Journeys With Jani

By Jani Aylsworth-Gunter, Take Time To Travel

I don’t know about y’all, but some of my favorite childhood memories don’t involve five-star resorts or elaborate itineraries. No, sir. My best travel memories are packed into the floorboard of a big truck, sprawled out with my sister, rolling down some highway in the middle of nowhere, USA.

See, when I was a kid, road trips were a thing. And not just a “get in the car and drive straight to your destination” type of thing—no, no. They were an adventure. A slow, meandering, pull-over-at-the-weirdest-tourist-traps type of journey.

When I traveled with my maternal grandparents, my Gramma was the queen of the map. And I mean a real map—the kind that took up the entire front seat and folded in ways that defied the laws of physics. She would instruct my Grampa on the proper way to go, how to get there, and exactly where he was supposed to turn. He, of course, would pretend to listen, and I’d be in the back just enjoying the show.

Then there were the trips with my Daddy, riding in his big ol’ truck, delivering furniture to different parts of the country. My sister, Cari and I were so little, we could curl up in the floorboard and sleep, which sounds slightly questionable now but was perfectly normal back then. Stopping at gas stations was a big deal—because let’s be honest, the best part of a road trip is the snacks. And gas station snacks hit different when you’re a kid.

Now, speaking of questionable things we did as kids, let’s talk about the ultimate road trip setup—the kind that would give today’s safety experts a heart attack. Again, there was no seatbelt law back then, and one spring break, my Daddy took full advantage of that fact. He had just bought a brand-new, black Chevy Silverado (which, by the way, was basically the Cadillac of trucks in his mind). He put a camper shell on the back, threw in a mattress, covered it with blankets, and that was it—our very own rolling clubhouse. Cari and I rode all the way to the beach—Myrtle or Panama City, I honestly can’t remember—in the back of that truck, tucked in with our Barbies, coloring books, and whatever else we could pack into our little mobile fort. It was heaven. No seatbelts, no iPads, just pure childhood joy.

When we traveled with my paternal grandparents—Chubby and Pa—it always meant staying overnight at a hotel that I swear was always next to a Cracker Barrel. Back then, Cracker Barrel wasn’t on every corner like it is now. It was a true Southern institution, always planted firmly beside a roadside hotel where you’d check in for the night after a long day on the road.

Now, why am I telling you all this? Because road trips matter. When we plan travel, we get so caught up in the where that we forget about the how. And sometimes, the how is the best part.

A road trip doesn’t have to be a cross-country expedition (though those are great). It doesn’t have to have a strict itinerary or a luxury destination at the end. Some of the best trips are the ones where you just go—stop at the funky roadside attractions, eat at the hole-in-the-wall diners, and let the road take you where it wants.

If you’ve never taken your kids on a proper road trip—the kind where you roll the windows down, blast some questionable music, and let them pick out ridiculous snacks at a gas station—then you are missing out. They won’t remember the perfect vacation itinerary. But they will remember the road.

So go on, pack the car, grab a map (or, okay, at least pretend to look at one before using GPS), and hit the road. There’s a whole country out there just waiting for you to drive through it.

And if you pass a Cracker Barrel, you’d better stop. It’s tradition.

Jani, your go-to-gal at Take Time To Travel

Life is one big journey—and I’m sharing mine, one mile and one moment at a time. Subscribe to follow along.