One Family’s 28-day Wild Odyssey Across the Western U.S.
Preface
You could spend an eternity trying to decipher the exact moment when this grand plan invaded my thoughts. The idea was a mix of audacious ambition and charmingly naïve optimism. A month-long, all-American road trip with my wife and our three daughters. The seed of this expedition had been quietly planted during an earlier road trip across the panoramic beauty of California, Nevada, and Arizona.
This wasn’t some whimsical flight of fancy, mind you. This was more like the sort of idea that climbs into your head one quiet afternoon, looks around, and promptly decides it’s moving in permanently. And once it’s settled in, there’s no dislodging it. The final nudge? It was delivered courtesy of a trip to a Route 66 museum in Kingman, Arizona, where Diem and I stumbled upon a nostalgic slice of Americana that irresistibly tugged at my wanderlust.
The Museum
In the 19th century, the rich and restless would abscond on vast luxury liners to Europe. Trading the sweltering heat of the eastern U.S. for the balmy European summers. Then came the Great War, stifling this exodus and creating a void in tourism. Enter a spirited advertising campaign persuading the home folks to look inward for their vacation inspiration. Enticing them with the grandeur of the Grand Canyon, the charm of Santa Fe, and the majesty of Yosemite.
After years spent wandering the vibrant streets and scenic rice fields of Vietnam, my wife Diem’s homeland, this idea of domestic exploration stirred something in me. I realized I had seen more of Southeast Asia than my own country. This was our opportunity to undertake an adventure closer to home. Explore America’s great history and diverse cultural heritage. Give the family a crash course on the American West.
Upon returning home from the Southwest trip, I ordered a Rand McNally road atlas, Unbeknownst to me, the scenic byways edition. Unaware of my fortuitous choice. The atlas immediately added another layer of possibilities to our journey. Nine great scenic byways west of the Mississippi. Thus, with the atlas spread across my desk in my dimly lit home office, accompanied by the occasional glass of bourbon, I dedicated evenings and weekends to meticulously crafting our great Davis family summer road trip itinerary for months.
The lingering question was the length of this grand endeavor. The Rand McNally atlas listed nine picturesque byways as the West’s finest. Many of which led to or passed by National Parks. A happy coincidence, if ever there was one. Serendipitously, I had already scheduled the next June off from work, and an unforeseen family scheduling change offered us the perfect opportunity, a cleared month of June, to conquer the stunning western drives and pay our respects to as many National Parks and Monuments as time permitted.
My initial thoughts veered westward on I-20 and I-10, barreling towards California with a quick northern leap into Colorado and Utah. But as the plan evolved, the romantic notion of following the trail of Lewis and Clark’s epic journey up the Missouri River, across the Bitterroot Mountains, and onto the Pacific proved irresistible. Fresh off my read of “Undaunted Courage” by Stephen Ambrose, a riveting retelling of the Corps of Discovery Expedition, I found a new dimension to our adventure.
The riddle of transportation quickly rose to the forefront. While a traditional RV initially seemed fitting, the prohibitive costs quickly quashed this notion. Ten thousand miles in an RV is astronomical. The unexpected solution was a 15-passenger transit van, a beast we’d previously wrangled during church outings. Through Priceline, I unearthed a rental deal allowing unlimited miles and ample room for our gear by removing most seats. Toss in the idea of adding camping to the mix, and we found ourselves staring at the perfect recipe for an unforgettable experience.
And so, armed with a well-crafted itinerary, an enthusiastic spirit, and a whimsical plan for a modified transit van, we spent several months preparing to set off on our long-awaited family road trip. Something is intoxicating about the open road. The call of the horizon, the lure of adventure, and the mosaic of experiences only travel can offer have always captivated me. The excitement and anticipation were almost as vast as the grand landscapes of the American West we were about to explore. A family on the precipice of a remarkable journey.
Before leaving, we converted our backyard into our prep zone, readying ourselves for camping. Though tedious under Georgia’s hot sun, the ritual of assembling and disassembling camp held its charm. As I labored on, my daughters showing polite interest, my wife watching patiently, unimpressed, I could feel a growing thrill. I knew this journey would be both challenging and unforgettable.
In the spirit of self-reliance and Bourdain-esque culinary flair, I drafted a meal plan involving home-canned broths, Sous Vide dinners, and pre-seasoned meats vacuum sealed for quick stir-fries. The week before departure saw me haunt the local market, sourcing ingredients to cater to the epicurean needs of my crew for the journey. Of course, the tantalizing tapestry of regional cuisine at pitstops across America was too enticing to pass up. Still, a majority of our sustenance would come from the mobile kitchen we were assembling. For this, a refrigerator/freezer capable of running off the car’s DC or a wall outlet was my ace in the hole. The aim was clear: loading the van with 75% of our needs before wheels up.
Countdown to Vacation – 1 day: The Van Morphosis
Our trusty van evolved from a mere means of transport to a symbol of our impending adventure. It was no longer just a van. It was set to be our sanctuary, mobile fortress, and de facto home for 28 days. I pictured a utilitarian space – an austere refuge during the day, a bustling kitchen at night, and a steadfast vessel to shepherd us through the American landscape. It needed a facelift, and the task was far from trivial.
Collecting the van was delayed due to rental complications, compressing our outfitting window to a frantic six hours. Undeterred, I roped in my most trusted accomplice, my father, and we attacked the project with a heightened gusto. We were no strangers to tackling projects together – we had a history of building decks, plumbing houses, boring trenches, and even constructing our homes. This was just another challenge to surmount.
Stripping the back of the van down to just three seats gave us the canvas we needed. The high ceiling amplified the illusion of space, a crucial psychological factor for our long journey, but also offered the opportunity to expand storage. Our next task was to install a rack over the rear seats. Each bolt and screw tightened under the oppressive Georgia heat echoed our exertion and the tangible reality of our looming adventure.
The coup de grace was installing our makeshift kitchen. A multipurpose table on which we could prepare and eat meals, the epicenter of our mobile habitat. This table, securely fastened to the existing rack, had to be as sturdy as it would be practical. Ready to withstand the undulating terrain ahead.
As dusk painted long shadows over our handiwork, we stood back to admire the transformation. Our van had metamorphosed into a camper of sorts, primed to shepherd us on our epic American odyssey. We’d won against the clock, our clothes smeared with grease, bodies aching but spirits soaring. There was, however, no time to bask in victory – it was time to pack our metal steed for the journey. With everything already staged in the garage, it took little time to pack, strap down, tie up, and assemble everything we needed.
Finally, after a well-earned restorative shower and a nourishing meal, I collapsed into bed, my mind awash with anticipation. The journey loomed ahead, filling my thoughts with a blend of anxiety and anticipation. As I drifted off to sleep, the road beckoned. I knew our preparation, from the meticulous planning to the adjustments, checking the road conditions, to the detailed itinerary, would serve us well. Our home on wheels was ready, and our American road trip was due to embark at 4 am. Sleep finally found me amid the swirling thoughts and fleeting images of the exciting possibilities ahead.
Chapter 1 – Setting Forth into the Dawn. Covington, GA, to Columbia, Missouri
There’s something magical about embarking on a road trip in the deep hush of the pre-dawn hours. That tender break between night and morning where the world seems to hold its breath. Covington, Georgia, our cozy little hamlet, was shaking off the night’s slumber as we clambered into our travel-ready transit van. With the engine murmuring gently, coffee hot, and sleep still clinging to our eyes. It was at this mystifying moment that we loaded up and pressed north. Savoring the thrilling prospect of our month-long journey. Our days’ compass set for Columbia, Missouri, with a must-see detour to the eminent Gateway Arch in St. Louis.
As the wheels of our van grazed I-75 and the dawn cracked open like a fresh egg spilling sunshine, we were filled with an intoxicating sense of uncharted potential. Our vista unraveled before us as we sliced through Tennessee by way of Chattanooga — a quaint pearl cradled in a crescent of river, embraced by a verdant wreath of mountains. Our girls, bubbling with child-like wonder, supercharged the vehicle with their kinetic anticipation, their laughter intertwining with the twangs and thumps of Johnny Cash’s anthems humming in the backdrop. Nashville, the sacred womb of country music, fell next. Beckoned with its warm, musical grasp, I mentally pledged to croon Cash’s words someday, “I’ve been everywhere, man”!
As the sun strode to its highest throne, we nestled into the picturesque cocoon of a Kentucky rest stop along I-24. The bucolic expanse unfurled before us like a Van Gogh masterpiece, serving as the ideal backdrop for our alfresco lunch. Setting up our reliable portable burners, a superior option to any camping stove, Diem transformed into the alchemist of our makeshift kitchen. Before long, the cool, clean air was laced with the mouthwatering aroma of stir-fried noodles and fried rice, an unpretentious but spirit-lifting meal that replenished our hearts and stomachs. And on we pressed.
Come afternoon, we rolled into St. Louis, eager to explore our first national park. The Gateway Arch, its shimmering metallic surface painting the sky, was a sight to remember. The moment was elevated from mere sightseeing to a profound experience as we confronted the architectural prowess before us. If you want a taste of America’s grandeur, stand atop this monument and take in the view.
Stepping through the Gateway
That radiant afternoon revealed that the Gateway Arch wasn’t just another checkpoint on our grand tour. It was a milestone, a towering tribute to human ambition and creativity. An apt commencement to our western escapade. Travel allows me to perceive the tangible reality and the woven tapestry of stories they embody. I’ve cultivated a habit of seeking these narratives in our adventures, uncovering the rich backgrounds and histories swirling around us.
Gazing upon the Arch, its formidable silhouette etched against the afternoon sun, evoked a tribute to the intrepid pioneers who, many moons ago, set forth from St. Louis in pursuit of fortune and freedom. Standing 630 feet tall, the Arch is an emblem of their dauntlessness and zeal, an homage to St. Louis’s historical reputation as the “Gateway to the West.”
The design for the monument is the brainchild of Finnish-American architect Eero Saarinen who won the design competition in 1947. The architect amusingly admitted to sketching the winning design on a whim in just a couple of minutes. He couldn’t have envisaged how his impromptu doodle would transform into this steel and concrete titan, an awe-inspiring spectacle of modern architecture. Completed in 1965, the arch stands an impressive 630 feet high, can fit the Statue of Liberty under its frame, and is an optical illusion. As the width between the bases is equal to its height.
Ascending the Arch
Getting to the top of this 630-foot wonder wasn’t as straightforward as stepping into an elevator and pressing a button. It was more akin to a space expedition, an adventure all in itself. The ascent to the summit of the Arch was made in little pod-like trams, tiny capsules of excitement that felt lifted straight out of a retro sci-fi flick. Our guide envisioned it as a trifecta experience pulling in aspects of the Ferris wheel, escalator, and elevator elements.
Once aboard our capsule – or “arch pod” as we had coined it – we began our journey skywards. As the pod inched its way up, the pod shifted sideways and rocked, clunked, and clanked until we were ensconced in an insulated bubble of quiet. The only sound that filled the silence was the rhythmic thrum and creek of the tram system. It was the perfect opportunity for a little father-daughter heart-to-heart, one of those precious conversations that begin with, “Dad, why is the sky blue?” and ends with a discussion on refraction and atmospheric particles. But, as usual, the girls shrugged off any attempt at being informative.
Finally, we were there after four minutes that felt both fleeting and timeless. Stepping out of the pod and onto the observation deck, the world transformed. From up here, St. Louis was a sprawl of miniature buildings, toy cars moving on narrow strips of road, the mighty Mississippi reduced to a winding muddy ribbon.
We watched the city, the river, and the infinite horizon; a sense of insignificance, a feeling of awe, and a reminder of our place in the grand tapestry of life flooded over me. As I stood there, the afternoon sun streaming in through the windows, illuminating dust particles dancing in the air, I felt exhilarated. Standing up there, straddling the East and the West, looking out over the bustling cityscape and endless horizon beyond. The massive Arch swaying from the forces of nature. The sensation was not unlike the one you get while standing on a beach, toes sunk in the sand, gazing out at the seemingly endless ocean.
After about ten minutes, we were herded back to the pods. Descending back to terra firma, the cityscape once again grew in scale, slowly reclaiming its magnitude. Stepping out of the pod, we looked up at the towering arch, now more than just a marvel of modern architecture. It was a shared experience, a family memory, a symbol of the start of our journey. The Gateway Arch, for us, was not just an iconic monument but a testament to the human spirit, our history, and our own journey west. And so it was, standing beneath the Gateway Arch, I felt we had grown a little taller, expanded our horizons just a bit wider, and embarked on a journey not just across America but also a journey within ourselves.
Beyond the towering symbol of westward expansion, deep within the underbelly of the monument, concealed within its base, a captivating museum. Stepping into it was akin to traveling back to a period when St. Louis was a nascent riverfront town. The museum, part of the Gateway Arch National Park, comprises five engrossing historical exhibits. We began our journey with the Colonial St. Louis exhibit, which offered insights into the city’s origins long before it emerged as the launch pad for westward expansion. As we ventured further, we delved into Thomas Jefferson’s vision for the West and the renowned Lewis and Clark expedition. When Thomas Jefferson purchased the Louisiana territory from Napoleon, and the First French Republic in 1803, St. Louis was the end of the known world.
The Gateway Arch and its museum were more than just an arresting landmark or a waypoint on our journey. They were a window into our history, a testament to human determination, and a reminder of our nation’s journey. A perfect place to start an epic American vacation. I realized in my introspection that sometimes, the most captivating tales are those told by the landscapes themselves. The joy of a journey lies in the stories we unearth, those we weave ourselves into, and those we leave behind.
A short while longer on the road delivered us to our destination for the night – Columbia, Missouri. The day’s drive had stirred up a formidable hunger. Our remedy was Big Daddy’s BBQ, a local hotspot, most stars in Columbia, renowned for its succulent pork belly bites. The smoky, tender meat paired with their homemade BBQ sauce was as warm a welcome to Missouri as we could ask for, making the long drive worth every minute. As we savored our meal amid the eatery’s rustic charm, our conversation drifted to the unexplored places, unmet people, and adventures yet to unfold. Our epic journey had begun.
Despite the awe the Arch inspired, our day ended on a simpler note. As the cloak of night descended over Columbia, we found solace in a quaint motel. With our appetites satiated, we retreated to our room. The city’s lights sparkled beneath our window, and the serenity of the night enveloped us. It seemed surreal that we had been in Covington, Georgia, just this morning. After months of planning, we were on the road. And as I watched my family unwind from the day’s thrills, I was filled with a sense of fulfillment.
A family of five, a map sprawled across the dashboard, and the open road whispering promises of discovery. That, my friends, is the beauty of travel. It’s not just about the destinations, the sights, and the experiences. It’s about the stories we create, the memories we forge, and how these experiences change us, bit by bit, journey by journey. It has begun. We were beneath an endless sky. The further we drove, the larger it became. With each stretch we covered, its breadth seemed to deepen further across an incredible horizon.
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Click here for the National Parks website.
