My parents thought they were slick.
We had been staying at great-grandmother’s small house in Warsaw, Va., where in the front room a relative called Brother slept. When we lived in New Jersey, I always looked forward to our family road trips to the small town of less than 2,000 residents.
Stray cats roamed freely. Seashells were as plentiful as rocks in the dirt driveway and you could taste the salt from the Atlantic in the air on humid summer afternoons. I played catch with my older cousins, chasing balls that rolled underneath cars propped on cinderblocks.
As a kid I loved visiting Grandma Aida, whose country accent I always had trouble understanding. I was just as confused at why the saliva she spit into the can she always carried was brown.
The night my parents thought they were slick, I had just been tucked into the bottom bunk in the skinny room my cousins shared, when they decided they were going to drive home.
I slept the whole way, and my parents remember it as one of the most peaceful family car trips. You see, as a kid, I liked to ask a lot of questions. “Does he ever shut up?” an uncle once asked my mother on a ride from Virginia to New Jersey.
A curious mind serves me well as a journalist, but that’s not always what people want when traveling.
Interstate 95, the East Coast’s main highway that runs from New England to Florida, connects shipping commerce and vacationers. I-95 is also a bridge for families affected by the Great Migration, the relocation of 6 million Blacks from the rural, Jim Crow South to the urban North. My parents were part of the movement that began after WWI and ended in the 1970s.
My father is from Rich Square, N.C., a dot on the map you wouldn’t pass through unless you were going there. He went North after returning from Vietnam. My mother was born in Virginia, but moved to New Jersey after her father found work in a fish factory.
Until they did a reverse migration, settling in South Carolina, we traveled south every summer. Sometimes we traveled I-95 South to Virginia and North Carolina in the same trip. Sometimes we did it more than once a year. Then it was I-95 North.
Like many of you, we traveled on Labor Day.
I can’t hear a song from Tracy Chapman’s self-title debut album without thinking about trying to get truckers to honk their horns as we sped past. We listened to books on tape between arguments about where to eat. Bob’s Big Boy was a favorite. We always brought barbecue back North.
By the time the rap group 95 South had a hit with “Whoot There It Is” in 1993, I had outgrown the family car trips.
The last time I drove from New Jersey to South Carolina was when my grandmother moved. She wrapped Coke bottles in aluminum foil and placed them into a cooler with no ice. Warm soft drinks, like cold McDonald’s fries, don’t taste good after the age of 6. I learned that on the road.
I’m planning my next road trip for around Labor Day 2017. My friends and I are going to drive a 1962 Chevy Nova, a car that’s been passed from Dad to his brothers and now to me, to California. I’ve got some work to do before it’s road ready.
The car is parked in Rich Square. I’m going to ship some supplies to my father in hopes that he’ll drive them up and start work.
Yeah, I know I’m being slick.
RESOURCES
Thinking about driving I-95 South for Labor Day? Before packing the car, checking the tires and gassing up, here are some things you should consider.
drivei95.com: The website offers an exit-by-exit guide to the interstate, including rest areas, restaurants and shopping. It even has the favorite spots the highway patrol likes to set up to catch speeders. That might be most important, because tickets in Virginia and North Carolina are no joke. You can purchase a copy of the book to flip through on the drive.
i95exitguide.com: Consider exploring an exit, because the drive doesn’t have to be all lane-changing and break-pushing. This guide also has updated road construction information, because the highway is notorious for having shutdown lanes at the most inconvenient times.
Side trips: Plan something to break up the long stretches. The trip will be more pleasant. Even a picnic at a rest area will do. Although it might be hard to convince drivers who don’t feel like they’re getting anywhere unless their feet are on the gas pedals, a few breaks will stave off cabin fever for the passengers.
Bring the noise: Podcasts, books on tape, CDs—anything other than static from radio stations as you go in and out of range. Make a playlist. If you don’t have time to bother with it, Google “road trip playlist.” The various music streaming services offer playlists designed for the road. You can also just listen to President Obama’s summer playlist.
Get some sleep: If I’m a passenger in a car that’s traveling more than roughly 20 miles on a highway and the trip is not work related, there’s a high probability I’ll sneak in a nap. I’ve been told that I have a gift. If you can achieve comfort, a moving car is perfect when you need to catch up on sleep.
Play games: If you’re traveling with kids and don’t have TVs in the headrest or an iPad, play a guessing game such as 21 Questions. An immediately disqualified question: Are we there yet? Of course, you also just talk about life. A long car ride is the optimal time to really share what’s on your mind. It’s not like your audience has anywhere else to be, and they can’t just get up and walk away.
Travel kit: Besides a first-aid kit, pack tissues, wet wipes, water and nonperishable snacks. You never know when you’ll get stuck overnight.
Otis R. Taylor Jr. is a San Francisco Chronicle columnist with a battle rap obsession. He is based in Oakland, Calif.