Are We There Yet?

She hates the motorhome. Of course she’ll never admit to it. After all, it was her idea. In anticipation of charitable events across the country she suggested we buy one. I wanted the cheap one. The one fresh with the smell of hunting and beer. She wanted the pretty one, complete with air conditioning and a fully functioning engine. The salesperson saw us coming. And after explaining the importance of resale value (beer and hunting doesn’t sell) and fuel economy we left with visions of adventures to come. And by that, I mean that I dreamed of camping while she dreamed of luxurious travel from hotel to hotel.

One year ago, when we bought the motorhome we failed to communicate. Today we’re making up for that. And the communication is lively and animated. Two weekends ago we drove to Nebraska for a walk-a-thon. By that I mean I drove 20 hours and she slept. This weekend we went to Virginia for a golf fundraiser. And once again I drove 16 hours. As I write this she’s behind the wheel for the first time. Twenty minutes to be precise. And she’s already told me she’s too tired to continue. Of course that was after driving twice over the rumble strip and calling for caffeine. Now she tells me to go back to sleeping, but once again I’m too frightened to sleep. I guess she won. I might as well drive.

I’ve always known she wasn’t a “rough-it” kind of girl. Dirt, sweat and bugs never were her thing. Still that never stopped me from trying. But for Brooke, her idea of roughing it is McDonalds and the local Red Roof Inn. I guess we just communicate on different levels.

She says she doesn’t hate the motorhome. She just sighs with a tense smile. Even Gracie knows the truth. And now Gracie sides with Mom. Of course she likes bugs, sweat and dirt, she just doesn’t like being away from the television and video games. And in the end my best chance may be a little wilderness camping at a Hilton Hotel with a television. Think they’ll let me pitch a tent in the hall in protest?

This summer I’ll try again. While we have the motorhome I’ve planned a trip out west to Yellowstone. Everyone has to do it once in life. Gracie asks if it’s like the Wilderness Lodge at Disneyworld. I can just see her trying to pet a buffalo. Brooke wants to know if there are any mountains. She can’t stand how slow the motorhome travels up mountain roads. She’s been driving now 30 minutes while I write this and is now seeing her first West Virginia mountain behind the wheel. I guess she missed it all the other times asleep in the back. Still, for me, it’s all about the journey. And maybe this time I might be able to drive all 42 hours by myself. Plenty of journey.

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