It’s the beginning of summer, and to me, that means the denizens of the Pacific Northwest will cram 9 months of listlessness into 3 months time. One of the ways I usually cure that listlessness is to hit the open road for a road trip!
That’s right, the Great American Road Trip.
Most of us in Generation X, and some Generation Y, are accustomed to
driving to our vacations aka holidays because it was cost prohibited to travel
by flight. I’ve visited the Mt. Rushmore Monument to Disneyland to the Four
Corners area by way of cars. There’s plenty of stories of road trips, playlists
of music to be played on the radios which were inspired by the driving
experience, and memories upon memories of the wild things that happened out
there.
My most recent road trip to Sedro Woolley reminded me of my fondest
experience, and it didn’t take place on the highways and bi-ways of the United
States. It didn’t happen during summer, either. In fact, it took place 8 years
ago, in the fall, through the country of the Philippines. Yep - the NOT Great American Road Trip!
You see, my father proposed to his wife, and requested his best
friend (happens to be my uncle too), and myself to be his best men in the
wedding ceremony in the Philippines. Well, it was early September 2008. I was
in the closing days of finalizing my divorce with my wife. As you can imagine,
I was in a dark place, one of which didn’t like celebrating love, commitment,
let alone weddings and marriages.
However, it’s my Dad. To me, family first, so I stepped up and
figured it out.
I’m still not quite sure why the return plans included a road trip
in a Toyota Avanza from Tagbilaran City to the Manila International Airport. My
Dad and step-mother loaded up my uncle’s bags and mine, too, for the long drive
north. The description sounded like the start of a bad joke: Three Americans
and Filipina jump into in a car …
I digress.
Without further delay, we zoomed outta Tagbilaran with only a
thumbnail sketch of a plan for places to stay, and eat, to fuel up, and more.
Between my Dad, uncle and yours truly, we rotated driving duties. My
step-mother doesn’t know how to drive so it was up to the boys. We would
literally drive as far as our energy level and fuel would allow. Once we rolled
into a village, town, or city, we would find lodging for the night, and then
food.
For some strange reason we gravitated to International Fast Food
Chain of Jollibee. I think mostly it was the only food place open by the time
we decided to stop. In order to wind down, we would find a bar or watering hole
for drinks, and karaoke.
One the first night, we found a literal hole-in-the-wall place to
drink San Miguel beer and karaoke. My step-mother had not heard me karaoke up
until this night. For some reason I wanted to sing my heart to soothe it from
the pain it was soaked in.
My first song was Daughtry’s “Over You”. Whether I did or didn’t, I
felt like I killed it. I put so much conviction into it because I was
performing for a sold-out crowd of thousands. After a few more beers, and few
more songs, we all crashed out.
I slept better that night for the first time in months.
We continued our perilous road trip north on paved roads, dirt
roads, muddy hillside where goats were walking faster than the Avanza was
moving, across massive bridges, every imaginable topographical terrain, and
encountered every type of weather scenario. We even took vehicle ferries from
island to island!
Each day was the same: drive all-day long, then find a place to
sleep, hit up Jollibee, and then drinks and karaoke to cap off the night.
Once we rolled into Manila, my heart saddened again. It was the
beginning of the end. The fun times, the bonding with family, the driving
experience, and the memories were almost done.
Then I had an epiphany. Road trips are more about the journey than the destination. Just like life.
‘los
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