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Road Tripping

With the heat of summer just beginning to rear its ugly head, why would anyone decide to drive with two very young children from the cool and breezy Bay Area to hot and sticky Los Angeles?

To attend the wedding of dear friends, that's why. I tried to get them to move the date to a cooler time of year, but no dice. The invitations had already been sent out.

We decided to leave at night and let Emma and Stella sleep while we blast down Highway 5 like a bat out of Fresno. True, we'd be zombies from the all-nighter, but we feared that if we attempted a daylight passage we'd have to stop so often, by the time got there it'd be time to turn around.

In preparation, I went to the used record store for some fresh kiddie tapes, and found a cassette of music from Blue's Clues, one of Emma's favorites. Not that I that I doubted they'd sleep; but just as a hedge against a worst-case scenario.

We didn't get out of the house till eleven. Both kids were dead to the world when we poured them into their car seats. Everything was going according to plan.

For about an hour, until Emma woke up in Salinas, demanding answers. We had answers, but they turned out to be the wrong ones. I tried to deploy my secret weapon, the surprise cassette, but Emma would have none of it. A spirited and frequently antagonistic verbal exchange dominated the next hundred miles.

We were still on Highway 101. I kept telling myself to hang on till we reached Highway 5, which could put anyone to sleep. At Paso Robles, we took 46 East to the soundtrack of Emma's bizarre running commentary. A three-year-old's observations in the middle of the night make Timothy Leary sound like Mister Rogers.

The tedium of 46 East might have taken the wind out of her sails if not for the unexpected delay for road work. Emma was not amused as we sat for nearly an hour under the cozy glare of the grillion-watt floodlights, although the flagman was eager to chat. Hey, it's lonely out there at 3:00 AM. This was taking forever. What are they doing, I asked, digging a tunnel to Bakersfield? Being the consummate professional, he took the question seriously and launched into a detailed explanation of the paving process.

He was still going when I rolled up my window; it was hard enough to keep awake without this guy's life story. Eventually they waved us through, and as we rocketed down Highway 5 toward the Grapevine, I once again suggested the Blue's Clues cassette, and this time, Emma grudgingly relented.

It was a bad idea. The tape's theme was bedtime and all the tunes were lullabies; slow, lilting songs of worship for the bed, the blankie, the pillowð it made me feel like I had anvils hanging from my eyelids. This was worse than that moron's paving lecture. I barely outlasted Emma, who finally fell asleep, under protest.

This trip was really just a warm-up for our epic East Coast Trip, scheduled for this summer, in order to take full advantage of the most uncomfortable weather our great land has to offer. Why? It's a long story, but it has to do with the fact that the Baseball Hall of Fame induction ceremonies happen in the first week of August.

I tried to get them to move the date, but apparently the invitations have already been sent out.

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© Todd Pinsky 1998-2002. All rights reserved.