In this month's edition of United's Hemispheres magazine, there was an interesting article about epic family trips that didn't go so well. The article is a compilation of reader submitted family vacation stories. One of my favorite stories was submitted by Leslie Patrick:
Though it's a parent's job to keep kids out of harm's way, sometimes he or she can take
the job too seriously. I've never had that trouble with my mother. She's the kind of person
who, on a family trip to Hawaii, will insist we all hike up a volcano in the middle of the
night (precisely what the guidebooks say not to do).
We were on Kilauea, in the Big Island’s Volcanoes National Park. With Mom in the lead, my dad, sister and aunt and I trudged across a lava field lit only by the moon and our two tiny flashlights. Glowing lava flowed nearby. Bursts of steam shot up around us. With each step, it began to feel less like an adventure and more like a disaster movie.
Five hours later, it was clear we were lost. My sister and I muttered expletives under our breath as Mom sang jaunty little songs. “The parking lot’s just over the next ridge!” she kept shouting. At hour six, my aunt realized she needed her medication. Our shoes had been shredded by sharp rocks, but our mother MacGyvered them back together and we pressed on.
Eight hours after setting out on our one-hour trip, we found the car again, all of us except Mom practically weeping with relief. Nobody suffered any burns—unless you count Dad, who, in his castaway shorts and ratty T-shirt, looked like a boiled, poorly dressed lobster thanks to a kayaking outing earlier that day. That’s what happens, my mother reminded him, when you spend an entire day without sunscreenWhen I first read this story, I laughed out loud awaking my seatmate next to me. My next though was disappointment that my family had trips that led to stories like those in the magazine. My family's summer trips always led to the same place: Wildwood, New Jersey. We never went anywhere else as a family. Every August, the family would pack up in my father's truck and barrel down I-95 towards Wildwood. August and Wildwood were synonymous with our family. I don't remember anything out of the ordinary occurring on those trips.
My craziest travel story involved a road-trip to Washington, DC with my "DC big sister." She was traveling back to school and I was hitching a ride to visit a couple of colleges in DC. We were approaching the George Washington Bridge and the car stops literally 50 feet from the start of the bridge. Cars were honking their horns at us, but the car had overheated and would not move. Some nice people (most not have been New Yorkers) helped us push the car to the emergency lane. We waited for 30 minutes before the police arrived and told us we had to try to move. He mentioned that there was a gas station right off the bridge and he could lead us. We started up the car followed the officer, but blew by the exit and continued the 4 hour drive to DC with the windows down in 90 degree heat.
Yes, that is my most craziest travel story. I don't think it would have made the pages of Hemisphere but it still a story the I talk with my big sis. That is the beauty of a great adventure. It produces laughs years after the trip ended.
As the 2013 summer season starts in a few days, I can only hope that the adventures I have with my friends produce epic stories. It is these shared experiences that produce strong bonds for lifetimes.
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