By Suzanne LaFlamme

Covid seemed to be dying down, people were getting their vaccines, and we were going maskless at the grocery store. I had just started going out to lunch again. My husband Jeff and I decided it would be safe enough to plan a trip back east to visit my family in Long Island as we have done every summer, except the last, for the past 20 years. I booked a flight for myself, Jeff, and our adult daughter Annie. Soon news broke of massive flight cancellations that would be ongoing for possibly months into the summer and also that this new Delta variant of the virus was starting to sweep the country. Was this easing of our Covid worries really a new dawn for the country, or just a brief intermission between waves one and two? Panicked that we might not get to see family again this year, we made the rash decision to embark on a 1900-mile road trip. We had done it before but never in the middle of a pandemic.

Normally, the fun of traveling by car was to stop and see various roadside attractions, some obscure Civil war battle placard, Indian trading post, or dubious petting zoo. We loved finding hidden outposts of authentic Asian or Middle Eastern food in the unlikeliest of towns. And who could forget the Uranus Fudge Factory in Missouri? But now, every person we encountered would be a possible Typhoid Mary, every stop a possible super-spreader event.

There was also the issue of the country being split into two completely different tribes. Our affiliation would be on full display in my Prius adorned with various progressive bumper stickers. Just wearing masks was now a political statement.

We decided to do it pedal-to-the-metal style, eating in the car and getting as far as we could every day. Never before had I looked up various states’ vaccination rates as a factor in plotting our route, and it turned out there is no safe path across the U.S in this regard. On past road trips, what worked best for us was booking hotels about an hour ahead of stopping for the day. This enabled us to spend longer at sites, get lost, or push ourselves to drive a little farther.

We stuffed my car to capacity (another advantage of taking a car is that you can bring along your own pillows), picked up our Annie, and took off towards the Texas panhandle. We discovered that most people who don’t agree with your life philosophies don’t want any trouble. They are content to stare and whisper (not so) discreetly. We did get yelled at a couple of times, once from another driver who roared past us, once while parked at a fast-food restaurant. Someone in a white pickup truck tailgated us aggressively for a prolonged period, then pulled up alongside and gestured a white-power fist out his window. Annie looked it up to be sure, but Jeff said the Nazi tattoo on his arm was a dead giveaway.

We made it to my dad’s house intact, albeit with a few more grey hairs. A comfortable time frame to get across the country is roughly six days. We did it in four. It helped to have three drivers.

On our return trip, one of the last towns we stopped in was Tulsa, Oklahoma. We had decided to find a local restaurant this time instead of a rushed gas station Taco Bell. Upon exiting the highway, the first thing we saw was a huge Hard Rock Casino and then a bit farther, a double-sided drive-in movie theater with a retro neon sign. Downtown Tulsa really surprised us with its hip bowling alley, food trucks, murals, and microbreweries. There were groups of young people comingling and riding what appeared to be city scooters. I immediately recognized our traditional tribal costume of ironic tees, black jeans, and combat boots. My shoulders suddenly relaxed, and I exhaled audibly. I was safely among my people again. I hadn’t realized how stressed I had been till then.

We ended up choosing a Japanese Ramen house and eating in the car because it was too hot to eat on an outside bench. We had to balance the many plastic to-go containers all over the dashboard and middle console, and I almost up-ended a large miso soup onto my lap while trying to pick out all the mushrooms (I know, it’s just a thing with me). Still, this was, by far, the best meal we had had in days.

Suzanne LaFlamme is a fine art artist living in Santa Fe, New Mexico.