Our Family Road Trip, or How to Get from Florida to Minnesota with Your Sanity Intact

When it comes to the worst road trips ever, only one gets mentioned over and over at family gatherings 25 years after the fact-the trip to Minnesota for my great grandmothers 80th birthday.

My mother had remarried, my new stepfather’s family was from Minnesota. I was thirteen at the time, and the adults had this planned so perfectly that nothing could possibly go wrong. Thirteen family members in a Winnebago with their small children-even in my jaded thirteen year old eyes I could see a disaster coming from 1500 miles away.

The plan was for the sons to take turns driving the Winnebago, sleeping in shifts, the women would also take turns driving the Dodge K-Car that followed. The fact that a K-Car managed a 3000 mile journey is a miracle in itself. My grandparents would be wherever they needed to be at the time. We were to set out in the evening to avoid what everyone in the south will know as Atlanta rush hour, drive straight through and arrive in Minneapolis 26 hours later. With the load up complete, we were off and the worst road trip ever was under way. It started benign enough with everyone polite and quiet, looking forward to the adventure that lay ahead.

Things went smooth enough into the next morning and early afternoon until….the first ear splitting wails of a four month old baby permeated our aluminum sanctuary on wheels. For the seasoned mothers, my mother and aunt, taking turns walking a colicky baby up and down the center walkway just wasn’t getting it. By then all the other children began to feel the stress that a crying baby creates and were becoming agitated and annoying. Thankfully enough, we were on the outer loop around Chicago, stopping at a rest area for our family spaghetti dinner. We were more than halfway to Minneapolis and the end was nearly in sight.

Onward we trudged through Wisconsin at night until dawn broke across the south Minnesota farms. My first thought was that it didn’t look terribly different from the farms of Georgia, except maybe a little flatter and greener. We made our way to Edina outside of Minneapolis to my stepfather’s uncle’s home. I’ll never forget what was said as we walked through the door, “Hey kids, you want some pop?” For kids that have never left the comfy confines of our southern upbringing, it might as well have been nails on a chalkboard. But the anxiety of hearing a new language was overshadowed by this amazing, towering object that we could see from the back deck. “What’s that?” It was a ski jump-right in the middle of Edina, Minnesota. Yeah, you betcha!

With family festivities celebrated, we took in the obligatory visit to the Paul Bunyan statue in Brainerd, Minnesota, on our way to Breezy Pointe. After a few days stay, it was time to head home. I don’t recall much of the trip home-I know the adults started drinking, perhaps to dull the effects of forced family togetherness, perhaps they drugged me. What I do recall is my brother committing heresy in Wisconsin.

We stopped at a Kentucky Fried Chicken and ordered up family meals with all the trimmings. As a child of the south, I don’t eat anything instant, much less the gray, runny mass KFC pawned off on us that day as mashed potatoes. My mother beaming with pride assured me that I did not have to eat those as they were pretty disgusting. My brother, on the other hand, did not get the memo, and proceeded to scarf down serving after serving of mystery mashed potatoes. “John, how do you like those mashed potatoes?” “These are the best mashed potatoes I’ve ever had.” I don’t think my mother spoke to him for several more hours.

We pushed onward until we arrived safe and sound in Florida, nerves raw and bodies smelling. But the worst road trip was complete.


People also view

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *