Somewhere Beyond the Next Bend

A little history, a lifetime of memories, and the enduring spirit of the great American road trip.

There's something about a road trip that gets into your blood. The anticipation of heading somewhere you've never been, the freedom of an open road, and the possibility that something extraordinary might be waiting just around the next bend.

This trip isn't exactly about new discoveries or places for me this time. It's about traveling roads I haven't had the freedom to stop and explore if I wanted. Cleo is staying home this time. She's 15 now and she's tired of these trips.

Of course, there's also the occasional six-hour stretch of highway that looks exactly like the previous six hours, questionable roadside bathrooms, gas station snacks, and the inevitable realization that you probably should have stopped for gas 20 miles ago. But that's part of the experience, too. 😂

I've always had a soft spot for road trips. Maybe it's because I grew up on the road.

A little history of hitting the open road

The great American road trip has a pretty interesting history.

Before automobiles became commonplace, traveling across the country was largely a matter of trains, ships, and organized transportation. But as cars became more affordable in the early 1900s, something changed. People could suddenly decide where they wanted to go, when they wanted to leave, and how long they wanted to stay.

In 1903, a man named H. Nelson Jackson, accompanied by his mechanic Sewall Crocker and a bulldog named Bud, made the first successful transcontinental automobile journey from San Francisco to New York. It took them 63 days. Roads were primitive, breakdowns were frequent, and the idea of simply driving across the country was still a rather extraordinary undertaking.

By the 1920s, automobiles were becoming increasingly accessible to American families. Route 66 was established in 1926, connecting Chicago to Los Angeles and becoming one of the most iconic highways in American history.

Roadside America began to take shape. Motels, motor courts, diners, gas stations, souvenir shops, and wonderfully unusual roadside attractions appeared along the highways. The journey itself became part of the vacation.

Then came the camper and RV culture. Families could take a little piece of home with them, travel at their own pace, and spend their summers discovering the country.

The interstate highway system, beginning in the 1950s, made cross-country travel easier and faster. But something about the romance of the old highways has never really disappeared.

The American road trip became more than a way to get somewhere. It became a symbol of independence, freedom, discovery, and adventure.

And I suppose I've been a fan of that idea for most of my life.

Summers spent exploring

Both sets of my grandparents and my parents had campers or trailers. We spent summers traveling, exploring, and discovering places I'd never seen before.

A lot of my childhood memories are tied to those trips, particularly exploring the mountains of California. There's something about being out in nature, away from the everyday routine, that leaves an impression on a kid.

In my twenties, I took a trip with one of my grandmothers, traveling all over the Southwest. We discovered some pretty amazing places, but I think our favorites were Utah's red rock country. By this point I'd already developed my love of Red Rocks of Sedona.

There's just something about that landscape. The enormous sandstone formations, the deep reds and oranges, the vast open spaces, and the way the light changes everything throughout the day.

Some places just get under your skin. You might leave them behind, but a little piece of them stays with you.

I've always been drawn to those wide-open landscapes. Maybe it's the contrast between the mountains and desert, or the feeling of standing somewhere so enormous that all the little things occupying your mind suddenly seem a whole lot smaller.

Whatever it is, I never seem to tire of discovering new places.

The journey is sometimes better than the destination

One of the funny things about road trips is that they aren't always particularly exciting.

There are endless hours of highway. Miles and miles of scenery that begins to look suspiciously familiar. The occasional argument over directions, music, or whether it's really necessary to stop at another historical marker. If you're companion is your cat, you may listen to "meow meow" for hours on end!

Before GPS, somebody had to navigate with a paper map. And if you were the designated navigator, you'd better know how to fold that thing back up. I swear some of those maps required an engineering degree.

Then there's the roadside attraction phenomenon.

America has given us some truly spectacular examples of people deciding to build something enormous, unusual, or completely unnecessary and inviting strangers to come look at it.

Giant dinosaurs. Oversized roadside statues. Strange little museums. The world's largest whatever-it-happens-to-be.

Sometimes you stop because it's genuinely interesting. Sometimes you stop simply because you've been driving for five hours and need an excuse to get out of the car.

But every once in a while, something unexpected happens.

You round a bend and suddenly there's a mountain range in front of you. Or a canyon opens up, or the landscape changes completely, or you find yourself staring at a view so beautiful that you just sit there for a minute taking it all in.

Those are the moments I love.

The ones that remind you why you got in the car in the first place.

Passing along the wanderlust

I tried to pass some of that adventurous spirit along to my own children.

Not all of them are wired the same way, and that's perfectly okay. We all have different ideas about what makes a good vacation.

But I did manage to produce at least one fellow explorer who joins me on adventures fairly frequently. For that, I'm always happy and grateful.

There's something special about sharing those experiences with your kids once they're grown. You're no longer just the person organizing the trip and making sure everybody has snacks. You're two adults discovering something together.

And now, here I am, getting ready for another adventure.

This time, I'm heading to Arizona for three weeks to meet my new granddaughter and spend some time getting reacquainted with my grandsons.

A pretty good reason to put some miles on the car, if you ask me.

There's something rather lovely about the idea that I spent so much of my childhood traveling with my grandparents, and now I get to be the grandmother making those memories to be with another generation.

Maybe that's one of the things we pass along without even realizing it. Not necessarily a love of travel itself, but a curiosity about the world and a willingness to go see what's out there.

Traveling solo, with a little room for negotiation

I actually enjoy traveling alone.

There's a certain freedom in it. I can stop whenever I want, change directions, take the scenic route, spend an unreasonable amount of time admiring a rock formation, or decide that a little roadside town looks interesting enough to investigate. Or sometimes, I can just sit in my car and revel in the nature without being around people. Gotta do what feels right at the time.

Nobody has to agree with my itinerary. Nobody complains about my music. And I can take as many detours as my curiosity allows.

Although, I have to admit, I do look forward to the possibility of someday finding someone just as weird as I am who enjoys the same sort of adventures.

Someone who appreciates a scenic detour, doesn't mind getting a little lost, and understands that sometimes the best plan is to have no particular plan at all.

Of course, there's a rather important qualification.

You have to travel well together.

I honestly think traveling together is one of the ultimate compatibility tests in a relationship. You can get along wonderfully over dinner, share interests, and enjoy each other's company, but put two people in a car for twelve hours with changing weather, unexpected detours, questionable directions, and a hotel reservation that somehow disappeared, and you might discover a whole different side of each other.

It's one thing to love someone. It's another thing to love them after they've missed the exit for the third time. 😉

So, if there's a fellow adventurer out there somewhere, I hope they're patient, curious, reasonably good at navigating, and willing to stop for interesting rocks.

I'm not asking for much.

Somewhere beyond the next bend

I think that's what I love most about road trips. They remind us that life isn't always about getting somewhere as quickly as possible.

We spend so much of our lives rushing toward the next thing. The next milestone, the next responsibility, the next destination.

But there's something wonderfully liberating about getting in a car and allowing yourself to experience the space between where you are and where you're going.

The long stretches of road. The unexpected discoveries. The places you never intended to visit. The breathtaking scenery that appears when you least expect it.

You don't have to be young to be adventurous. You don't need a travel companion, a perfectly planned itinerary, or even a particularly good sense of direction.

Sometimes all you need is a full tank of gas, a little curiosity, and the willingness to see what's out there.

So, I'm packing up, checking the tires, loading the car, and getting ready to point myself west.

Three weeks of road, family, new memories, familiar landscapes, and hopefully a few unexpected adventures along the way.

And who knows what's waiting somewhere beyond the next bend?

That's half the fun.

Windows down. Radio up. Let the adventure begin.

Here's to the open road, the places that stay with us, the people we share it with, and all the wonderful things we haven't discovered yet.

And YES Mom, I cleaned the house before I left!

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