The GRT: My Great American Road Trip

"Where all are you guys going?"
"Who do you mean, 'you guys'? It's just me."
"Wait, you're going on a two week road trip alone?"
"Yup."
"Why?"
"Because I can. Because I want to."
"Oh. Wow."

I have been told that the "Great American Road Trip" is dying out. People are saying that high gas prices, the increased availability of flying, and the fragmenting of the American family are causing road trips to become a thing of the past. Maybe I'm just behind the times, but I don't buy it. When I was a kid, my family took road trips with relative frequency, and many of my favorite family memories are of things that happened on those trips.

I remember going to Washington D.C. for the first time, listening to my dad describe historical events as we toured the places where they happened. I remember getting ice cream sundaes in the basement of the Smithsonian and gazing at the planes suspended from the ceiling of the Air and Space Museum. I was awe-struck by being able to see history in concrete form before me. I remember Mom navigating the Metro, and Dad keeping his head on a swivel and his hand on his wallet as my sister and I, small-town girls at heart, stared around us with eyes like saucers.

I remember driving down to New Orleans and staying with my uncle there. I was fascinated by the smells and dirt of the French Quarter. I recall my parents hustling us past shop fronts that they deemed inappropriate, but letting us explore the stores that featured ceramic theater masks. I even recall trying on a huge, antique sapphire ring in a pawn shop, being amazed that such a huge stone even existed.

I remember going to Mammoth Cave and being fascinated with the idea of spelunking. We ran into an old science teacher of my sister's at the park, where he was working as a ranger, and I remember climbing around on the young cavers tour, exploring tiny spaces and getting covered in cave mud.

But probably most memorable of all was our trip out west. On that trek, my dad's mother joined our family of four, so we took her minivan and started our venture from Denver. We drove up through the Black Hills to Mt. Rushmore and the Crazy Horse Monument, then on to Yellowstone. In my mind's eye I can still see the colors of the hot springs, and the lush green of the hills. I can remember my mad excitement when I saw Old Faithful blow the first time. And, when I really focus, I can remember the smell of the NutriGrain bars I'd eat when I started to get carsick.

Perhaps those fond memories are the reason that I love road trips so much. I love the idea of exploring and having an adventure, and I get excited about the chance to see friends and family who are usually far away. I love the feel of stretching after a long car ride, and of the hugs and smiles of the people at your destination when you finally arrive on their doorsteps. I love the freedom of traveling, of being able to go down the road, to see the world out my window and sing at the top of my lungs in the car.

So, to commemorate what will probably be my last free summer, I am taking a road trip. I'm loading my remarkably reliable car, Jack, and setting out on an adventure. When I first mentioned my plans, some of my friends were surprised that I would want to travel several thousand miles and take on a two-week trip by myself. But my family and those who know me best recognize that it's pretty typical of me. I'm pretty independent and have no qualms about going out on my own. I love the open road, the freedom of a flexible itinerary, and the knowledge that I get to see people I care about along the way. I love singing in the car and finding fun restaurants where I can eat along the way.

That is why, this morning, I lugged my duffel bag downstairs, set my iPod for some tunes, and Jack and I set off down the road. I drove through Tennessee and Kentucky, through beautiful green hills and gently rolling farmland toward the flat plains of the midwest. I finally stopped in the small city of Evansville, Indiana, a place I where I had once visited when a friend went to college here. I recalled a small, indie coffee shop here that my friend had taken me to and, with a little help from my GPS, found it: Penny Lane Coffee House. I stopped in for an Italian Soda and got a little work done in the afternoon.

Then I met up with a friend from grad. school, Rachel, who is working here for the summer, and we went to a New York-style lounge called to catch a little dinner. After dinner we met up with the local dance group for a lesson in salsa dancing and an evening of salsa and swing. I'm not a great dancer, but the teachers were good and, with the help of some excellent leads, I managed to dance both salsa and swing. It was great to move that much after a day of driving, and I thoroughly enjoyed the music. I had learned a few salsa and swing moves in my showchoir days, but there's something totally different about the improvisational style of swing dancing outside showchoir choreography. In addition, the communities of swing dancers are really diverse, and I love the chance to meet people I otherwise might never get to talk to. Rachel has definitely persuaded me to take up dancing more in my everyday life, so I may have to look up the local swing dancers in my future locations. In the meantime, I'll try not to forget how to do the basic salsa and the triple-Lindy as I drive on down the road.

That's all for now, but stay tuned for the next installment of my GRT: Missouri Loves Company.