Road trips are a strange cultural phenomenon. When you’re not on one, the concept of packing your possessions and friends into a metal box on wheels and hurtling down the freeway seems ever so romantic. The journey beckons, promising adventure. But the reality of road trips is a surreal fever dream of sparse vegetation, roadside coffee shops, and never-ending movement. The typical road trip comes in three stages.
Stage One is described as The Exposition. You’ve planned this for weeks, and all of your worry and anticipation has led up to this moment. Bright-eyed and eager for the journey, you gleefully ignore the warning signs of the horror that awaits you. You should see it coming, really. The fierce game of giant Tetris to fit everything in the trunk, the frequent sprints back into the house or to the other car to get items nearly forgotten, these are all omens of tragedy to come. But your heart has lassoed your head to the horizon, and there is no turning back now. For sure, you’ve packed as many snacks as you could possibly need, your phone is charged, and you have a stack of books and movies a foot and a half tall to plow through if you can. As your home fades from your rearview mirror, your heart soars. You’re ready for deep conversations and singing along to the radio at the top of your lungs.
Stage Two is known as Disenchantment. You’ve been sitting in nearly the same position for a solid two hours. Your back aches, your legs aren’t comfortable no matter how you arrange them, and there’s a pain behind your eyes that doesn’t go away even when you close them. The radio has long since lost any familiar stations, and you’ve run out of topics for conversation. You’re finally reading the book you’ve been wanting to read for months, but you’ve been stuck on the same page for half an hour. Every five minutes your eyes jump from the words in your lap, to your phone screen, to the scenery around you, and back again. There is nothing new on Facebook, nor Snapchat, nor Instagram, because you checked it literally two minutes ago. You had no idea this part of the country existed. You could have sworn that you passed that Stewart’s (or Tim Horton’s or 7-Eleven) three times already. You keep checking the clock, knowing that no more than five minutes have passed since the last time you checked but unable to resist. You may even offer to drive, just to break the monotony, but even this won’t help for long, and you swiftly sink back into the Road Trip Pit of Despair.
Stage Three Is what we like to call The Roller Coaster. It takes place solely within the last hour of your trip, regardless of how long it was. You wake from your stupor of half waking/half sleep, catch sight of the clock, and you’re struck by a lightning bolt of hope. For a good ten to fifteen minutes, you’re alert and anxious to be at your destination. You might even talk to the other people in the car. It is in these moments when you realize just how long an hour actually is. The conversation peters out, and you’re left staring awkwardly out windows pointing out roadside attractions. This happens at least five more times before you reach your destination.
Finally, you arrive. Dragging yourself from the wreckage of empty coffee cups and fast food containers, you breathe fresh as if you’ve never tasted it before. Gazing around, you marvel at how beautiful God’s Creation is, and thank the stars that you won’t have to get back in the car for at least a few days.
