Road trips are, hands-down, my favorite thing in the world. Which is convenient, since basically my entire life is -in essence- one big road trip. There’s just something about driving down the road, listening to music, and watching the scenery change from place to place.
There was one time, however, when road trips went from being at the top of my favorites list, to pretty much the farthest thing from the top. This phenomenon occurred whenever our bus got in a wreck two years ago and wound up totaled. After the totaling of the bus, we purchased a Ford Expedition.
Normally the Expedition is a spacious car, but after you cram 8 people + all their bags into it, it becomes considerably less spacious. Luckily, we’re all on the lean side of the spectrum as far as weight goes. However, traveling in a car with seven other people for the better half of a year lends itself to the belief that either said people are growing, or the car is shrinking.
If you’ve ever flown on an international flight and come to the conclusion that sleeping on an airplane is one of the least comfortable experiences in life, try napping in a car with 7 other people and their belongings. I now know what sardines feel like when packed into a can.
As pleasant an experience as that was, you can imagine my relief when we purchased a new bus. Although, since we built the inside of the bus ourselves, we still had to travel in the car for several months after.
All this to say, after such an adventure, logically I shouldn’t enjoy road trips as much as I still do. But if you can come out of an experience like that and not be tragically scarred for life, I suppose the only conclusion to be drawn is that the road life is in my blood. It’s a part of who I am.
Maybe someday I’ll settle down and stay in one place, have a home. But I’ll never completely give up traveling, because in order to do that I would have to renounce part of myself.