Isn’t it amazing that we have the power to point a compass east or west, drive for a few days, and end up on an unrecognizably different part of the continent? Freeways, main streets, endless straight and hairpin turns, there’s just so much out there to see. In the words of Andrew McMahon, “I’ve never been so lost, I’ve never been so much at home.” We all have those journeys we can’t wait to take again, but what about road trips you never want to repeat? Now’s the time to shine a little light on your least-favorite road trip stories of all time. Here’s one of mine.
Late in secondary school, my daily driver was an entirely preposterous lowered Crown Victoria with some interesting modifications. It was very much the definition of a $550 car — the check engine light bulb had been on for so long that it had burned out, the brake light switch let its smoke out twice, the timing cover was made partially of JB Weld, and the maintenance history was questionable at best. However, because it had enormous bench seats and plenty of cargo space, this would be the machine I’d call upon for a road trip from British Columbia to Ontario in pursuit of higher education. My parents probably thought I was nuts.
The first few days actually glided by nicely, aside from having to jump start the car right at the very start of the road trip. The leg to Calgary was smooth sailing, as was the one to Moosomin, Saskatchewan. We’d worked everything out to a series of pre-determined stops, and in the interest of avoiding an overnight stay in Manitoba, my next stop after Moosomin, was Dryden, Ontario. Why’d we pick this small city roughly 400 miles north of Minneapolis? Well, because it was as far as we could reasonably drive in a day. As golden hour drew, we rolled into the local Walmart to grab food for the night, and inadvertently came across a scene. Are those people… street fighting in the parking lot?
Yes, yes they were. It was then and there that we decided to keep driving until we reached the next available town with a hotel. If you’ve ever been over the top of Lake Superior, you can probably tell where this is going. By the time I reached Thunder Bay behind the wheel of a $550 car with half a Coke can of ground clearance and one headlight partially aimed by friction, it was too late to check-in. We’d just have to press on.
There’s an eerie stillness on the Trans Canada highway at two o’clock in the morning. A certain awareness that the only thing standing between you and decapitation-by-moose is a flimsy A-pillar designed around the turn of the ’90s. Spotty cell phone coverage means no stopping unless you see a gas station, dim headlights meaning you never quite know what’s around the next turn, other than certain construction. Will you hit gravel at 50 mph with little warning? Who knows? The only thing you can do is drive. So drive we did, right through the night and into the morning until we were almost in Toronto. For those keeping track at home, that’s more than 1,400 miles from hotel to hotel with just two driver changes. Not exactly ideal, and while it’s a fun story, it’s not something I want to repeat.
Nor do I want to repeat the time something decided to expire in the rear suspension of my parents’ Toyota Sienna, hours from home. Above 50 mph or so, it shook like it was mixing paint, and while that’s unpleasant, rising sibling tensions in the passenger compartment made the experience even more unpleasant. One surefire way to make on-the-road failures even less enjoyable is by adding irritable children to the mix who just want to get home, but who are also sick of the vibrations. We were all sick of the vibrations. So very over them.
Anyway, what’s your worst road trip story? Was it a tale of a trip that went on for far too long, one of mechanical woe, or perhaps one of something else throwing a wrench into the mix? The comments section’s your canvas, and you’re Jackson Pollock. I can’t wait to be regaled with your worst road trips.
(Photo credits: Thomas Hundal)
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Headed to Bend Oregon for a quilt show in 1992 or so with our young’n in a car seat in our ’80 VW Vanagon Westfalia to camp out nearby. About the time we arrived in the campground the engine has a real problem with lots of noise. No way to get it fixed as it was a valve problem. Had to rent a truck and tow dolly to get home. The quilt show was close enough to walk to. However, since we had a baby in a car seat, the only truck that had a third seat was their largest. This was during a time when enough people were leaving California, getting customers to drive their trucks back to CA was free for us. The tow dolly was $40 though. After hours of attempts to get the bus onto the dolly I finally backed it on in gear with the starter. So, we drove back to CA with an empty truck and a VA Westfalia camper behind. Turns out that a valve seat had lifted up from the head and prevented the valve from seating. And to make things worse, when I fitted the repaired head to the engine (engine still in the bus (that was dumb, just drop the engine)) I managed to not seat a valve lifting rod proper so it promptly broke through the head. Had to find someone who could weld repair the head. Got it all sorted, finally.
Heading for the Rogue River 3-day rafting/kayaking trip in my ’67 VW Deluxe sunroof bus. Three kayaks on top, and I (stupidly) decided to snooze and let someone else drive. The driver couldn’t see the highway patrol’s light due to the copious smoke pouring out of the now-burned up engine. Driving at 65+ MPH with 3 kayaks on top was not a good thing to do. Pulled over and fortunately near Corvallis where a cousin lived. Got a tow there and proceeded to pull the engine in their driveway and shop around for a rebuilt. This was around 1982 or so, so independent VW shops just had them in stock. We had a permit for the river trip, but it was in the name and hands of our raft support in a different vehicle coming from somewhere else. I managed to borrow funds from my cousin and install the engine with the engine sitting on top of a garbage can for swapping stuff over. We hit the road the next day knowing that our raft would go ahead and get on the river with the permit leaving us behind. I had been with the rafter before and since that person was a bit of a flake, I told my kayaking partners to plan to be self-sufficient. Good plan. Headed out the next morning and once we headed into the wooded are, hit a deer head on. The deer was dispatched by someone and the front of my bus was caved in. We continued on and knowing we missed our permit window, so we camped for the night and sat on the doorstep of the ranger office and got lucky and obtained a permit. Every time I drove that particular bus, something broke, but this trip was the worst in that bus. I hated that bus, while I love my ’64 deluxe which was totally reliable, although top speed was 54 MPH.
I have the Ulysses of road trips, but I simply do not have the five hours. It would take to write it down this weekend.