Still Asking Are We There Yet

            My wife Amy and I returned recently from our first vacation in Cancun. She’s a bargain hunter and found a deal for a stay at an all-inclusive resort there. We drove to Nashville, caught a flight and in 5-6 hours, counting layovers, arrived in Mexico. I marvel at how quickly folks can get to destination these days. I remember times when travel wasn’t quite so easy.

            Part our family, consisting of three boys and Mother, traveled each summer with the Burns family to the Smoky Mountains for a week. We stayed in one of the big cabins that King’s Cottages rented to vacationers. The week before the trip, our mom and Ruby, the other mother, stocked up on gallon jars of peanut butter, mayonnaise, and mustard, and boxes filled with food that would be prepared for meals. Then six children and two women would pile into an old 50’s Plymouth and begin the journey.

            It was a time before Interstate roads, and that meant driving through downtown Knoxville and up Chapman Highway. We rode through rush hour traffic and then settled down for the curvy route through South Knoxville and to Sevierville. In those days, Pigeon Forge was little more than a wide spot in the road. The real entertainment awaited travelers in Gatlinburg.

            Our old car would chug through tourist traffic before making a left onto Highway 321 for the last fifteen miles of the trip. By the time we arrived, three or more hours had passed, and as soon as the car doors swung opened, a gaggle of kids made a bee-line for the river and the cold water in which they swam for the next week.

            Our entire family, which included our dad, took one vacation together. It happened after my fourth grade year. This time we followed our cousin Charlie and his family from home to Treasure Island, Florida. Again, this was during a time “before” Interstates in Knoxville. We traveled down Alcoa Highway and then made our way through mountainous roads somewhere. The drive as excruciating. Daddy’s new 1962 Impala had never crossed the Knox County line. We sat for hours and sweated buckets on the plastic covers on the seats.

            Daddy always drove slow as he was afraid of hurting his family. In Florida, he developed a lead foot, due in large part to the fact that he was trying to keep up with our uncle, who never met a speed zone he liked. It was Daddy, however, whom a police officer pulled over and ticketed. I felt sorry for him as his embarrassment grew over breaking the law.

            We were all tired and ready to be out of the car. The vehicle had no air conditioner, considered an expensive and unnecessary luxury. Our only ventilation came from rolling down the windows, and that proved to be a mistake. As we cruised down a four-lane road near the coast, a seagull leveled itself with the back window, peeled off to the left, and relieved itself during the banking maneuver. A wet stream of brown came through the opening and splattered our white t-shirts. That was the last straw for a family not used to traveling long distances in search of fun and relaxation.

            These days, travel is much easier. Planes zoom us to our destinations quickly, and most of the time is spent in layovers at airports. Roads are much better than in those earlier times, and travelers arrive much quicker. Still, we want even faster travel and long for direct flights and wreck-free highways. It appears that most of us are never quite satisfied with the travel arrangements. I, for one, would like to be able to flip out my communication device and say, “Beam me up, Scotty.”