Sarah Nigbor

Last week when I wrote about my eventful spring break road trip to North Carolina, it brought back memories of other road trips I’ve been on. Heading down the highway in my vehicle is my favorite place to be. The open road, new destinations to discover, stops along the way. I love every second of it. Except when the kids are squabbling. Then I ponder leaving them at a rest stop.

When my daughter was 2, her godfather Derek and I took her on her first official long road trip to visit my aunt and uncle in Phoenix. Sure, we could have flown there, but then I would miss everything along the way. Someday I will make it to all 50 states. I think I have about 13 left to go. I’ll have to fly to Hawaii, because unlike my sixth-grade friend Beth, I know there’s not a bridge to the Aloha State.

I was apprehensive about bringing a 2-year-old on a long road trip, but Carolina was the perfect little traveler. She enjoyed waving at semi drivers and kept occupied with a portable DVD player showing her favorite “Paw Patrol” show. However, by the end of the trip, I wouldn’t have been sad if Chicoletta, Mayor Humdinger and Ryder fell off the face of the earth.

When we stopped at a hotel for the night in Oklahoma City, Carolina proudly wheeled her little suitcase into the lobby and informed anyone she saw that she was “on holiday,” a phrase she picked up from the British Peppa Pig. She took great pride in helping us wheel in the luggage cart.

When we drove into the Arizona desert, I’ll never forget how her eyes lit up when she saw all the cacti around us, which she referred to as “taxes.” Doing your taxes is about as fun as touching a cactus, so I can see the correlation. She was especially delighted when we pulled up to my aunt and uncle’s house and they had an enormous Saguaro cactus in their front yard. She immediately ran to the “taxes” and informed my aunt that she better not touch it or she would get hurt.

My aunt and uncle were wonderful hosts and made sure we had a great time. It was a memorable trip for me, because I had only met my aunt once before: At my grandfather’s funeral. My parents divorced when I was a baby and my mom cut ties with my dad’s family, which I didn’t meet again until I was in my 20s. This aunt, my dad’s sister, had always been so mysterious to me and now I was at her house. I was so happy to hear stories about my dad and his siblings growing up in Minnesota’s Iron Range. It was a hard life for them. I learned things about my dad that I never knew, which made me wish I could’ve known him even more.

My aunt and uncle were coffee fanatics and imagine my surprise when I opened their fridge and it was filled with Starbucks iced coffee drinks. Could this be heaven? They had more selection than a gas station. However, I was a nervous wreck when they thought it was a good idea to serve Carolina orange juice in a crystal glass, which promptly smashed onto the floor.

I am so glad we had that trip to Arizona to spend time with them. My uncle died a few years later of cancer and my aunt, with no warning or explanation, stopped talking to me after asking who I voted for in the 2020 election. I’m assuming it wasn’t the answer she wanted, because she promptly unfriended me on Facebook and stopped answering my emails and cards, even though we never talked about politics nor do I usually. The tenuous thread I was building with my dad’s sister snapped in an instant. It still bothers me to this day, because I had just begun to build a relationship with her.

But that remains a wonderful memory in the road trip collection. After all, it was Carolina’s first real “holiday.”