There are times in your life when you come to the stark realization that you are a grown-up now. It’s highly unfortunate. This happened during a recent road trip to see family. We packed the minivan to the hilt, strapped our bikes to the back, and piled in with snacks and distractions for the 20-hour drive.
The trip to the East Coast was mostly uneventful. There were a few barfing sessions, many bathroom breaks, and lots of yelling about who was on whose side of the backseat. But, that is all to be expected. It’s nothing some Dramamine and threats of turning the car around right now won’t fix.
We made it to our destination and enjoyed lazy days on the beach and family dinners. Then we shook the sand out of our clothes, packed up again, and pointed the trusty minivan toward home. The bathroom stops and yelling from the backseat started up quickly. Barfing was avoided on the return trip with prophylactic Dramamine. We spent a night in Ohio at a hotel with make-your-own waffles. Things were going well.
Then on the 4th of July, just three hours from home on a highway in Indiana, the road trip took a turn for the worse. It started with the air conditioning spewing hot hair into the 95-degree day. The dashboard indicated the engine was overheating. My husband dutifully turned on the heat as Google told us we were supposed to do, and we sweltered as we sped down the highway, looking for an exit with a store.
We were hopeful as we added coolant and navigated to the nearby McDonalds in La Porte, Indiana, for lunch. But our hope was misplaced. The car sputtered and died when we tried to restart it.
“No matter,” we told the kids as we ushered them back into McDonalds for seconds and dialed AAA. After 90 minutes of the kids arguing over who was on whose side of the booth, the tow truck arrived. We were relieved and the kids were excited about a truck showing up just for us!
The driver hopped out with a handy device and jump-started the car. It roared to life and we cheered. We thanked the driver and piled back into the stuffy, barf-smelling car.
Our joy was short-lived. The car stalled again, and when we chased down the tow truck driver, he said he was off to another call.
Back into McDonalds where the largest 4th of July parade in Indiana had just let out. We competed for booth space with locals in patriotic tank tops. We called AAA again and were told it would be another 90-minute wait. Repair shops were closed for the holiday. We knew we’d have to spend the night. Should we rent a car and drive everyone back? The closest car rental place was half an hour away. Maybe an Uber or a Lyft? The apps returned no available drivers. Unload our bikes and navigate the busy road to the nearest hotel? Who do we know in Indiana? Should we go solicit rides in the parking lot and ask if they have room for six and a couple booster seats on board?
My husband and I looked at each other and then at the faces of the four cranky kids crammed next to us in the McDonalds booth. No one could save us. We were the grownups. We had to solve this.
I remember car trouble on road trips as a kid. We’d occasionally run out of gas or the car wouldn’t start. I’d read my book and complain about how this was the worst trip ever. But I was calm and confident that the invincible grown-ups would fix it. I was annoyed but worry-free.
But now we were the grown-ups. And we knew we weren’t invincible. We refilled our McDonalds beverages and reconsidered our options. Finally the Uber app displayed a driver half an hour away. Hooray! Sometimes heroes drive Ubers.
Shortly before the Uber arrived, the second tow truck pulled in. The driver managed to start the car long enough to get it on the truck bed. Our bike carrier gouged the asphalt with a cringe-inducing scrape as he drove it up the ramp. Finally, help was at hand.
We spent the night at a rundown hotel with a pool and walked a half mile to a restaurant with a good kids menu. We watched homegrown fireworks displays over the small lake and then squeezed into two queen-sized beds for a viewing of American Ninja Warrior.
The next morning we delayed our check-out time and wondered how bad the car trouble was. Were we doomed to live forever in La Porte, Indiana, subsisting on McDonalds hamburgers? Our youngest son would be delighted.
Then, good news at last. The car was fixed with just a shredded serpentine belt to blame and the bill was less than we feared.
On the road, the sibling spats started immediately, but we didn’t mind. We savored the air conditioning, slipped in head phones, and sped along the highway toward home. We dealt with the unexpected and made the best of it. Our kids were annoyed but confident we’d make it all better. We spent a memorable 4th of July in La Porte, Indiana. Maybe we are invincible grown-ups.
