One of the treasured memories I have from my childhood is our annual family vacation. For us, it was either Christmas or Spring Break. We would pile into my Dad’s Chevy station wagon and he’d drive us down to Florida for a week or two. St. Augustine, Orlando, Naples. The routine would vary from year to year, but the unwavering constant was that my folks would be trapped with me, my two brothers and my sister for two weeks. Perhaps I’m looking through rose-colored glasses, but I don’t remember either of my parents being overly stressed about being confined with us.
Maybe that’s why I decided that this summer I wanted to share that experience with my kids, going on a four-week vacation where we could see amazing sights and spend time together. When I shared my ambition with friends and family, though, I got some reactions that I’m sure my parents never had to deal with.
“Are you crazy?”
“Wow, you’re brave. I could never spend that much time alone with my kids.”
“I couldn’t do it.”
Even my wife Cindi, who loves me and knows me, expressed some doubts: “Are you sure? That’s a long time to be with the kids by yourself.”
My ego allowed me to shake off these doubting Thomases. I’m Stay-At-Home-Dad Man! I’ve been the at-home parent for six years! Ha! I laugh at long car rides. Ego bolstered, I set about planning our trip.
The original idea was to head east, with a first stop in Colorado Springs. We moved to Danville from there a year ago, and my kids were missing their friends. So I figured we would stop for a visit, then continue on another thousand miles east to Chicago, where much of our family lives. Cindi would fly out and join us for the visit, then head back to work while we continued on our odyssey.
I thought we might swing south on our way back west, hitting the big Utah national parks like Bryce Canyon, Zion and Arches. My wife, easily the smarter of the two of us, pointed out we’d been to those parks and suggested going north instead of south. Mt. Rushmore, Yellowstone, the Tetons and others beckoned us on the road to adventure.
The weeks of July flew by and finally we were ready to head off. The kids had their travel bags and snacks; I had a cooler, an itinerary and a route programmed into my brand new GPS navigation system. At 6 a.m. on July 22nd our adventure began.
What do you mean ‘out of gas’?
While you wouldn’t think that the 730-mile stretch between Danville and Salt Lake City could be very adventuresome or exciting, I can tell you that our first day on the road was fraught with a few more thrills than I would have liked.All was going well. The kids – Maddy, 10; Emma, 8; and Harry, 6 – were all reading, listening to music on their headphones, or playing Gameboy. I had the stereo all to myself and enjoyed those first few hours of blissful peace and quiet. We made it to Lake Tahoe by late morning and continued on after a brief stop for gas and a restroom break. Things didn’t get really interesting until early afternoon.
The GPS said I still had another 150 miles to go to Salt Lake. The gas gauge on my Suburban told me I had 250 miles left in the gas tank. To say that was misleading is an understatement. Confident that I could make it to Salt Lake without having to make another stop, I powered on into the broiling midday sun. Into the no-man’s land that is western Utah. Up and down hills at 70 mph with the air conditioner blasting in the 105-degree heat took its toll. The Suburban’s already feeble gas mileage became nearly anemic and the numbers on the gauge began to drop.
I didn’t start to get nervous until the car was telling me it only had 35 miles of gas left and we still had more than 50 miles to get to the city. I queried my navigator about nearby gas stations and was informed there were none closer than Salt Lake. As the gauge continued to drop, I was starting to sweat. Not too badly however, as I believed I still had my hole card. If worse came to worst, I could call for highway service on my cell phone. Sure it’d be embarrassing and costly but at least I wouldn’t be stranded on a desolate stretch of highway on a hot summer day with three kids and a dead car.
My jaw dropped when I checked the phone and the “no service” icon was displayed. It seemed that every possible avenue of support had been systematically cut off. “Ding ding ding” went the low fuel alarm, increasing my tension. Instead of displaying a figure in miles, the gauge simply read “low range.” My mind raced through the possibilities of dealing with the encroaching situation when I spotted the heavenly blue sign ahead, proclaiming food and fuel available. With a sigh of relief, we swung off the ramp and down into the gas station parking lot, literally as the Suburban began to cough on the few remaining fumes left in the tank.
The remainder of the trip to Colorado Springs passed uneventfully, as did the drive a few days later to Chicago. Despite side trips to Wisconsin and Indiana for family visits, the week went by quickly and it was time to pack up and begin the longer return leg of our journey.
Old-fashioned car games can be fun
I won’t dwell on the 15 hours in the car from Chicago to Custer, S.D., other than to say that was the first time on the trip I questioned my ability to carry through on the claims my ego had made. Harry, tired of being in the car, took it on himself to start harassing his sister Emma at every opportunity. Maddy had finished every book she brought on the trip and now had nothing but time on her hands. And Emma, aside from Harry’s poking and pushing, was despondent over the loss of our DVD system, which had given up the ghost somewhere around the Minnesota state line.Whoever it was who invented the license plate game or the alphabet game should have been sainted. They were a lifesaver, keeping the kids distracted from the long car ride and even generating some excitement at times. Who knew that the letters “j,” “k,” “q” and “z” could be so hard to find?
Actually we all were excited to arrive in South Dakota. It was somewhere we’d never been and it meant the longest chunk of the return drive was completed. That excitement continued as we viewed two of the most amazing monuments I’ve ever seen: Mount Rushmore and the Crazy Horse Memorial.
Mount Rushmore has a subtle majesty and quiet grace that casts a spell over you the minute you walk beneath the monument’s arch and see the faces staring down at you. One man near me, on catching sight of the presidents’ faces uttered that it was “history etched onto living stone,” which I found captured the sentiment of the crowd. Groups of people would follow a trail to the base of the mountain and speak in hushed tones, respectful of the history before them.
Crazy Horse overwhelms you with its size and power and has to be one of the most striking projects ever attempted. One family has been blasting and chipping away at the mountain face for 50 years, eking out the face and arm of the Native American hero. The scope of it is truly astounding. Whereas the Rushmore monument covers one face of the mountain, Crazy Horse will eventually transform the entire mountaintop, creating a three-dimensional likeness.
After staying in Custer, we wended our way to Yellowstone and the Grand Teton national parks. Over the course of five days we visited both parks, experiencing everything from the quiet beauty of Taggart Lake to the power of the Upper Falls to the clockwork beauty of Old Faithful. Some sites we drove, others we walked. We saw bison, coyote, moose, elk, hawks and other animals.
The Gillette mutiny
It was also during these days that I began to see I had a potential mutiny on my hands. The bickering had increased 10-fold and all seemed bored and tired. Each time we made another stop, a collective sigh would issue from the back seats. While they enjoyed the natural beauty of the mountains and the forests, the two-and-a-half weeks away from home were taking their toll. I wondered if perhaps I was trying to pack too much into each day, falling a little too much into Clark Griswald mode and not just enjoying the experiences we did have.Things improved when I realized that all of our activities involved walking up to something and looking at it. What the kids needed was to actually do things instead of just looking. A hike at the end of a day of touring, or a swim in a frigid mountain stream kept them engaged and happy. It also helped to make certain all of our hotels had a pool or a hot tub to give them something to look forward to.
As our trip progressed, keeping them excited became more and more difficult. While they would enjoy what they were seeing, they would want to spend less and less time there. I think they were trying to get through all the sites we were going to visit in order to get home. Each night when we made our call to let them talk to Mommy, more and more I was hearing, “I miss you a lot, Mom.” Harry even took to counting down the days until we got home and giving Cindi an update each night.
I, too, was starting to feel the pressure of being alone with the kids 24/7. At the end of the day, I looked forward to talking to my wife, if only to have some adult conversation. Both Maddy and Emma had birthdays while we were on the road and it was hard for everyone that we weren’t all together to celebrate and sing. By the time we got to Crater Lake, Ore., I had started my own countdown to home.
The wonder of it all
It was when we were at Crater Lake though, that I noticed something astonishing. We talked. No deep philosophical conversations, but just little things. They talked about the upcoming school year or soccer practices. I talked about things I had done as a child. It was fun because there was no agenda. I wasn’t trying to convince them that they needed to do something or act a certain way using my own past as an anecdote, and they weren’t trying to talk me into giving them something or doing something for them. It was just talking. Relating to them on a level that, as a parent, I don’t get to do very often. I liked it.As parents we’ve come to expect little in return for our efforts. We think of kids today as feeling entitled, of being unappreciative of what we do for them. But I think we sometimes overlook the payoffs we get every day. An unguarded conversation with a pre-teen is worth its weight in gold. I can think of other things as well…
…Walking on a gorgeous trail through the Redwood National Forest, sunlight tinted green by the foliage overhead, holding hands with Maddy, even getting a kiss on the forehead when we stop on a log to catch our breath.
…Emma, up to her knees in the waters of Taggert Lake trying to catch minnows suddenly stopping to squint up at me and murmur, “I love you Daddy.”
…Or sitting and looking at the crystal blueness of Crater Lake and having Harry (who moments before had told me I was the meanest Dad in the world) crawl into my lap and put his head on my chest before offering me a simple, “Thanks.”
During the course of our trip we traveled 5,700 miles, crossed through 15 states and saw over half a dozen national parks and monuments over the course of 24 days. But that “thank you” delivered with the simple innocence of a child … well, it just made it all worthwhile.
Since we’ve been back I’ve gotten to hear them tell friends and family all about our trip. Even now, a week later, with school looming and summer coming to an end I hear the thrill of excitement in their voices as they talk of photographing a trio of elk from 40 feet away, or watching a herd of bison stroll past our car. I hear that and I think, “We’ve made some memories. Things for our kids to tell their kids and maybe take them on a similar trip years from now.”
I love my kids and enjoyed spending this time with them, experiencing the natural wonder and beauty that we are fortunate enough to have in our country. It was a once in a lifetime experience and one I will carry with me forever. As for next summer … well, the beach is sounding pretty good to me. 😉
