There’s not much mystery in a road trip these days. Between Google Maps and weather apps, you can be pretty sure of what lies ahead.
I’m old enough to remember a different kind of roadtrip, one where you navigated from a Rand McNally atlas or a series of state maps and got your weather reports off local AM stations. The lack of predictability around what lay ahead made for some fun trips, like the non-stop run my brother Pete and I took from Salt Lake City to Detroit that got considerably longer when we found out–surprise–that a massive section of I-70 had been closed for nighttime construction and we had to do a major detour in the middle of the night. This was after we had finally eluded the crazy son-of-a-bitch who rode tight on our bumper for 30 minutes with his lights off in eastern Colorado. We could see the moonlight reflecting off his hood in our rear-view mirror, but we didn’t want to stop or hit the brakes, so we just kept going until he finally backed off into the blackness. I’ve always wondered if he had as much fun as we did.
There was a stretch of my life when it felt like I made a cross-country run just about every 15 months. There was one in the dead of winter between Pullman, WA, and Ann Arbor, MI, when budget cuts at WSU killed both our jobs and we headed back “home” to work for a landscaper and figure out our next steps. We were nearly grounded at a hotel in Missoula–where the temperature stood at -24 degrees–but a patient wrecker driver helped me get the car started and told us, don’t turn the car off again and we didn’t until we got home, for fear it wouldn’t start again. What the hell did we know?
Then there was the time we were visiting my aunt and uncle in their townhouse in Gaithersburg, Maryland, with our 16-month-old son Conrad. It got to be about 9:00 at night and Sara and I didn’t think we could take another night there so we said, “Conrad’s getting sleepy, let’s drive home,” but home is Lafayette, Indiana, maybe 10 hours away … or it should have been 10 if we hadn’t hit a snowstorm crossing the Indiana state line and then I spent the last couple hours of the drive white-knuckled and half hallucinating, the falling snow making a tunnel in space as dark gave way to morning. It scares me just to think of it! Conrad slept the whole way through, right up until we got about 5 miles from home and then he was ready to roll. We about lost our minds. We both swore never again to drive through the night.
In Google I Trust (with a Little Help from My Friends)
The road trip I’m planning today is a whole different ballgame: technically, all I do is enter my start point of Snohomish, WA, and my end point of WeatherTech Raceway Laguna Seca (near Monterey, CA), and I can let Google do the rest. 932 miles, with the vast majority a straight shot down I-5. If I left right now, it would take me 15 hours and 12 minutes. Google will offer me route changes if there are problems ahead, and I’ve given myself 2 days to get there, so it shouldn’t be a problem.
In summer, I’d just hop in the car and go. But it’s mid-November, I’m driving a rear-wheel-drive M2, and I know that Siskiyou Pass in southern Oregon could pose a serious challenge in a snow storm–a challenge that could jeopardize the pretty penny I’ve laid down for 2 days on my dream track. So Plan A is get there fast, I-5 all the way.
But I needed a Plan B, and for that I tapped the hive-mind that is the Avants community. Avants is a “premium membership program for gearheads,” says the website, but it’s also a living, breathing community of 1500 people (and growing fast) who are really into all things drivable and among the most helpful, welcoming groups I’ve ever run across. At noon on a Friday, I posted a question on the org’s Facebook group asking for route advice through southern Oregon, and by day’s end I was absolutely convinced of my Plan B: if the weather turned to hell by the time I reached Grants Pass, I would veer right and take the lower, warmer route 199 to Crescent City, California, then bust my way south on Highway 101 the rest of the way. (Hell, Todd Peach sent me a multi-page guide that spelled out every option possible—who needs GPS when you’ve got friends like this?)
If you’re reading this and thinking to yourself, Plan B sounds a hell of a lot more interesting, well, you’re right. But I’m laser focused on being my freshest self when I hit Laguna Seca, and that means it’s Plan A for me if at all possible. We’ll see what the weather gods bring my way, and how I find my way back.
PS: The car guys are gonna bust my ass for not mentioning the cars I was in, but they were, surprisingly enough, not that important. In order, mid-70s VW Rabbit, 1987 Saab 900S, and 1992 Saturn SL2.