Well, I put another 360 miles on my car in the past 24 hours. Actually, I guess it was more than 24, closer to about 28. But that’s rather inconsequential. I don’t mind the driving though. A lot of people would avoid driving that much if they could, but I’ve never minded it.
I think one of the reasons that I’ve never minded driving is my memories of driving, both with my family and on my own. I’ve never seen driving as unwanted travel time, or an unfortunate pre-requisite to arriving at my destination. Driving is always part of the adventure. When I was growing up, my family drove everywhere we went. I think we only took a plane once while I was growing up, but we still went to Florida every single year. We’ve taken trips out west, once to the southwest, and once to the northwest. We’ve driven up into Canada, swinging down to go through the northeast of the country. I spent so many hours in the back of a car in my childhood. But they are all fond memories. We had so much fun on our family car trips. We did read-alouds, listened to books on tape, sang songs, learned languages. Only once, when we borrowed someone else’s van because ours wasn’t big enough for all the bags we needed for a particularly long trip, did we have a TV in the car. And funnily enough, we didn’t really miss it the next trip at all. It hadn’t added to the experience at all. Even now, when I’m driving late at night to or from Cleveland, I pass minivans with the fold-down TV and see a few kids watching some goofy video and I don’t regret never having had that. Instead, I remembering my brother and I trying to figure out the best way for the two of us to spread out in one bench. I remember listening to John Denver, James Galway, Beethoven, and Enya.
One of the things I remember most is not being able to sleep in the early early morning. We have a twelve-seater van and, unless I’m driving, I’m usually in the very back. Not being a small person, I have a lot of trouble sleeping if I’m sharing the bench with anyone else (or not completely exhausted). So whenever we drove straight through the night, I would sit in the back, wrapped in blankets, but leaning my head against the cold window. My brother would be fast asleep beside me. I would look forward over all the sleeping heads, and see my dad’s face in the rearview mirror. As he turned to check the mirror, he would see me watching him and smile. I spent most of my time staring out at the world that we passed by. A twelve-year, awake at 3:30 in the morning, winding over and around mountains, traveling through forests and across plains, alone in the world. It fascinated me. I thought about the people asleep in all the houses that we passed by—about their lives, about their dreams, and about how they would wake in the morning and have no idea that I had passed by and thought about them. Sometimes, a light would be on in a cabin on a hill and I wonder what that person was doing—what kept them awake at that hour, giving them a strange kinship with me that they knew nothing about.
As I’ve gotten older, more and more of my time in a car is spent behind the wheel. When I’m with the family, I’m usually deeply asleep in the back, regardless of how uncomfortable it is. But I’ve spent many hours awake in the driver’s seat. I just got my car in July, but I’ve already put 10,000 miles on it. That may not seem like a lot to someone who uses their car everyday, but I’m on campus most of the time. It’s the trips back and forth to home that add up. I also went out to Dayton a couple times—once to see my grandmother before she died, the second time for her funeral. Even when I’m alone, I love driving. Sometimes I listen to music; at other times, the car is silent. My car has seen everything. It’s seen me laugh and it’s seen me cry. I’ve had great conversations in it and been in huge arguments. But somehow, even when I’m in the worst of moods, when I slide into my car, I feel a sense of adventure come over me. Even if I’m just running to Wal-mart. Even though I drive slower than everyone else on the road. Even though, half the time, I’m listening to classical music. There’s still adventure in the air.
One of the things I’m looking forward to most is going on car trips with my own family. Someday, hopefully, my wife, kids, and I will all pile into the car for a great adventure, planned or otherwise. We’ll know that it won’t be the first and it won’t be the last. But it’ll be unique. And it’ll be an adventure, no matter what.
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