Leavin' on a Road Trip

It’s nearly summer, a season full of bright skies, leisurely days and journeys to lands both far and near.

There are few things I love more than the sensation of heading out on the open road, gas tank on full as the freeway stretches before me, promising adventure as landscapes roll by.

When I road trip, I pack snacks, audio books and games like road bingo and the license plate tracker. I save my favorite podcasts to listen to while driving.

I get travel guides and read about our leave locale, blissfully imagining all the cool things we’ll see and do. I map stops to quirky roadside attractions along the way.

I put way too many clothes in my luggage, thinking I’d better throw in a few extra shirts, just to be safe, and then I’ll wear the same two outfits throughout my trip.

I even pack a small suitcase so that when I stop for a night, I don’t have to lug my big one into the hotel just for a toothbrush and fresh underwear.

I love a road trip. And I have the drill down.

Only, my husband would tell you that I don’t at all.

You see, vacation is totally my thing. But packing? Not so much.

I know what I need to do, but for some reason I fight it like a fish out of water. I squirm and flop, but never really get anywhere.

Oh sure, I can plan like the dickens.

I make lists.

Before a recent trip, my pre-vacation lists included a to-do list of errands to run the week before we left, a list of chores to do the morning of departure, plus separate packing lists for me, the dog and the family unit.

I also create staging areas.

My prep areas included a counter dedicated to snacks, a counter dedicated to itineraries, addresses and travel guides, a dresser top dedicated to possible wardrobe ensembles and a spot in the bedroom for the suitcases that I lugged out of storage.

But those final moments of selecting what goes, what stays, what will fit into which bags, where those bags will fit in the car and completing the last minute items on my to-do lists is torture.

I agree that the journey is the destination, but getting to the journey drives me – and my husband - crazy. By the time we get in the car to leave, we are both ready to kill each other.

Shouldn’t that be happening after we’ve been together nonstop for ten days and not as we’re just embarking?

The day before we left on our most recent trip, after I had slept poorly two nights in a row, worked long days back to back and GONE TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, he had the audacity to tell me that he wanted to be on the road no later than 5:30 a.m.

Normally, I’d have no problem with that. I get up early every day – and I had been getting up at that time for weeks while he slept in until 8 or 9 a.m. But the one night that I desperately needed a few extra hours of sleep, suddenly he’d found his inner rooster. I tried to explain this to him, tried to buy myself more time.

I interpreted his furrowed brows and huffy frown to mean I had an extra 30-minute window leeway.

The following morning - Departure Day, or D-Day as I have come to think of it - found me stepping out of the shower to sounds of him watching TV downstairs. I saw the bed hadn’t been made with the fresh sheets I put aside. I saw the dog crate hadn’t been cleaned. And I saw that the spider traps hadn’t been set.

It was 5:20 a.m.

“Do you know what you can do for the family?” I hollered downstairs. “You can change the sheets, clear the crate and set the spider traps.”

Up the stairs he stomped, thinking, I’m sure, what an overbearing, pushy wife I was as steam shot from my ears.

We were both fuming.

We proceeded to pack the car and check the house one last time in stony silence.

And that’s how we departed for our annual vacation together – our precious ten days of rest and relaxation, the longest stretch we are likely to have for more than a year - silently seething as we mentally cursed one another.

It was 5:45 a.m.

Later that day, we agreed how terrible it is for us to get on the road. We acceded that we each have our pre-vacation issues. We conjectured that being aware might be part of the battle and decided that next time we’d plan for a period of pre-vacation syndrome, or PVS. We nodded and let it go.

Because the road lay before us and we had so many wonders yet to discover.