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| Dauma Family Road Trip 2015 Santa Fe ~ Grand Canyon ~ Beaumont/Los Angeles, CA ~ Yosemite San Francisco ~ Portland/Vancouver ~ Soap Lake, WA ~ Seattle |
Also, just for fun, I've included some cheesy "road song" lyrics for your humming pleasure.
Lesson #1: The best laid plans DO often go awry.
Well, for all the planners in the room, this one is what we call a "no brainer." The packing, the Google-mapping, the Urbanspoon searching, the online hotel bidding - all the plans. Yep, those plans. The good ones, the mediocre ones, the best ones. Or, the ones that never get made because someone (your husband) wants the trip to be "more flexible." Whatever. You all know how those days turned out. Sheesh.
My first meltdown (it was minor) was at 9:30 PM on day six, when we pulled up to the cabin we'd rented just outside the entrance to Yosemite and realized that the owners had never texted us with the security code. And we had no cell signal. We drove a bit and got a signal, but they didn't reply to our texts or calls. So after an hour, we said goodbye to our perfect little cabin - complete with a bear carved from a tree on the front porch - and headed to the nearest town with a hotel room that would fit our family of six. Rather than a lovely evening in a rustic cabin, listening to the whisper of the pines, we unloaded at midnight in a rundown motel (thank you Jesus for disinfecting wipes) with a scintillating view of a truck stop. However, despite the disappointment and anger (mostly at myself for not taking care of the necessary details), our drive to the motel included a glorious view of a full moon over the treetops. A bit of grace to edge out the crazy.
My friend calmed me down to semi-manic, and she called her hubby (who was in the car with Anthony somewhere in Montana) who told him what I had discovered. Good golly, Molly. For an hour, we prayed, I cried, we searched online ticket hubs, and at the end of the day, Anthony's calm plea to Delta resulted in them getting us on the same red-eye flight as the previous morning. For no charge. Zero, zip, nada. It was a July miracle! In the security line at Sea-Tac airport a few hours later, another mom snapped this pic of us and said "Say 'red-eye'!" as we grinned. I wanted to say, "Lady, you have NO idea how happy I am to be getting on this plane!" I cried tears of exhaustion and joy as I buckled myself into that dinky seat and looked around to find the kids (we were scattered throughout the plane) and breathed one of the most sincere prayers of thanks I have prayed in a long time.
So, this lesson features the immortal words of the Scottish poet Robert Burns and reminds me that we as human beings (and careful trip planners) can plan all day long, but sometimes those plans are just not going to work out. And usually, it all turns out okay. There is certainly nothing essentially wrong with having a solid plan in place - for a vacation or for, oh, life. However, as is asked in the book of Luke: "Which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?" The perfect itinerary or a list of perfect photo ops - or a timeline for marriage and kids or a promotion - is just a setup for the disappointment that accompanies unmet expectations. I do not claim to have figured out the ideal balance between structure and flexibly, but I do know that it's a worthwhile goal!
"Goin' places that I've never been.
Seein' things that I may never see again
And I can't wait to get on the road again."
Lesson #2: Sometimes the view is boring and your progress is slow.
Just a few things that can get in the way when you are trying to get to your next stop or take a lovely photo out the window: fog, cyclists, slow drivers... Arizona? Yeah, "harsh beauty" is a lovely oxymoronic description, but that harshness looks maddeningly similar for about 200 miles of I-40.
I'm an impatient driver. I am not proud of it, but it is what it is. I want to "move on down the road" and get very frustrated at those who seem to just be leisurely poking along at whatever speed floats their boat at the moment. And of course, when those folks come along, there are of course NO passing zones in sight...! Construction projects were thankfully few and far between on this trip, but still caused maddening delays. 
People and things get in the way. And sometimes the chance to make that photo never recurs. Missed opportunities, especially those caused by someone else's actions, cause a burning anger down in my soul. I am not exaggerating. But regardless, sometimes the dream of watching the sun set over the Pacific is foiled by fog that will. not. go. away. And there is nothing - not a darn thing - you can do to change that. Sometimes the view out the window seemed to never change. Some of the miles were monotonous and sometimes the roadside views were downright ugly.
Sometimes the roads of life that we travel are like that. And yet, we still can keep going - one moment/hour/day at a time, even amidst regret, repetitiveness, and rancor. And even when the road is cluttered with slowpokes, the majestic mountain can suddenly rise in front of you and somehow the altered arrival time on the GPS doesn't seem to matter as much anymore.
"The road is long.
There are mountains in our way,
But we climb a step every day."
Lesson #3: You will encounter things and people you do not expect.
From the Mad Hatter and Alice in "Tomorrowland" to the Wigwam Motel to a dead end street at a time when we most definitely were not expecting one, our trip was filled with surprises. 
Sometimes the surprises were breathtaking, like the rock formation we made a U-turn (twice!) to see and photograph at Yosemite; sometimes they were annoying, like the slow-moving pedestrian in a coastal California town we were trying to navigate quickly. Sometimes they were just downright weird. Like this Santa who was hanging out at a boat ramp on the Columbia River... What the what?!?!
In this age of review-saturated social media, travelers really do not have to deal with too many surprises. If you want to see the menu of an out-of-the-way diner on Route 66, you can probably pull it up on your phone from 5 - or 500 - miles away and have your order ready when you walk in the door. If you want to plan your day at Disneyland down to the minute, you can read the advice of thousands of Disney fans letting you know how to best do that. Folks are used to knowing what to expect before we experience something. And there is nothing wrong with that, really. I'm thankful for restaurant reviews and love finding out-of-the-way spots to dine (my rule: no chain restaurants when we travel!) that can hopefully satisfy every member of the family.
However, sometimes I think we are missing some of the journey's joy. I know I'm romanticizing the era, but I think about how jaw-droppingly amazing it must have been for early residents and explorers of the American southwest to stand at the edge of the Grand Canyon for the first time, or for the pioneers to walk into the Willamette Valley, having never seen photos of the sights before them.
One of the most eerie, yet incredible moments on the trip was when we were on a boat cruising San Francisco Bay. Although mid-afternoon, fog had rolled in and we couldn't see the Golden Gate Bridge until we were right underneath it! This marvel of engineering and artistry was right in front of us for several minutes and we had no idea it was there because the fog was too thick. How often we wish for the known, the tried and true, the guarantee of success or satisfaction, yet so often it is the unknown that brings us to the "wow" moments in life. The instances that bring us to our knees in gratefulness and even worship are often the ones that completely take us by surprise. Although there is nothing wrong with having a "Consumer Reports" mentality as we make decisions in life, sometimes even when we THINK we know what we are getting into, the reality ends up being different. For me, this is a chance to demonstrate that I have faith in my Father who knows me, who "knit me in my mother's womb." Do I trust him only in the familiar? Or do I demonstrate a childlike faith, understanding that He loves me and wants what is best for me, surprises and all!
"Back to the howling owl in the woods,
Hunting the horny-back toad,
Oh, I've finally decided my future lies
Beyond the yellow brick road."
Lesson #4: The edges can be scary.
I am a bit of a scaredy-cat when it comes to heights. Therefore, I can assure you that I was NOT in close proximity to my children when they made their crazy-people pictures at the Grand Canyon. In fact, my heart was pounding even though I was many yards away when I made the picture of Alec and Adrienne (red shirt and green shirt) standing on the promontory before they made said pictures. And don't even get me started on Turner grabbing the camera and RUNNING around the barricades so he could make pictures of his legs dangling over the side. I could not breathe. Bless his heart. It's a good thing I love him because Lord knows he has aged me.
Although not as drastic, I still have a significant physical reaction to even driving near the edges of roads that hug cliffs or hint at coming dropoffs. And if there is little or no barrier between the roadway and the cliff. Yeah, eyes are definitely closed. Well, mostly. I WANT to be brave, so I try to snap some pictures and breathe (in through the nose, out through the mouth) so I can maintain a facade of bravery.
"Goin' back to the well, gonna visit old friends
And feed my soul where the blacktop ends."
The fact is, life at the edges is a bit dangerous. Beginnings and ends of things are scary. And not just in the physical or tangible ways that typify overprotective moms (which I really am not . . . I didn't stop my children from doing MOST of the risky things they wanted to do, I just didn't want to watch!). The edge of newness is scary. The edge of the familiar is frightening. The edge of "civilized" seems so risky.
Yet as we move toward the edges - perhaps even ON the sharpest of those edges - we feel alive and alert! We have to rely on something other than our prior experiences that brought either comfort or pain and so taught us well. We risk the comfort of the middle for the reward of life on the beautiful edges.
Yet as we move toward the edges - perhaps even ON the sharpest of those edges - we feel alive and alert! We have to rely on something other than our prior experiences that brought either comfort or pain and so taught us well. We risk the comfort of the middle for the reward of life on the beautiful edges.
Perhaps we should move more toward the scary edges in our everyday lives, not just in our photo ops.
To be continued..
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