Postcards from a Cross-Country Voyage

                For as long as we’ve been together, my wife and I have been a dependable couple who rarely stray from the measured, predictable route. We are people you can count on, but not people who typically inspire others to try new things. As we’ve raised our two daughters, those attributes made for some solid overall parenting, yet with an inclination toward the routine. Movie night on Fridays, dinner at Applebee’s or Chili’s on Saturday, and a weekend trip to Manhattan two or three times a year. During the summer, you’d usually find us visiting our parents for vacation, and occasionally springing for a weekend trip to Boston or Baltimore or Pittsburgh.

                Something starts to happen in your 40s, though, when you notice the clock ticking and realize that if you’re not going to add some spontaneity, adventure and variety soon, you might run out of time. Since we entered our 40s, Amy and I have completed endurance races (me a marathon, and she a triathlon), danced on stage, and swum with dolphins.

                This summer, we decided it was time to do something we’d long desired, yet never tackled: a cross-country vacation. Our girls were on board – even for the camping. And so, acting against type, we climbed into our Honda Odyssey at the beginning of August and drove into the frontier.

                In the end, the map, calendar and odometer show that we covered 20 states in 26 days, totaling 6,655 miles. The photos show that we saw prairie dogs and pronghorn, buffalo and bighorn sheep, mules and mule deer, and just a whole lot of lizards.

                Our younger daughter’s National Parks Junior Ranger collection features shiny badges from Arches, Bryce, Zion, the Grand Canyon, Mount Rushmore and the Flight 93 Memorial. We have baseball ticket stubs from Kansas City, Cincinnati and Toledo, as well as mini baseball bats from the Louisville Slugger factory, and a souvenir patch from the Field of Dreams site in Dyersville, Iowa.

                The road took us from the Gateway Arch to the Delicate Arch, from Santa Claus, Ind., to Santa Fe, N.M., and from Park City, Utah, to Hill City, S.D. There were Badlands and Black Hills, canyons and cairns, as well as Cadillacs, ranches, and one Cadillac Ranch. We took photos at every National Parks sign with a stuffed Teddy Roosevelt doll that we’d gotten at a Washington Nationals game a few years ago, and we had a softball catch in 14 different states. We tossed the ball around outside Churchill Downs, at the Little League World Series, on a bridge in Wheeling, W.Va., in a sunflower field in eastern Wyoming, and on a veranda overlooking the North Rim at Grand Canyon Lodge.

                Restaurant receipts show that we sampled deep-dish pizza in Chicago, sopaipilla and buffalo burgers in Santa Fe, barbecue in Kansas City, and truffle mac n cheese in Sundance, Utah. Memory also shows that we had a lot of Subway sandwiches on late nights, and more than a few delicious dinners cooked over charcoal grills at campsites. Speaking of camping, we pitched our tent in the mountains of Pennsylvania, among the canyons of Utah, in the woods of southern Michigan, and even beside the highway, train tracks and airport of Amarillo, Texas. When not at a campsite or hotel, we stayed with family in Missouri and Utah, catching up on lost time and learning about life across the Mississippi.

                We traveled a lot in those 26 days, and we saw a lot of stuff. I can say that part of my goal was to broaden my girls’ horizons, and help them see how big and beautiful this country is. But parenting does not always give you a clear answer as to whether your intentions were met. I know the girls kept a scrapbook, and I know they told us they liked some of the places we visited. But I also know they complained a lot about seeing “too many rocks,” about hiking too much, and about enduring the dreadful lengths of some of our car rides. I had hoped they would spend time off their iPads, but a nine-hour drive from western Missouri to West Texas cannot be sustained by license-plate games and sing-a-longs. In some ways, the jury’s out on just what our girls gained from the trip. They’ll process it all in time.

                But Amy and I are old enough to digest these things more quickly. We know what we gained from those 26 days. Perhaps it is best described through a moment, rather than a sweeping, overall summary. For instance, take the afternoon we were all floating down the Colorado River, bulky life vests keeping us afloat, while a guide rowed our raft nearby. We stared at the sun-splashed canyons towering above us in a blur of orange and brown. Amy and I looked over at each other in disbelief. We didn’t say anything except “Wow,” but I think what we really meant to say was “What have we been waiting for?”

                Life in the 40s is shaping up to be a whole lot better than I thought. It seems as though a frantic focus on “What’s next?” has been replaced by a more centered query of “What’s now?” Amy and I don’t expect to have the amazing opportunity to drive cross country every year. But we think we can keep up some of this spontaneity and adventure. We are, after all, children of the ‘80s. And while driving through Chicago, we were reminded of Ferris Bueller, who once gave us some advice that might serve as impetus for a cross-country trip or two.

               “Life moves pretty fast,” Ferris said. “If you don’t stop and look around once in awhile, you could miss it.” We hear you, Ferris. It may have taken some time, but we got the message.