Okay, You Drive Now
A story to/for/of the road.
Flash back to 1998. I’m middle row of a forest green 12-passenger van crying because my brother won’t stop looking at me a weird way (sensitivity is my specialty at this point). The words “road trip” or “we’re driving there” give me the sudden urge to pee my pants. I beg for Radio Disney (obviously) but I lose out (obviously) to the other 5 humans in the car. My fragile self debates if all the Bugles, M&Ms, and other gas station delicacies are worth the hours of backseat bickering with my siblings.
Today, 18 years have passed and the words “road trip” still give me the sudden urge to pee — but let’s blame that on sheer adrenaline.
After somehow convincing Nick to indefinitely trade his Rainbows for Chacos, tacos for fried chicken, and salty ocean for fresh water, I knew the drive from LA to Chattanooga would be one for the books or, rather, the internet.
(Side note: This road trip might have been the key reason he agreed to the entire move. Bribery might also be my specialty these days. But that’s neither here nor there.)
Beyond just satiating my incessant photography and camping needs, this road trip reminded me that road trips are no longer about sitting uncomfortably close to my siblings for an extended period of time. They are no longer about the forest green 12-passenger van or fighting over which radio station we get to listen to. They are no longer about the Bugles and the M&Ms (Well, most the time).
Today, road trips are about the road. And the fact that the road means so much more than just that.
The road means a trip from my home of LA to my home of Chattanooga is not just a dreaded journey, but a way to explore some long-coveted places in between.
It means a ticket to see colors deemed nonexistent only costs a few hours.
It means a little solitude and time to listen to that new Saintseneca album on repeat.
It means a spontaneous highway pull off to skate a deserted road into Zion National Park.
It means dirt cheap gas in that funny smelling town in west Texas and muddy coffee at every mid-country pit stop.
It means taking photos your mom will yell at you for (but then still like on your Instagram).
It means having the time to play with lights, to make some cowboy coffee and campfire bacon, and to admire every tree in the swamplands of Texas.
It means finding art in peculiar places (and trying to explain that art to the scientist you date).
It means envying the people who booked the El Cosmico teepees and staying up all night drooling over the clear desert sky.
It means selfie-ing whenever and wherever selfie-ing is possible.
It means awkwardly laughing at the State Park Ranger when she casually advises you to watch out for gators.
It means hours spent thumbing through dusty books and purchasing post cards with the middle finger on them (because #art and #class).
It means grabbing that stick and finding places to shred, even in the middle of the country.
It means gawking over every sunrise and every sunset.
Most of all, the road means letting your feet take you wherever you want to go.
For more photos and earth wanderings, follow me on Instagram here!
