The Perfect Road trip

A road trip turns a vacation into an (unwanted) afventure

          The 2022 Jeep Cherokee, a beacon of modern engineering, was currently serving as a mobile palace for a most unusual royal entourage traversing the vast, green expanse of Iowa. At the helm was I, a man whose patience was as sturdy as the Jeep's chassis. Sharing my journey with my wife, who, for reasons of self-preservation and marital harmony, would remain nameless. She considered herself, quite rightly in her own estimation, a Princess - and, by extension, believed her devoted husband should also embrace his role as a butler, driver, launderer, as well as one who oversaw the driving and snack procurement.

          Her furry subjects completed the tableau: Bella, an Australian Shepherd with boundless enthusiasm and an equally boundless bladder, and Spot, my cat, a magnificent Calico whose primary contribution to the journey was an unwavering, deeply judgmental stare directed exclusively at the man behind the wheel.

          It became apparent, approximately thirty minutes after crossing the Nebraska border, that this road trip would be less about scenic marvels and more about the delicate dance of biological necessity. Bella, bless her heart, was the first to signal. A whimper, a rapid-fire pant, followed by an unmistakable "I must go NOW" tailless butt wag. I, ever the obliging chauffeur, pulled off at the next rest stop, Bella leaping out with the joyful abandon of a dog who had just discovered grass for the first time.

          No sooner had Bella completed her urgent business than a regal cough emanated from the passenger seat. "Darling," the Princess declared, "this stop seems rather fortuitous. A lady of my... delicate sensibilities... also requires refreshment, and perhaps a moment to exist outside the confines of a moving vehicle." Her "refreshment" invariably involved a detour to the nearest gas station for an extra-large Diet Pepsi, a pretzel, and a strawberry licorice, and a frantic search for a restroom that met her exact standards of cleanliness. Meanwhile, Spot, nestled on the back seat, watched the spectacle unfold, his multi-colored face a mask of feline disdain.

          Miles dissolved into a blur of cornfields and charmingly dilapidated farmhouses, punctuated by Bella's increasingly frequent "potty emergencies." Each stop was a carefully orchestrated ballet of leashes, door-opening, and the Princess's pronouncements on the local amenities.

          One such stop, prompted by Bella's most dramatic plea yet - a low, mournful howl paired with a paw frantically scratching the window - led them to a particularly rustic-looking gas station with an attached "Iowa's Largest Corn Maze!" sign. While Bella happily investigated every blade of grass, and the Princess assessed the restroom facilities with the keen eye of a royal inspector, I found myself idly perusing a rack of local postcards depicting oversized pumpkins.

          Suddenly, a shriek echoed from the gas station. The Princess stormed out, a look of utter horror on her face.

          "Darling! The paper dispenser was empty! Empty! Do they not understand the fundamental necessities of a civilized society? One cannot endure such an oversight!" She gestured wildly towards the restroom door, as if inviting the entire state of Iowa to witness her indignity.

          Spot, perched on the dashboard like a particularly discerning gargoyle, swiveled his head slowly. His gaze, as ever, was fixed on me, who merely offered a sympathetic, if resigned, shrug. It was, to Spot, simply further proof of our inferior planning.

          Our journey resumed, the Princess now armed with a hastily purchased (and thoroughly inspected) roll of emergency tissues. The potty breaks continued with a regularity that suggested a hidden schedule, each stop slightly more elaborate than the last. Bella, at least, was enjoying the frequent stretch breaks, scampering off leash (in designated areas, of course) like a furry, four-legged arrow.

          Just as the sun began its lazy descent, painting the Iowan sky in hues of orange and purple, we encountered something genuinely unique. Traffic slowed to a crawl. Up ahead, a procession of vintage tractors, polished to a mirror shine, chugged along, each piloted by a proud farmer in overalls and a straw hat. It was a local "Tractorcade," a charming, slow-moving parade celebrating agricultural heritage.

          "Oh, darling, how quaint!" the Princess exclaimed, momentarily forgetting her recent toilet paper trauma. She immediately pulled out her phone, demanding I slow down even further so she could capture the perfect Instagram story. "And look! That one has a little piglet in the passenger seat! How utterly adorable!"

          Before I could fully appreciate the porcine co-pilot, Bella emitted a sudden, sharp bark. Her butt wiggle was making a frantic, full-body wag, and her eyes were fixed on an open field to their right. "She needs to go again, doesn't she?" I sighed, already reaching for the turn signal. I could practically hear the Princess's internal groans.

          The Princess, mid-framing shot of a particularly ancient John Deere, looked up in exasperation. "Again? But we just stopped ten minutes ago! And the light is perfect for this Tractorcade!"

          Spot, however, offered no such complaints. From his vantage point, he had a clear view of both the marching tractors and the increasingly desperate Australian Shepherd. When I eventually pulled the Jeep over to a dusty shoulder, allowing Bella to bound out, Spot finally broke his silence. A single, slow blink, followed by a languid stretch and an even slower blink. It was a blink that spoke volumes: You brought this upon yourself, human. And now, you suffer.

          As dusk settled fully over Iowa, casting long shadows across the endless fields, the 2022 Jeep Cherokee continued its eastward journey. The day had been a series of bladder-induced detours and unexpected rural charm, overseen by a watchful feline, and navigated by a patient royal chauffeur. The Princess, now contentedly scrolling through her Tractorcade footage, occasionally offered a critique of the roadside foliage. Bella, exhausted from her many explorations, snored softly in the back. And Spot? Spot just stared, a silent, furry sentinel, already contemplating the next day's inevitable cycle of demands and biological necessities, all played out against the backdrop of America's heartland. It was, in its own chaotic way, a perfect road trip.

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