(Erin usually blogs at The Fierce Beagle. She is a travel editor, former Irish dance champion and police wife. Not someone to be trifled with, eh? - Sarah Von)
It all started with a ski excursion, cancelled at the last minute. Being in college, other people’s generosity, and occasionally the kindness of strangers, was a necessary component of most of our traveling. So it made perfect sense to transfer our plane tickets and spend spring break week sleeping on my grandparents’ sofa bed in Albuquerque. (Noah had never been farther west than St. Louis, and that was purely accidental, since apparently I wasn’t as familiar with the Chicago-Nashville route as I had thought.)
My grandparents are pretty active, and by “pretty active” I mean they do things that would probably be deemed illegal in some more rigidly policed countries. These are folks who would rather, at their tender ages, drive 1,600 miles over the hills and through the woods than take a four-hour plane ride (due to a single incident of lost luggage). When they suggested that we all take a three-day road trip around New Mexico in the ol’ Honda Odyssey (complete with outdated GPS), our desire to see more of the Land of Enchantment outweighed the risks involved.
I’m only sorry that the fact of me writing this story is a total spoiler, because I’m certain that by the end you won’t believe we survived.
Before we begin, it’s important that I tell you our party also included my 50-year-old uncle who, due to a pretty severe case of cerebral palsy, has always lived at home. Uncle R’s level of intelligence is pretty astounding—for instance, he learned how to speed-read at a young age—but due to the limitations caused by his disability, he also has a lot of time on his hands. Literally. More on that later…
Our day trip to Santa Fe went relatively well, thus lulling us into a false sense of safety. It only took us 30 extra minutes to get into town, despite my grandmother refusing to believe that the little woman in the GPS telling her to take that exit—which one? Yeah, the one we just blew past—knew what she was talking about. She subsequently refused to believe that the adjusted directions were correct. Nevertheless, we had a nice day and got some great photos. So far, so good.
The plan was to drive through Roswell, stop at Carlsbad Caverns, skip through White Sands on our way to Socorro (bypassing Truth or Consequences, because who really wants to face that?) and land safely back in Albuquerque shortly thereafter. And I use the term “shortly” very, very loosely.
Passing through Roswell where, incidentally, Noah’s mother was born (explains a lot…just kidding Debbie!) was a bit of a letdown for Noah. The only alien sightings were the ones painted on Wal-Mart’s exterior fascia. And the streetlamps-cum-alien heads.
We ran into our first problem between Roswell and Carlsbad Caverns: Random and Extreme Depression of the Brakes. It was my grandma’s shift, which presented its own set of risks. My grandpa, through either old age or simple resignation, relies on my grandma’s irritable backseat driving, so when she’s not paying attention, neither is he. But my grandma. Well, my grandma has trouble telling right from left (more an annoyance than a hazard) but also tends toward hallucinations, even when fully hydrated. Because suddenly, without warning—and on open, straight, flat highway—the car fishtailed in a cloud of dust and shrieking, grinding metal-on-metal.
Noah and I, after checking each other’s vitals, searched the landscape for some wayward tortoise or misguided roadrunner—a TUMBLEWEED, even—but nothing. My grandma, with an astonishingly cavalier “Oh,” quietly began to resume speed. Even more frightening was my grandpa and uncle’s response: nada. They didn’t even flinch. Which was a pretty good indicator that we could expect similar episodes in the near future.
That’s when we started praying.
My grandparents are pretty active, and by “pretty active” I mean they do things that would probably be deemed illegal in some more rigidly policed countries. These are folks who would rather, at their tender ages, drive 1,600 miles over the hills and through the woods than take a four-hour plane ride (due to a single incident of lost luggage). When they suggested that we all take a three-day road trip around New Mexico in the ol’ Honda Odyssey (complete with outdated GPS), our desire to see more of the Land of Enchantment outweighed the risks involved.
I’m only sorry that the fact of me writing this story is a total spoiler, because I’m certain that by the end you won’t believe we survived.
Before we begin, it’s important that I tell you our party also included my 50-year-old uncle who, due to a pretty severe case of cerebral palsy, has always lived at home. Uncle R’s level of intelligence is pretty astounding—for instance, he learned how to speed-read at a young age—but due to the limitations caused by his disability, he also has a lot of time on his hands. Literally. More on that later…
Our day trip to Santa Fe went relatively well, thus lulling us into a false sense of safety. It only took us 30 extra minutes to get into town, despite my grandmother refusing to believe that the little woman in the GPS telling her to take that exit—which one? Yeah, the one we just blew past—knew what she was talking about. She subsequently refused to believe that the adjusted directions were correct. Nevertheless, we had a nice day and got some great photos. So far, so good.
The plan was to drive through Roswell, stop at Carlsbad Caverns, skip through White Sands on our way to Socorro (bypassing Truth or Consequences, because who really wants to face that?) and land safely back in Albuquerque shortly thereafter. And I use the term “shortly” very, very loosely.
Passing through Roswell where, incidentally, Noah’s mother was born (explains a lot…just kidding Debbie!) was a bit of a letdown for Noah. The only alien sightings were the ones painted on Wal-Mart’s exterior fascia. And the streetlamps-cum-alien heads.
We ran into our first problem between Roswell and Carlsbad Caverns: Random and Extreme Depression of the Brakes. It was my grandma’s shift, which presented its own set of risks. My grandpa, through either old age or simple resignation, relies on my grandma’s irritable backseat driving, so when she’s not paying attention, neither is he. But my grandma. Well, my grandma has trouble telling right from left (more an annoyance than a hazard) but also tends toward hallucinations, even when fully hydrated. Because suddenly, without warning—and on open, straight, flat highway—the car fishtailed in a cloud of dust and shrieking, grinding metal-on-metal.
Noah and I, after checking each other’s vitals, searched the landscape for some wayward tortoise or misguided roadrunner—a TUMBLEWEED, even—but nothing. My grandma, with an astonishingly cavalier “Oh,” quietly began to resume speed. Even more frightening was my grandpa and uncle’s response: nada. They didn’t even flinch. Which was a pretty good indicator that we could expect similar episodes in the near future.
That’s when we started praying.
5 comments:
That's one way to stay awake during a car journey! Sounds rather hair-raising!
Absolutely. Although I'm incredibly jealous of our dear Sarah Von, I'm confident in saying you don't have to leave the country for some thrills and chills on the roadways.
I think wearing ear plugs or pretending to be sleeping in the back seat can also help making it through a car ride with Nana and Papa.
Hilarious!
I know this comment is coming several years late but I just stumbled on this post, absolutely loved it and knew I had to post a comment. Your post made me laugh out loud and wish I could take such a fun trip with you and your grandparents too!
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