Who takes a car to a first date in New York City?
Julien did. He picked me up at the door of my apartment building in his gently used sedan and whisked me off to a restaurant on the banks of the Hudson River in Hastings, NY, electronic music thumping from the speakers.
I should have known — or at least guessed — that his love of the open interstates, of adventure, speed and novelty, presaged more outings to come. Indeed, ever since that September 2014 night, ridiculous road trips at home and abroad continue to define, test and strengthen our relationship.
There was the first overnight excursion to Fishkill, a mere 69 miles from the city. Think apple- and pumpkin-picking, Dia:Beacon’s contemporary art and the Hilton Garden Inn.
From humble beginnings, distances skyrocketed. Only Julien would fly 11 hours from New York to Alaska for a three-day weekend. Twice. (And convince me to do it, too.)
The first time, we glacier-hopped along the peninsula between Anchorage, Seward and Homer. Total: 517 miles. The year after, we upped the ante, covering a whopping 817-mile loop that started and ended in Anchorage, spanning Denali National Park, Fairbanks and a gorgeous but sparsely populated stretch whose main attraction was an overnight stay on a working farm in Delta Junction (pop. 948).
Hours upon hours in a rental car lead to conversations that meander from politics to childhood memories to fantasies of the future. Negotiations ensue, compromises form. How much time should we spend listening to his deep house, my pop playlists or NPR? I know Julien’s favorite rest-stop beverages (Coke Zero, watered-down coffee) and roadside cuisine of choice (Mexican). We laugh as we pass towns with names like No Name (Colorado), Truth and Consequences (New Mexico) and North Pole (Alaska). We cry talking about deaths in our families.
We’ve made a tradition of spending the first two or three days of each new year driving out West with his brother. Skiing in Park City, hiking in Utah’s national parks and indulging in Vegas rang in 2015 (762 miles); 2016 saw a trek from Phoenix and Tucson to El Paso (and a brief cross-border jaunt into Ciudad Juárez), followed by New Mexico’s dunes at White Sands, cowboy boot-shopping in Santa Fe, and some green chilies at an Albuquerque greasy spoon (836 miles). We welcomed 2017 by driving from Vegas to Death Valley — the lowest point in the North America — followed by a traverse across Nevada’s ghost town-flecked Route 50, the “loneliest road” in the country (730 miles).
Why do we pack so much into so little time? For one, Julien’s intense finance job means that free time is scarce. For another, his family is scattered across the world. My own vacation days are limited, plus my job includes travel and I have many dear friends overseas. So we make the most of it — including jaunts overseas, too. Paris, London, Morocco and Hong Kong are among our more ambitious long weekends.
“Every day is a winding road,” Sheryl Crow sang in a classic road-tripping song. True to form, our actual and metaphorical journeys are full of speed bumps and potholes, sugary snacks and makeshift bathrooms.
We disagree on whether speed limits are a rule or suggestion, how much time to spend in the car versus seeing sights and when, if at all, to stop for souvenirs. Sometimes my way prevails; other times it’s his path we follow. If travel imitates life, then we’re learning to enjoy the ride — and each other — despite the occasional spat.
So, on the nation’s most romantic holiday, would Julien be content with a prix-fixe dinner in New York’s newest restaurant? Of course not. Our first Valentine’s Day weekend was spend navigating slippery roads between Denver, Vail and Aspen. Last year, Charleston and Savannah made V-Day double the fun. This year, we’re taking in Los Angeles, Palm Springs and any number of national parks nearby. (I’ve talked him out of adding an additional 700-mile detour in the name of this elusive thing called “relaxation.”)
Travel together results in intimate, inimitable shared experiences, which bring us even closer. Our mantra is “have love, will travel.” Maybe yours should be, too.
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