5-10-20
No, that's not a date. Those are interstate numbers here in the U.S. This was the route my parents would drive every summer, going from our San Francisco Bay Area home to the city in South Carolina where they grew up. Every summer I could expect to spend the last three weeks of it in the South. Four days to get there, four days going back, with not enough days in between. Two thousand eight hundred ninety five (2,895) miles according to Google. But this was way before Google. This was back when all we had was that Rand McNally atlas.
Los Angeles was the first major metropolitan area we'd hit (or, rather, the only one I really took note of) coming down I-5. Then the cities (and stops) approached at a snail's pace as the miles of road unwound before us.
Indio, Blythe (both in Cali), and Phoenix, AZ. All in the desert, all hot as blazes.
Tuscon, AZ and Las Cruces, NM. (Still so very, very hot.)
El Paso, Texas. Fort Bliss was where my dad had been stationed. While he was deployed, my mom and brothers lived in the city.
The time it took to drive from our home to El Paso was a full 24 hours. So, once we got there, that would usually be our first full overnight stay. In fact, we might even stay an extra day so they could visit the folks they'd known.
Then we'd head out across Texas. I recall that being the widest state and the longest to drive through. And so, so brown. And smelly (thanks to the cows). Odessa, Midland, Abilene, Fort Worth and Dallas.
Texas would eventually give way to Louisiana, and we'd drive through Shreveport and Monroe (never New Orleans, though every year I hoped that it would magically appear long our route, just once).
Then Mississippi - Vicksburg, Jackson and Meridian.
Then Tuscaloosa, Alabama.
Once we hit Atlanta, I knew we only had three more hours to go till we got "home".
But all I really cared about was going to the little stop called South of the Border. My parents called it a tourist trap. It looked a little worn down, and everything looked a little bleached from the sun. But that didn't matter that to me. All I cared about was that we would get to stop for longer than a few minutes, and my parents would allow us to play and wander around for as long as they could stand. Then it was time to get back on the road headed for home.
When people ask me where home is, I immediately say California, of course. I even used to claim South Carolina. But really, since I spent so much time there, can I not also say that I grew up on the road as well?
Los Angeles was the first major metropolitan area we'd hit (or, rather, the only one I really took note of) coming down I-5. Then the cities (and stops) approached at a snail's pace as the miles of road unwound before us.
Indio, Blythe (both in Cali), and Phoenix, AZ. All in the desert, all hot as blazes.
Tuscon, AZ and Las Cruces, NM. (Still so very, very hot.)
El Paso, Texas. Fort Bliss was where my dad had been stationed. While he was deployed, my mom and brothers lived in the city.
The time it took to drive from our home to El Paso was a full 24 hours. So, once we got there, that would usually be our first full overnight stay. In fact, we might even stay an extra day so they could visit the folks they'd known.
Then we'd head out across Texas. I recall that being the widest state and the longest to drive through. And so, so brown. And smelly (thanks to the cows). Odessa, Midland, Abilene, Fort Worth and Dallas.
Texas would eventually give way to Louisiana, and we'd drive through Shreveport and Monroe (never New Orleans, though every year I hoped that it would magically appear long our route, just once).
Then Mississippi - Vicksburg, Jackson and Meridian.
Then Tuscaloosa, Alabama.
Once we hit Atlanta, I knew we only had three more hours to go till we got "home".
But all I really cared about was going to the little stop called South of the Border. My parents called it a tourist trap. It looked a little worn down, and everything looked a little bleached from the sun. But that didn't matter that to me. All I cared about was that we would get to stop for longer than a few minutes, and my parents would allow us to play and wander around for as long as they could stand. Then it was time to get back on the road headed for home.
When people ask me where home is, I immediately say California, of course. I even used to claim South Carolina. But really, since I spent so much time there, can I not also say that I grew up on the road as well?
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