they forgot to monitor my siblings and me. When who-was-looking-at-whom crises arose, we kicked each other freely.

Dad’s mutterings soon graduated to addressing aloud the sins of fellow drivers and construction workers. A pastor, he did not swear. Instead, he called them Zeke, Pete, Cedric and Mephibosheth:

“Zeke and Cedric, are you going to yak all day? Or actually work?”

“Look out, Mephibosheth! Somebody else, take the wheel!”

He addressed irritating women drivers as Gertrude. Unless he was really mad. Then they became Sister Shumpett.

“Sister Shumpett, are you trying to send us to Jesus?!”

We kids loved the drama.

As an adult, I’m not so thrilled. Traveling anywhere during summer, I go crazy. Hostile plastic barrels target my car. I drive in reduced lanes that can’t accommodate a skateboard, let alone semis rocking around me.

Other drivers go crazy, too. Construction zones become existential: “I drive. Therefore, I am.”

Our Visa bills for gas support that mantra. But that’s all we know in construction areas, as highway signs become mere mirages. Drivers rocket past at warp speed. Others meander across skinny lanes as if they are middle-schoolers riding bikes on a summer afternoon. Pete, Cedric, Mephibosheth, Gertrude and Sister Shumpett are alive and well on summer highways in this millennium, too.

So how can I ask a stupid question like, “Is road construction good?”

Before you add my name to the above list, consider this: The only thing worse than road construction is no road construction. In the Bahamas, Hubby and I nearly drove into the sea because no one had bothered to barricade a washed-out road, let alone, fix it. In Ecuador, we smacked our skulls repeatedly on a bouncing truck’s ceiling, following la calle para burros (the road made for burros).

We’ve also driven in Michigan, a state whose annual highway repair budget is $15.83.

Unfortunately, for family reasons, we continue to drive in Michigan. I may soon pull our pop-up camper, as Hubby insists I learn to spell him.

Look out, Zeke, Pete, Cedric, Gertrude, and Sister Shumpett!

And you thought you already were going crazy.

Your Extraordinary Ordinary: So … is road construction a good thing?