road trippin' ain't easy
by colbynixon

n 1903, Burlingtonian Dr. Horatio Nelson Jackson took the first road trip across the United States. Road trips have been as American as apple pie ever since.

Many of us have gone to visit a friend who is not fortunate enough to attend UVM. Unless your friend goes to Champlain College or St. Mike’s, chances are that you have got a bit of drive ahead of you. For the endurance driver, there are two options:

1. Do it alone - you can’t be afraid to be the lone wolf.

2. Invite someone along to join your “wolfpack.” The first option allows for solid contemplation; however, some side effects include talking to oneself, singing, or falling asleep.

Option two seems to be the way to go, until you realize that maybe you should not have been so quick to take on that girl from your English class. She “just needed a ride home for the weekend,” but between the constant bathroom stops and driving critiques (“Don’t go so fast!” “You were supposed to get off the last exit!”), you really want to leave her at the next rest stop (or construction site, whichever comes first).

Or you decided to take on that bro from your math class who told you that he would be willing to “throw you some bills, brah-man,” because he wants a ride to visit his summer hook-up at BC. The one benefit to this guy is that there is no need for rest-stops- “brah-man you got any empty Gatorade bottles?” Due to the impending holiday season, this experience is nearly unavoidable for those who live in the Northeast- so get stoked.

But that’s all okay, because road trips are fun! Or so they seem. Today, we will delve further into road trip culture by examining a seemingly straightforward trip. In today’s adventure we will study the experience of the lone wolf on an odyssey to Boston.

1:00 pm Set out from the Groovy UV jamming out to “Ultimate Road Trip ‘09” playlist. Those hours are just going to fly by.

1:02 Stop by Cumby’s for Little Debbies, 99 cent cans of Arizona Iced Tea, and teriyaki beef jerky. None of that Slim Jim shit.

1:05 pm Get stuck in traffic leading out onto Main Street. You swear violently at the man driving the Klinger’s Bread Co. delivery truck in front of you.

1:10 pm Made it to I-89, and as soon as you merge onto the highway, you gun it to make up for lost time.

1:30 pm Just passed a sign for Montpellier, and the millionth cow of your road trip. You hope something interesting will be over the next hill, like a moose or a hitchhiker, or… wait for it, oh, it’s another hill.

1:35 pm Playlist ends. Shit.

2:03 pm Actually pass a hitchhiker and contemplate picking him up despite his oddly shaped baggage. You do not, however, because you’ve already passed him, and at the speed you are going there is no stopping.

2:47 pm Pulled over 15 minutes from the NH border by the state police going 82 in a 65. Shit.

3:00 pm Get to NH and immediately pass throngs of people pouring into the state liquor store.

3:02 pm Damn it’s lonely, time to switch over to power ballads. Whitesnake anyone?

4:30 pm Turns out trying to get into Boston is a slow process, much like booting up a Windows 95 computer, or trying to knit an afghan for the world’s largest man. The number of cars stuck in traffic is comparable to if you took all of the cars in Burlington, Winooski, Shelburne, Colchester, and Williston and put them on one road.

5:07 pm Somehow catch a break and find a spot near your friend’s school. Damn, your nerves are shot, all you have to do now is find a vegan, fair-trade, soy latté-serving café and you will be golden.