Rambling Reflections on Childhood Road Trip Memories…

There’s a unique magic to childhood memories, especially those forged in the backseat of a car, watching the world rush by as your family heads toward adventure. For me, road trips weren’t just vacations—they were the heartbeat of my childhood, filled with laughter, discovery, and a sense of wonder that still lingers today.

As a kid growing up in Georgia, we hit the road often. Sometimes my grandparents tagged along, and other times it was just my parents and me. These journeys became the tapestry of my youth. When people ask if I had a wonderful childhood, I can say with absolute certainty: I did. The road trips to Florida were especially memorable. We’d pack up snacks, pile in the car, and cruise south toward the sun, the anticipation building with every mile. Where we lived the Mountains of North Georgia and Tennessee were also familiar destinations.

In the early 1970s, everything changed for us—we bought a motorhome and joined the world of RVing. Suddenly, the road was not just a means to an end, but a destination. Our first truly ambitious trip was to travel the length of I-10, crossing into Texas and then venturing across the border into Mexico. The excitement was palpable. For a kid who’d never seen the vastness of the Southwest, each mile brought something new and unexpected.

The journey took us through South Alabama and Mississippi, and I vividly remember the roadside still cluttered with massive oak trees, remnants of Hurricane Camille’s devastation just a few years prior. It was humbling to witness nature’s power and resilience up close. We made plenty of stops, but the white sand and blue water beaches along the Gulf Coast left a lasting impression. The sand was so fine and bright it was almost blinding, and the water sparkled under the southern sun. An overnight stay in New Orleans, a visit to Brennan’s for brunch, and Bananas Foster cooked at our table. It’s quite exciting for a young girl. Bourbon Street was quite different back then, but full of jazz music and so many people.

Crossing into Texas felt like entering another world. I saw my first tumbleweed rolling across the highway and marveled at jackrabbits—so much larger and more exotic than any rabbit I’d ever seen back home. The endless expanse of flat desert, dotted with oil wells tirelessly working, looked so alien compared to the green hills of Georgia. For a child, it was like visiting another planet, the moon perhaps… so distant from anything familiar.

Our adventure continued in Laredo, where we rented a car to cross into Mexico. The memory of the border crossing is still vivid after all these years: the lines of people waiting, the stern faces of the border guards, and the sense of anticipation as we entered a new country. The colorful people in the markets there, the food, so foreign and different. The kids were all selling paper flowers, skittering about. My mama bought a ton of them to bring home. The crossing back over, our car searched, and we were then waved through back into Texas.

Looking back, those journeys shaped me in countless ways. Road trips taught me about the beauty of the American landscape, the thrill of exploration, and the bond of family. Whether we were gazing at hurricane-ravaged oaks, playing on pristine beaches, or crossing borders into the unknown, every mile was a memory—and every memory, a treasure. I wouldn’t trade those days for anything. On the road back when… life was truly an adventure.