My family recently went on a road trip to a lake cabin in the northern part of the state for a fishing getaway. Anyone who’s traveled with a five year old boy and a 1.5 year old girl knows the unique blend of excitement and chaos that comes with such an undertaking. Our teal 1997 Ford F-150 was packed to the brim with bikes, a bike trailer, snacks, and an impressive array of Tinker Toys to entertain our toddler.
The drive was an odyssey. Our toddler, never a fan of the car seat, took a mercifully short nap before waking up wriggling and fussing with all the determination of a 1.5-year-old. Our F-150 has a cassette player, and my husband had recently acquired a collection of 1980s rock mixtapes: Guns N’ Roses, Bon Jovi, and Candlebox are among the bands featured on the tapes. As soon as our toddler woke, my husband tried to placate her by playing his favorite mixtape. This only resulted in a competition between her and Bon Jovi to see who could be loudest in the truck.
Meanwhile, our five-year-old son, whose curiosity knows no bounds, peppered us with questions: “How did Candlebox get its name?” “How do volcanoes work?” “Who decides where the roads go?” My husband and I took turns answering, sometimes explaining things to the best of our ability, sometimes consulting our phones, and sometimes just admitting we didn’t know.
By the time we finally pulled into the gravel driveway of the cabin, supposedly a 4.5-hour drive on the map, but in reality just over six hours, we felt as though we’d completed a marathon. The collective 2.5 hours of crying from the back seat had left us frazzled, but as we unpacked and cracked open a cold beer on the porch, the stress of the drive began to melt away.
The cabin itself was a dream: spacious enough, rustic yet comfortable, and perched right on the edge of a sparkling lake. Our friends, the couple who had invited us, greeted us with warm hospitality and laughter. The next few days were a blur of simple joys. Mornings were spent fishing. Sometimes, it felt like the fish were practically leaping into our boat, much to the kids’ delight. Cleaning the fish became an undertaking that also attracted the kids’ attention. Afternoons brought leisurely walks, games of Uno, and stories shared over sparkling water and homemade margaritas. My son made new friends and played with them on the playground and the beach.
The fish seemed to leap into the boat, these perch were caught during one excursion
One afternoon, I brought the others on an adventure to a hidden waterfall deep in the woods. The sound of rushing water and the cool mist on my face felt like a secret reward for those willing to walk and explore.
Beautiful waterfall found after a 3/4-mile hike along a railroad bed trail
Back at the cabin, our hosts, avid foodies, introduced us to an array of specialty cheeses, and together we crafted homemade pizzas, each person adding their favorite toppings. We contributed our own homemade bread and fresh garden salad, which met with enthusiastic approval. One lunch, we had their specialty fish fry, complete with the best onion rings I’ve ever eaten. Evenings were filled with laughter, good food, and the kind of conversations that only happen when you’re far from the distractions of daily life.
As our friends wisely observed, “Three days together is perfect. Any longer, and we’d start to drive each other crazy.” By the third morning, my family was ready to return to our routines and check on our garden and animals back home.
The drive home started off much smoother. There’s something about the return leg of a trip that always feels faster. Perhaps this is because the route is familiar and the promise of home is on the horizon. Our son’s curiosity was undiminished, and we did our best to answer his questions about highway rules and road signs, grateful for the distraction. Our toddler napped again but woke up grumpy and restless. This time, her big brother did his best to entertain her, singing silly songs and passing a ball back and forth while I helped my husband navigate.
We made it to our planned halfway stop for lunch, gas, and bathroom breaks, feeling triumphant. But not long after we hit the road again, we noticed something odd. The truck began to shake: subtly at first, but soon with increasing intensity. At first, we tried to ignore it, distracted by a passing train and the donuts I’d picked up at the gas station. But as the shaking worsened, concern grew.
About an hour from home, we finally pulled over to investigate. Sure enough, one of the tires had developed a bulge: a ticking time bomb if we had continued at highway speeds. We found a nearby equipment yard with a large gravel lot and pulled in, grateful not to be stranded on the shoulder of a busy highway.
My husband sprang into action. He crawled under the truck to free the spare tire, which, to our dismay, was flat. Undeterred, he grabbed our trusty air compressor and plugged it into the cigarette lighter, inflating the spare while our son watched with wide eyes. Next, he retrieved the jack and tire iron from under the seat and began loosening the lug nuts. The stubborn tire refused to budge, so he pulled out a sledgehammer from the cross bed truck toolbox: a tool we’d always joked was “just in case.” After one solid whack, the tire finally relented.
Once the 12-volt air compressor had fully inflated the tire, it was fitted and secured in place. We packed up our tools and climbed back into the truck, feeling a little more like a team of adventurers than a family on a road trip. I complimented my husband for handling the hiccup with finesse.
The rest of the drive was uneventful, and as we pulled into our driveway, we were greeted by the familiar sights and sounds of home. Our garden had flourished in our absence, my mushrooms had begun to fruit again, and our animals were eager for attention. As we settled back into our daily routines, I found myself replaying moments from our journey: both the laughter and the chaos, the peaceful mornings on the lake, the delicious shared meals, and the seemingly effortless tire change on the roadside. It struck me that these are the stories that become family legend, the ones our children will recount with wide-eyed wonder years from now. In the end, it wasn’t the perfect itinerary or the smooth ride that made our trip memorable, but the shared challenges, the teamwork, and the joy we found in simply being together and with friends. Our road trip reminded me that adventure can be found in the most unexpected places, and that sometimes, a little trial is exactly what you need to bring a family closer together.
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