14 Hours, 7 Cities, and Too Many Snacks to Count

We departed from Prairieville, Louisiana on Wednesday morning around 7:30 a.m. as the damp Louisiana air would greet me for the last time until August. The last goodbyes I said were to my parents, who emotionally held it together better than I expected. They watched from the drive-way, gleaming with pride until my car was out of sight. Five minutes later and I was back home. It wouldn’t be a road-trip unless I forgot something. Shortly after, I gathered my friends and we hit the familiar interstate-10. Our first pitstop was a few miles away in Prairieville where I bought a scratch-off ticket and won $10, which would later be used for the first of many munchies. The trip was off to a superb start and we arrived in Lafayette in no time. We stopped again for caffeine at Starbucks and drove straight through to  Lake Charles. We continued to make good time and arrived in Houston around 1 p.m. I would find out later that the first five hours of gung-ho driving were deceiving and not the whole trip would be filled with such enthusiasm — but that’s to come later.

We parked in downtown Houston for lunch at Jason’s Deli. After dropping a few quarters into the meter, I spotted a seemingly homeless couple eyeing my party and car. I try to maintain faith in the human race, but I was weary because of the cargo vulnerably sitting on the top of my vehicle. I made sure everything was secure and hoped for the best. I hadn’t been to Jason’s Deli since I was a kid, so lunch was enjoyable. We hurried back to the car and found everything untouched. I think we all exhaled a sigh of relief. Another street-roamer with matted hair and a crooked smile asked us if we were headed west. We politely answered but said we had to be going. It was time to hit the road — we had bigger and better places to see than downtown Houston.

Revitalized from lunch, we started the car with an upbeat attitude and began searching for I-10. We searched and searched and searched some more. After a half hour of driving up and down unknown roads, we found our path and continued right along until we hit the traffic jam of all traffic jams — five lanes of bumper to bumper. After more than an hour of an agonizing crawl, the traffic loosened up and revealed the delay’s origin. Three 18-wheeler trucks had collided and a couple had flipped. Police officers cleaned the wreckage, and suddenly I was more thankful that we were safe than annoyed that we were delayed.

Houston to San Antonio took no time at all. Despite a few stops for ICEEs, gummy worms and chips we made excellent time. We drove through San Antonio without stopping and finally I had reached a new personal frontier. San Antonio was the furthest west I had ever traveled, and I was beyond excited to see new lands. It felt like a real road trip. The terrain drastically altered as we drove up and down hills, making our stomachs churn with even more excitement. Beautiful houses could be seen high on the hilltops. The sun began to set and we continued on until we found a picnic area on a hilltop where we stopped to enjoy our surroundings. The air was crisp and the sights were beautiful. It was the first time since I left my driveway that I was really overcome with eagerness to arrive in the west. It was the first of many.

We still had nearly 7 hours from San Antonio until we reached our destination in Fort Stockton. The drive was smooth as key lime pie until the sun sunk below the hillsides. With no light illuminating the landscape, all of our surroundings were the same — dark. We pushed on, blaring music to stay alive and were zooming through Ozona, Texas around 10 p.m. That meant only two hours remained. A couple of hours doesn’t seem like much in the scheme of things unless you’ve already been in a car for nearly 14. We finally rolled into Fort Stockton around midnight. It can be described best as a town of motels and gas stations, not much else. Annoyed with everyone, everything and tired beyond words, we checked into our hotel and hit the pillows. Our first and longest day was complete, and I went to bed knowing that if we could survive this day, then we were home-free. 

Road-trippin'

My FJ Cruiser was packed to the ceiling and an additional cargo carrier latched to the racks above my car also held luggage. An array of music and snacks were prepared for the arduous 28 hour road-trip ahead of me. Good-byes and see-you-laters were exchanged all throughout the week before my departure. My heart swelled with mixed emotions of excitement and anxiety as I prepared leave behind my state and the people who make it my home. After weeks of planning, budgeting, packing and moving out of my apartment, I was finally ready to traverse the country for my two month internship at the Desert Sun newspaper in the searing sands of Palm Springs, California.

Though I was leaving behind my family and friends for my brief stint in the desert, I was bringing with me a few pieces of my heart for a five-day adventure. My girlfriend, Summer; my cousin, Brennan; and my friend and Summer’s sister, Brandi, crammed into my car to make the cross-country trek with me. I was joyed to have companions for a few reasons. First, it meant delaying the inevitable loneliness that would ensue once on my own in the west. Second, I was going to need entertainment for the undertaking. Finally, I wanted my friends to see part of the world that too many southerners will never experience — the sunny state of California. 

The plan was to leave early Wednesday morning and drive 14 hours to Fort Stockton, Texas, where we’d spend the night. The next day would bring 10 more hours of travel to another hotel in Phoenix, Arizona. Finally, we would drive four more hours and arrive in Palm Springs around lunch on Friday. Seems easy enough, right? 

You'd be surprised.