In my line of work, I meet a lot of people. They range from the youngsters just starting in life to my peers watching the world from the rearview mirror. And within these conversations, one particular subject seems to crop up often: the good old days.
I’m talking about the era when life’s simple pleasures held a lot more weight. A time well before the digital craze gripped our lives and bid farewell to the small joys we used to relish. Specifically, I’m thinking about the good old-fashioned road trip.
As I sat in my office one day (or as I like to call it, the humble abode from where I’ve penned countless stories about good ol’ Schenectady, New York), I couldn’t help but mull over the fading tradition of road trips. Staring blankly out of the window, I reminisced about the long drives on open highways where the only interruption was the beautiful horizon beckoning us.
The first throes of spring would always witness my parents, two siblings, and I squeezed in our family station wagon, giddy with excitement. The thrill wasn’t due to some exotic destination we were bound for; our trips generally extended no more than 100 miles from Schenectady. No, the excitement was not about the destination, but the journey itself.
I remember our car, a red beast of a machine, bereft of air conditioning or GPS system, but never falling short of gas or enthusiasm. We looked forward to those trips, complete with pit stops at nondescript diners, people-watching at buzzing motels, and overnight camping under the stars. Those trips had a distinct smell, a combination of our packed sandwiches, coffee brewing somewhere, and the scent of a new place.
But somewhere along the line, it feels the world lost touch with the fun-filled and unusual world of road trips. We’ve traded the excitement of the open road and the unknown for convenience. Technological advances have indeed made travel easier, quicker, and possibly more comfortable. But I can’t help but wonder, have we lost the romance of travel in the process?
As our personal devices effectively turned into life’s remote control, they stole away our penchant for discovery and exploration. Discovering new eateries and rustic lodges has given way to bay-side resorts and starred restaurants. The pulsating energy and unpredictability of the road, once our companion, now comes second to the comfort and predictably of a commercial flight.
In recent years, a new term, ‘flyover states,’ has entered our lexicon. For the uninitiated, it refers to the states in the middle of the country generally ignored by transcontinental travelers. But from my perspective, we’re not just flying over states; we’re flying over experiences. Experiences that pose invaluable lessons, memories forged in the unlikeliest of situations, and the adventure that comes from venturing into the unknown.
Road trips allow us to move at our own pace, an opportunity as rechargeable as any vacation. There’s a sense of control and freedom – a break from routine. You get the chance to switch off from the daily grind and seat yourself in the director’s chair.
Now, I’m no technology basher. I do value the wonders of modern times. But I firmly believe we should not disregard our past experiences just because they require us to slow down and reminisce. Even in this pre-ridden, fast-paced world, there’s a charm in planning a trip with a roadmap, holding conversations during long-hauls, and surprising oneself with unplanned detours.
In our haste to reach point B from A, let’s not forget that only on the road can we stumble upon a C. The digital age has indeed revolutionized the way we live, but we should consciously strive to preserve our history and heritage, even if it’s as simple as a good, old-fashioned road trip.
So, next time you’re looking for an escape, swap your flight booking for a full tank of gas. Let mixtapes serve as your playlist, and allow the road signs to guide you. Turn off your GPS and turn up the charm of an open road. Because at the end of the day, what you take away from a trip isn’t just the photographs, but the memories etched in every mile. Don’t just clip the wings of time; retrospect, relish, and reconnect with a bygone era. Trust me, you’ll appreciate it. As someone who’s seen over 50 summers and winters in Schenectady, it’s a feeling I know all too well.
