Manifest destiny, the idea that America’s westward expansion “was readily apparent (manifest) and inexorable (destiny).”(1) John O’Sullivan, a newspaper editor, first used the term in 1845, arguing that “America had been uniquely chosen for the task of expanding Westward, driving out the wilderness and establishing civilization.”(2) The Martins, of course, will enjoy rather than drive out the wilderness and avoid rather than establish civilization. Our focus is state and national parks, where wildness abounds.
We will stay in Pennsylvania, Indiana, Minnesota, South Dakota, Wyoming, Colorado, Utah, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Arkansas, Tennessee, Georgia, South Carolina, and Virginia, in that order. States we’ll just pass through include Connecticut, New York, Ohio, Illinois, Wisconsin, Mississippi, Alabama, North Carolina, Maryland, Delaware, and New Jersey. That places us in 26 states in 46 days, camping 29 nights, enjoying the generosity of family in their homes nine nights, staying at hotels five nights, experiencing a hostel one night, and staying in a kabin (they spelled it with a “k” so I’m just going along with it) one night. Without including miscellaneous, side-trip driving, we will travel approximately 7,810 miles, taking us about 135 hours, according to MapQuest. I have to believe it’s Martinfest Destiny because, otherwise, it’s just insanity: defective function of mental processes such as reasoning.(3)
I believe I’ve been working toward this trip my whole life, that’s why it’s destiny. I have always loved to travel. While other kids were saying they wanted to be a fireman or a doctor or a lawyer, all I thought was: “I really want to go THERE,” wherever “there” might be. But my parents, who were wonderful realists, always reminded me that it takes money to travel, and to make money, you need a job. When you’re nearing the end of high school, parents can be pushy about knowing what job you plan to work toward. (There was never any question that college would be attended.) In response to my parents’ questioning, as well as my high school’s yearbook section titled “Senior Profile,” which wanted to know my “secret ambition,” I decided I wanted to write for National Geographic, a job that could (probably would) involve lots of traveling. What a respectable secret ambition! Alas, it would never come to fruition because, in truth, I lacked the ambition it took to achieve my secret ambition. I could handle the traveling part, I just didn’t want the bother of writing about it.
Now, here I am, the parent of kids who love to travel and married to a supportive, generous man who, though he will spend only two of the six weeks with us on the trip, is excited for our adventure (and, let’s face it, willing to pay for it). I’m even writing about this travel. I know I’m not writing it for National Geographic, but maybe someone at the magazine will read my blog. What can it be other than Martinfest Destiny?
We’re heading out July 9. I’m still toying with the exact time we’ll leave, since we will have a seven-hour ride ahead of us, but we don’t want to start the trip by hitting morning commuting traffic. My Dad believed he’d solve that problem by making us leave at 2 a.m., but in reality, that allowed him to miss only the local commuting traffic. He still hit commuting traffic a little farther down the road, when it was 9 a.m. somewhere else. That reality always pissed Dad off.
I’ve already got the whole packing situation figured out. The camping gear will go in the bubble that will sit on the top of the van: sleeping bags, blow-up mattresses, tent, chairs, stove, propane tanks. In the back of the van, the seats will be down and we’ll carry some drawers for the clothes, dishes, toiletries, towels, toilet paper (thanks for that tip, Rod), a basket for dirty clothes, two coolers of cold food and drink, a bin for food that doesn’t need to be kept cold, a bin for souvenirs and the diaries I’m forcing the boys to keep, games and toys, and reading material. We’ll also be taking my computer, the boys’ little computer, a camera, the cell phone, the GPS, and an i-pod. I’m taking along two air horns, as well – yes, air horns. Should we be bothered by any creature, human or animal, I intend to freak the hell out of it by setting the air horn off right in its face.
We’ll see how the packing goes when it becomes reality rather than just theory. I have confidence that things will go well because, at the risk of sounding smug, I have a masterful grasp of how things can be fitted together in the most space-saving fashion. This ability makes me good not only at packing, but it also makes me gifted at Tetris. That is, until the Tetris blocks start falling really fast, at which point I tend to panic. Anyway, I’m hoping that the packing plans I have are as successful as I imagine them to be.
There are many necessities for a trip such as this, and every time I think of something we might need, I write it on a list. This has already resulted in my being mocked by my oldest son. He spied a to-do list I had tucked into the odometer section of my dashboard. The list ran something like this: buy books, order air horns, get a camera, buy a van, pick up the tent from Brian. “Mom, you have ‘buy a van’ on your list? Do you really think that’s something you’ll forget?” But I love lists. I love the feeling I get when I check something off my list. Sometimes I include things that I’ve already accomplished so I can immediately check something off. Ah, lists, they make me happy.
1 - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manifest_Destiny
2 - http://www.wisegeek.com/what-is-manifest-destiny.htm
3 - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Insanity
