My Planet: Finding Humor in the Oddest Places

On the Road Again

A family is a collection of people who share the same genes but cannot agree on a place to pull over for lunch. Ed and I, plus his parents and sister Doris and eight-year-old niece Alisha, are on a road trip to Yosemite. Poppy wants Subway, Ed wants In-N-Out Burger, Mary wants Sonic. In the end, we compromise on McDonalds, where Alisha will get an “Incredibles” action figure that will come in handy later for breaking the heater vent.

We’ve rented a minivan that seats eight, yet somehow, there are not enough cupholders. How can this be? This is America: To every passenger, a cupholder, and to every cupholder, a watered-down soda big enough to baptize a harbor seal.

“Alisha!” says Doris. “Take Mr. Incredible out of Poppy’s cupholder.”

It’s a three-hour drive to Yosemite, but we’re taking a little longer, as we’re working in a tour of Highway 80’s public restrooms. As the saying goes, Not one bladder empties, but another fills. I am reminded of that track and field event wherein one person runs for a while, and then hands off the restroom key to the next person, who runs until she’s done, and then another person runs.

Unhappily, many of these restrooms belong to gas stations. Gas-station customers, perhaps inspired by the nozzles on the pumps outside, are prone to dribble and slosh. Though I almost prefer this to the high-tech humiliation of air travel, where the restrooms have faucets programmed to respond to precisely executed hand signals no one has taught you, and the toilets flush mere seconds after you sit down. It’s like having your plate cleared before you’ve even salted your potatoes.

We get back on the road. Poppy’s driving now. We’ve entered the road-trip doldrums, the point when all the cheesy tabloids have been read and the travel Etch A Sketch has grown boring, and anyone under age 12 is required to say “Are we there yet?” at ever-shortening intervals. Ed and his sister, two middle-aged adults, are playing with the highway bingo set. Alisha is making Mr. Incredible fight with Poppy’s earlobes.

Doris covers the bingo square that says motel. “BINGO!”

“No way,” says Ed. “A motel is only one story high and has a swimming pool full of algae. That was a hotel.”

“Same diff,” says Doris.

“MA! Doris is cheating!”

Alisha kicks the back of Poppy’s seat. “Are we there yet?” If by “there” she means the end of our rope, then, yes, we’re pulling in right now.

Just outside Manteca, we stop for coffee. Coffee is an important feature of the relay-restroom training regimen. Without it, the chain could be broken, the gold medal lost. At a Starbucks checkout, Ed buys a CD of Joni Mitchell’s favorite musical picks. The hope is it will have a calming effect.

The first cut is by Duke Ellington. Alisha makes a face. “Is Uncle Ed trying to annoy us?”

“It’s not my favorite Ellington number,” agrees Nana. The CD returns to its case, pending the day Joni Mitchell joins us on our annual vacation.

Pulling back onto the highway, it starts to pour, which at least quells the debate over whether to have the windows open. Depending on whom you ask, the temperature inside the minivan is either “freezing” or “so hot I’m going to suffocate.”

Then something amazing happens. As we climb the Sierras, the rain turns to snow. The pines are flocked with white. We’re struck dumb by the scene outside. For a solid 15 minutes, everyone forgets about their bladder, their blood sugar, the temperature in the van. Alisha has never seen snow, so we pull over to make snow angels and catch falling flakes on our tongues. Then Ed realizes we need tire chains, and we have to turn back and drive 30 miles to Oakhurst.

“Good,” says Poppy. “There was a very nice restroom there.”