Last summer, I embarked on an unforgettable road trip from Pennsylvania to Texas—just me and my two kids. Despite the 48 hours we spent in the car, I cherished every moment. When people ask why I took on this solo adventure, I can’t help but attribute it to my dad. His spirit lives on in me, especially during the warm months when the urge to travel strikes. The scent of hot asphalt instantly transports me back to those family road trips of my youth. Each time I step into a convenience store on a scorching day and feel the rush of cool air, I’m reminded of my dad and our shared adventures.
My favorite childhood memories center around sitting between my two towering brothers, the melodies of Oldies filling the car as my dad drove our compact blue station wagon. Every summer, we embarked on two-week journeys, exploring every corner of the Lower 48 states. For over a decade, I spent the Fourth of July in a different city each year, all thanks to my dad, who meticulously planned these escapades while sitting on the toilet, armed with his trusty Rand McNally.
I wanted my kids to share that same sense of adventure. When I first proposed the idea of a lengthy road trip, my husband was doubtful. His work commitments meant he couldn’t join us, so I had to venture out alone with our children, ages 9 and 12. After contemplating the journey for years, last summer finally felt like the right moment. I was familiar with the route from my college days, always accompanied by my father. After he passed away in October 2012, the memories of our travels encouraged me to take on this trip.
I hoped the journey would help me remember my dad and ease the lingering grief. I craved those moments on the road, reminiscing about the places we’d shared. I wanted to instill a sense of wanderlust in my children, just as my dad had done for me.
As the departure date approached, I prepared diligently. I packed travel games and snacks alongside my dad’s vintage Rand McNally. I mapped out our route, reserved hotels in advance, and prayed I wasn’t making a mistake. The night before we left, doubt crept in, but I could almost hear my dad telling me, “Just keep your hands at 10 and 2, be courteous to truckers, and don’t get caught speeding.” With those words echoing in my mind, I gripped the steering wheel tightly as we set off on a dewy summer morning. An Idaho license plate caught our attention as we turned onto the highway—my son grinned and said, “Poppy is with us…” The license plate game was officially on, and over our four days of travel, we spotted plates from 38 states!
The rolling hills of Pennsylvania and the majestic mountains of Virginia and Tennessee sped by outside our windows. We shared laughter, told stories, and listened to Harry Potter audiobooks. The long stretches of driving provided uninterrupted time together—no texting, no emails, no distractions. I started to appreciate every second, realizing my dad must have felt the same while we chattered in the backseat. It was almost as if he were there, guiding me with his wisdom.
As we journeyed, we marveled at the breathtaking landscapes our country offers. My kids were amazed to see that state lines weren’t barriers but rather transitions. Each hotel and rest stop welcomed us with friendly faces, making the trip smoother. One memorable encounter was with a kind restaurant manager in Nashville, who treated us to dessert when he learned we were headed to his hometown, a moment I knew would have delighted my dad.
When we finally rolled into my mother’s driveway, weary but exhilarated, the only thing missing was my dad to greet us with his signature, “1,595 miles in 23 hours and 17 minutes. You did good, kid.” Indeed, we did, Dad.
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Summary
The author reflects on a poignant road trip taken with her kids, inspired by her late father. Through shared memories and moments of connection, she aims to instill a sense of adventure in her children, while also processing her own grief. The journey is filled with joy, nostalgia, and the spirit of family.