ISO My Inner Road Warrior (Suzanne Forster)

I’m a modern woman, right? I have an inner child, an inner bitch, and even an inner vixen. I probably have an inner wise woman somewhere. Not so sure about an inner road warrior, though. I know some women have them. I’m on email loops where some of my compatriots have taken the most righteous road trips, and I’ve read their lavishly detailed trip reports with great admiration and more than a little envy.

Waaah. I wanna take a road trip!

Hm, that sounded suspiciously like an inner child, did it not? Make that an inner brat. See, that’s the problem, all my other inners want to take a road trip, but none of them have the ojones, which is the feminine for cojones, otherwise known as ovaries, to do it. I definitely have a huge inner chicken who seems to be running the show lately. Whenever I fantasize about gassing up the roadster and heading for San Jose or Galveston or the redwood forests, I start thinking about all the reasons I shouldn’t, all the reasons why it’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever had.

Safety is my Number One concern—and probably the most reasonable of my fears. Ever notice how often people tell nervous fliers that they’re much more likely to be killed in a car than on a plane? It’s enough to make you nervous about driving. And then there’s that thing about women traveling alone. We’re bombarded with reminders that women are targets, although none of my road warrior women friends have been attacked on their trips, so possibly I’m watching too much Court TV.

The price of gas also figures in there somewhere. And car repairs, of course. Also, huge among my concerns is the sad fact that I can’t read a map, have no sense of direction and was born without the benefit of right-brain spatial relations. I’ve been known to have trouble finding my way around the neighborhood.

And then you have the staggering personal logistics of road tripping. Where would I go? Do I make the trip alone or with a friend? Several friends? A caravan? There’s safety in numbers, but oh, the quibbling over routes and lodging.

So many daunting questions. It’s amazing they haven’t totally drowned out the road trip tunes that play in my head. I Drove All Night, by Cyndi Lauper, On the Road Again by Willie Nelson. You know the songs. There is a nomad locked up inside me who won’t be squelched. Even Oprah’s trip with Gayle this summer didn’t totally discourage me, although it probably should have. They seemed to be having a terrible time finding their way around, and as I mentioned, that’s my personal bete noir. I’m map and direction-challenged. I also have a weird problem with road signs.

Maybe it’s the dyslexia I wrote about awhile back. There must be a name for it. No doubt it’s somewhere in the manual of psychiatric disorders. Probably the best way to explain is with an example. My problem is most pronounced with freeway entrance and exit signs. Why is the road they’re pointing to never the road you’re supposed to take? Did the road move? Did the sign? Is there such a thing as ten-second time-delay eye blinks? I wouldn’t have to be on Vicodan like Nicole Ritchie to enter a freeway exit lane. I’ve almost done it several times. It’s those crazy damn signs.

Also, Gayle and Oprah, though best friends, were wildly incompatible. Gayle liked to talk, Oprah didn’t. Gayle wanted to listen to the radio and sing along. Oprah didn’t. They also picked on each other’s driving skills, with some justification. That much incompatibility in one small space can ruin a trip fast unless you find ways to compromise, which they did. But how much compromising would I want to do? When does the negotiating end and the fun begin?

Last but not least, the list of places I want to go is endless. It includes a long and leisurely trip up the Pacific Coast Highway to Canada, as well as a tiny hop to and through the local vineyards in Temecula. I’d love to visit the caves of Oregon and explore anything anywhere in New Mexico. Las Vegas, of course. Yellowstone has to be crossed off the list. Apparently it’s a major volcano ready to blow at any time. So much for educational television.

And those are just a few of my dream destinations. The complete list would run me out of blogging space.

So, has anybody out there taken a road trip? Was it a dream come true or a nightmare? Did you go alone or with a friend? I’m looking for information and inspiration. And yes, ojones. One of my favorite movies was Thelma and Louise, but look how that ended.

Meanwhile, maybe I’ll just listen to some more road trip tunes.

Where the Streets Have No Name by U2
Life is a Highway by Tom Cochrane
Every Day is a Winding Road by Cheryl Crowe
Born to Run by Bruce Springsteen
Freeway of Love by Aretha Franklin
Midnight Train to Georgia by Gladys Knight
Like a Rolling Stone by Bob Dylan
Anything by James Taylor
And, of course, Bad Motor Scooter by Montrose.

Happy trails,
Suz