by Eric Schenck
Road trips were a staple of my childhood.
My family didn’t have money, so a vacation was usually just driving somewhere else. And as long and soul-sucking as some of these drives could be (three days from California to Texas was a favorite), they were great.
Homemade sandwiches. Stacks of Nickelodeon magazines. Picking a car color, and then seeing how many of them you passed. What more could a 12-year-old want?
But at some point, all of this stopped.
Life got in the way. I grew up, went to college, moved abroad. I used my time more productively, and the entire idea of a road trip started to take on a campy feel of something very much not necessary.
Who would drive somewhere…just to drive somewhere?
But that’s what I did in July.
For the first time in years, I found myself on a road trip. And it was great. I flew into Los Angeles, and for the next five days, my surfing bud Martin and I lazily made our way to San Francisco.
At first I didn’t want to. Last year I started a business, and things are finally starting to pick up momentum. Now was the worst time to “chill.”
My professional Type-A side had a battle with my far more fun Type-B side. Martin told me we wouldn’t have the chance to do something like this for a while.
Type-B agreed and bought a ticket to California.
There’s something funny about driving through your birth state with a European. Certain things you take for granted, are mysteries to them. So you find yourself explaining them – and rediscovering how much joy they bring:
- In-N-Out
- Salt water taffy
- The best surf spots
- The joy of a weed gummy on a beach
The morning of my flight, I expected a feeling of relief. I was finally getting back to being productive. I didn’t have to stress about shitty internet, or a sudden client question. I was going back to my space.
But the only thing I could muster was a strange feeling of depression. I didn’t want to go back to work. I wanted to hop back in the car, pick a place on a map, and drive.
I hugged Martin, thanked him for the invite, and got an Uber to the airport.
It’s funny, the things you think you leave behind. Road trips were great while they lasted. But then I got older, and I didn’t quite see the point. Five days with Martin gave me the answer:
There isn’t a point. And that’s the entire idea.
So, the question on my mind the last two weeks:
When is the next one?
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