On the Road Again-
No Detours Edition

There are people who thrive on routine. They revel in schedules. They spend weeks planning routes designed to avoid mishaps and discomfort.

And then there’s me.

I prefer to get from A to B by way of the off ramp at E, with an incredible coffee shop and mini art gallery featuring work by adults with learning diabilites. (I’m looking at you Jack & Mary's in Schulenburg, Texas.) I’m not lost—I’m exploring.

But not this trip. Nope. I was on a timeline, no room for dilly-dallying. That ten hour detour to visit my friend’s farm and meet his new donkey would have to wait. I was racing bad weather and trying to make it to New Orleans in time for my favorite Mardi Gras parades and a little Bayou sunshine.

So, I hit the road with my dog, Iris, in the back, a houseplant I accidentally packed, riding shotgun, and a mantra of efficiency and focus in my heart.

Gray skies, barren fields, a quick leg stretch, tacos in Boise, and we were back on the road. I was a model of restraint, and the miles had never felt so joyless and unending.

Finally, the universe, tired of my creative swearing and bad attitude, stepped in with a flat tire, an ice storm, and a total vehicular meltdown. But oddly, these slowdowns became the trip’s highlights.

In Ogden, my dashboard lit up like a Vegas slot machine. The repair shop fixed my car that day and they had free snacks and a dog park! While I waited, I had one of my best writing sessions in weeks.

The next day, an ice storm in the south bought me an extra, guilt-free day in Moab, enough time to hike, wander galleries, and sip coffee. Even my inner taskmaster stayed quiet. Weather was officially out of my control.

And the day after that, when I accidentally gave myself a flat tire thanks to an equipment malfunction, a truck driver named Leon pulled up with Hot Stuff blaring from his cab. He hooked his semi’s built-in air compressor to my tire and sent me back on the road singing lookin’ for some hot stuff, baby, this evenin’.

Each interruption was a clear suggestion to take it easy. Each one I took in stride, nodded politely, and went back to my plan.

I pushed on. I fought my curiosity and exhaustion. I fought myself, and do you know where that got me?

A cheap hotel in one of the smelliest towns in America. After my third attempt to fashion a pillow-based gas mask for both Iris and myself to block the sulfur drifting in from nearby oil refineries, I gave up on sleep entirely. I’d taken the road most traveled, and I’d never felt more exhausted.

Look, it’s not like I want to wander endlessly with a guitar and a sunset. I actually don’t like a lot of the mechanics of road trips—the sitting, the monotony, the moment connectivity drops and you hear just how out of tune your high notes really are.

But when I ignore the things that make me me, even for good reasons, the cost shows up fast. I never regret the detour I take for friends, only the ones I don't make. Or making time for curiosity and kindness even when that kindness is for myself, in the form of an extra-long leg stretch.

But I'm going to remember this lesson when I head back north in a couple of months. I'm gonna make time for deviation and lingering. I'm gonna drink that second cup of coffee and stop at that cute little book shop, and you better beleive I’m gonna pet that donkey.