Road trip observations
A few weeks ago, Daughter #1 and I set off on a journey to Biloxi, Miss. I was taking a week off to do my other "job" — run an annual convention for a group of World War II veterans. She decided to come along and keep me company on the drive.
I've traveled quite a bit. I've been to Europe and all over the United States. The one thing I hadn't done, until this trip, was drive any great distance alone.
I'm a planner, as is Jamie. I was busy planning for the convention. She was busy planning her wardrobe and matching shoes for a week. I know it bothered her that I didn't pack my bag until the day we left. It probably bothered her even more that we left Marion without a planned route.
We had an atlas. I figured we'd plan as we went — sort of like an adventure. That idea went out the window about the time we reached the Kansas-Oklahoma line.
Apparently we never had had a discussion about map-reading. I was driving down the turnpike, trying to answer her questions about red-line roads and figure out what mapmakers meant by "secondary" roads.
We headed toward Tulsa on the Cimarron Turnpike. That was a different experience. That road is a toll road with booths every so often — not necessarily at the beginning or end.
Drivers with correct change can slow down, throw money in the bin, and continue on their merry way. Those less fortunate, wait in line, choking on exhaust fumes to get five dimes or 10 nickels. Quarters apparently disappear, never to be reused.
The speed limit is 75 mph. I mention that only because it takes a special knack to speed along at 75 mph (or more), see a toll booth looming on the horizon, then search the bottom of your purse and the cupholders for change.
We soon got the hang of it — Jamie kept the coins handy and I did the driving. I think we made it to the final toll booth before we had to join the line of losers who needed change.
Arkansas, along with beautiful scenery, has some interesting towns. We had decided to stay on the four-lane roads but somehow got onto a two-lane road south of Pine Bluff. I was glad we did. By that time Jamie was driving and I was providing the running commentary on everything and nothing.
For instance, did you know that Eudora, Ark., is the catfish capital of Arkansas? I didn't know that and didn't have a chance to find out why as we sped through town without stopping. We also went through a town that boasted Arkansas' only "Turtle Derby." The other observation about Arkansas is that Fort Smith has to be the most poorly marked stop on the interstate. We missed it — twice.
We didn't stop often or for long periods of time — just to get gas and sodas. It was a stress-free trip. We talked, laughed, listened to the radio, and the 1,000 miles flew by quickly.
The rest of the week was a whirlwind of activity, running the convention, and taking care of the 500-plus guests who attended. The days were long, filled with endless questions and details. We didn't get out of the hotel often, and only visited the beach once. We had a great time, but were ready to head for home after the convention was over.
The return trip was a bit quieter. Daughter #1 was lost in thoughts of moving out, which she did the day after we returned. Mom was trying not to think about Daughter #1 moving out. Instead, I concentrated on turtle derbies and catfish capitals.
— DONNA BERNHARDT
