Rules of the Road Part 1—what we discovered in the first two days of our trek across the heartland
Road Trips and Pilgrimages
Summertime. Road trip time. The All-American summer tradition that offers adventure, discovery, and renewal. For me, road trips are pilgrimages, because I usually come back a slightly —or more than slightly—changed person.
You’d think that since I’ve been going on extended road trips since I was a small child, I would have it down. I do—almost. I guess I’ll just have to keep working on it.
This year, I thought it might be interesting to log what I discovered on our trip.
I’m calling these the Rules of the Road. You know, kind of like the rule that says, “If the car stops everyone has to go to the bathroom and get a drink whether you need to or not.” Important stuff.
Hitting the road, headed east.
A few weeks ago my husband and I loaded up the trailer, hugged our kittens goodbye, and set out on the trip to Tennessee that we were supposed to take in 2020. Except it wasn’t really the trip we’d planned, because in 2020, we planned to fly into Nashville, and this year we decided to drive instead.
You might think we’re crazy, hauling a camping trailer halfway across the country when fuel prices are so unbelievable. But we think road trips are the best way to see what our country is really like.
Hauling our own motel around like that not only helps with food costs because we don’t eat out as much, we also don’t have to use public restrooms as often or sleep in dubious hotels.
Plus, it allows us to discover things we never expected to.
Every time we go on a road trip we’re surprised by beauty in unexpected places, kind and gracious people, and just how inaccurate our preconceptions can be.
Our first surprise came in Kansas.
Day 1: Kansas
What you think is not what you get
If you’re only familiar with the Kansas you see from I-70 as your eyes begin to glaze over at yet another wheat field and you turn the volume up on your audiobook to drown out the sound of the air conditioner and wonder just how wide the state can be, let me tell you, you’ve never really seen Kansas.
We drove a different route this time. Did you know there are rolling hills in Kansas? With little towns every so often?
In one, we found a Rotary Club park with signs announcing a pancake breakfast to be held on Saturday morning.
We found shady, brick-paved streets and a little grocery store with an old-time mechanical horse that children can still ride for a penny.
We watched a little boy scurry barefoot across the street, trying to keep his toes from touching the pavement while the temperature hovered around 96 degrees.
We heard tinny music blaring from speakers at a community swimming pool, but not so loud that it drowned out the sound of children splashing and laughing.
In another town, we watched the volunteer fire department spray water down a huge sheet of plastic on a hill, so children (and some of their parents) could flop onto the water-slick surface and slide down, soaking wet.
Name that campground
We camped the first night at a place called Prairie Dog Campground. When my husband told me that was where we’d be spending the night, I outwardly cringed. (No, not inwardly. I meant outwardly. I rarely do things like that inwardly.)
I don’t know about you, but Prairie Dog Campground doesn’t sound appealing to me. It brings up images of a bunch of rodents standing around a dusty, sunbaked field, ceaselessly scolding each other—accompanied by the snakes and fleas they sub-lease their burrows to.
Prairie Dog Campground doesn’t sound like the cool, quiet, green campsite by a lake we discovered it to be. It wasn’t crowded. It wasn’t dirty or full of prairie dogs. And there were no mosquitos, even though we were separated from the lake by only a row of trees and some marsh.
What we found instead?
A cool breeze …
A glorious sunset…
Twinkling fireflies…
The absolutely lovely serenade
of crickets and frogs and other marshy voices.
Rules of the Road Number 1: Don’t be fooled by your own preconceptions.
Rule 2: Be on the lookout for beauty no matter where you are.
Day 2: Missouri
Priorities of the road
We drove across the rest of Kansas and into Missouri and I passed up the first picture I regret not taking. Here’s how it went.
I started getting nervous when my husband said, “How far to the next town?” and glanced nervously at the gas gauge needle which was buried in red.
“Six miles.”
“I hope we make it,” he said, and tightened his grip on the steering wheel as though he was subconsciously trying to restrict the flow of fuel, tourniquet-style. I watched the needle swooping lower as though it was a windshield wiper in not-so-slow-mo instead of a gas gauge.
(Have I mentioned that we now have frequent caller points with AAA? They’re thinking about naming their monthly magazine after us.)
Road Trip Discovery—Americana in the Heartland
We turned off Hwy 36 into Clarence, Missouri looking for a gas station. Up ahead on a corner, I spotted an iconic 1950’s era gas station. It had old-fashioned gas pumps with the round globes at the top with an unfamiliar oil company logo. A collection of vintage cars filled the lanes between the pumps, proudly waving small American flags from their radio antennas.
Maybe I should call it a filling station—that’s what they called them in the days when this place was in full swing. Or a service station. Because back then, the attendant would pump your gas, check the oil, and wash the windshield for you. They’d even check your tires if you asked them to. If you asked him to fill it up, instead of just getting $5.00 worth, you might even get a free dinner glass.
Passing glimpses and lasting impressions on the road
I doubt if there are any filling stations like that in business any more. Clearly, this one was not.
I’m not sure my husband even saw it. His eyes were peeled for a sign with green LED numbers indicating the current rate of highway robbery for diesel fuel.
I thought the filling station would be the perfect Americana photo-op, but no way was I going to suggest we stop before we got to a real, open-for-business-type gas station.
We found a convenience store/gas station a few blocks down the road, complete with two farmers who stood beside their pickups drinking coffee and discussing who was doing what in and around town.
Doubtless, they were actually chuckling to themselves about the speed with which the numbers flashed on the pump and the way the pump groaned when it clicked off. Or maybe that was my husband groaning. When he set the credit card on the console, it looked like it had whiplash. I propped it up in case it was suffering from shock. Perhaps I should have done the same for my husband.
He carefully squeezed the trailer between the farmers’ pickups and the delivery truck that nearly blocked our exit, mumbling about idiot drivers. As we made our way back onto the highway, it didn’t seem wise to ask him to pull the trailer off the road again just so I could take pictures or peek inside the windows of the old gas—um—filling station.
It’s also known as Lyle Van Houten’s Automotive Museum. Luckily, you can look it up online, just like I did. (Note—I didn't see any of the alleged dummies inside the cars as referenced in everything I read online. To be honest, we didn’t slow down much, so I can’t say whether they were there or not.)
But if I ever stray off the highway in Clarence, Missouri again, you can bet I’ll have my camera ready.
Rule 3: Don’t overestimate the number of miles you can go on the amount of fuel in your tank.
Rule 4: Don't underestimate the treasures you’ll find when you leave the fast lane.
Rule 5: The pictures you don’t take might make as much of an impression as those you do.
Stay tuned for Rules of the Road, Part 2.
Want to share your Rules of the Road?
You could tell us about the hidden treasures you’ve found traveling across the U.S.
Or the proper way to guide your spouse as they park a trailer so as not to incite divorce proceedings.
