The Trip that Expanded My Horizons

In 2018, I packed up my kids, a bunch of snacks, and a lot of nerves, and headed for Vermont. It was our first trip like this – just the three of us. And what unfolded reminded me why I explore, and why I want to share my stories.

Cade was nine and Liberty was eight, just months away from getting their first phones. I was desperate to make some new memories with them. I had no grand plan, just a loose list of places to visit – enough to keep us engaged, but also, if I’m honest, to check a few boxes in case we never made it back. I remembered childhood road trips with my parents, how they made time for little stops to keep my brother and me entertained (and probably to stretch legs and find bathrooms). I wanted something like that – casual, meaningful, and ours.

Our family vehicle was a gray Volkswagen Routan (think souped-up Dodge Caravan) with pleather seats – more practical than pretty. This was the first time we were heading out to destinations where we didn’t really know anyone along the way.  It was just the three of us, no friends or family as backup.

I chose a scenic route through Pennsylvania and the Catskills. I planned to stop at Bethel Woods, the site of the original Woodstock concert. I even wanted to play the Woodstock documentary in the van, turning the drive into a history lesson – but of course, I couldn’t find the DVD. Luckily, we had a stack of kids' movies to keep things calm.

The van was overpacked with snacks, books, rain gear, phone chargers, and a small pharmacy’s worth of children’s medicine. I was trying to cover every possible scenario, but inside I was anxious. What if something went wrong? What if the van broke down? What if one of the kids got hurt – or I did? Would this be our last trip like this?

That first stretch to Bethel Woods, about four and a half hours from Frederick, Maryland, was filled with worry and silence. My kids were happily watching Disney’s Robin Hood and Swiss Family Robinson, but I was in my head – navigating not just the road, but solo parenthood.

Photo taken from a Bridge in the Catskill Mountains somewhere north of Liberty, NY.

After Bethel Woods, we headed deeper into the Catskills. A detour through the Town of Liberty gave my daughter a thrill – her name on road signs and buildings. It felt like a little nod from the universe. But shortly after that, I lost cell service. No GPS, no map – just instincts and the dashboard compass.

The roads narrowed as we climbed. A mist hung over the trees. Water rushed along the side of the road. It looked like a movie scene – part Pacific Northwest, part Amazon, part forest moon of Endor. It was stunning. And yet, I felt we were very alone. We hadn’t seen another car in miles. I was scared.

But the kids? They were oohing and aahing. Pointing out every mountain, every babbling stream of water, every tree branch stretching over the road. We stopped on a bridge over a creek to take a picture. I felt ridiculous for pausing in the middle of the road – but I also didn’t care. It was beautiful. It was ours.

Eventually, we found a numbered road, cell service returned, and we made our way to Interstate 87, then to Troy, New York, and finally onto Route 7 towards Vermont.

As we drove, the landscape shifted. Signs advertised maple syrup, coffee, Adirondack chairs. We saw a moose statue and figured we must have crossed into Vermont. But we hadn’t – yet. That’s what struck me about Vermont: there wasn’t a big flashy welcome. It just quietly was. The colors deepened, the signs disappeared, and the calm set in.

We passed Bennington, circled around the obelisk, and drove north flanked by mountain ranges on both sides. I must admit we were hoping to see a moose. We didn’t – but we kept looking. I didn’t have dinner plans or a hotel reservation. But I wasn’t panicked. We exited towards Manchester and took a traffic circle to what we’d eventually learn was Main Street in Manchester Center with a bookstore, restaurants, shops, and finally, a parking spot.

We ended up at Christo’s, a Greek pizza and pasta place. I ordered a pepperoni pizza and drinks while the kids grabbed us a round table by the front window. They sipped root beer with the restaurant’s label. I had a cold Vermont-brewed beer. For the first time all day, I exhaled.

As the restaurant filled with visitors in town for an equestrian event, I booked a nearby place to stay. The kids and I looked out the window, laughing about the day. The pizza arrived and we devoured it. Empty stomachs or not, it may have been the best slice I have ever had.

I did not know it at the time, but that trip to Vermont was a turning point – not because anything grand happened, but because we made it. We got lost. We found our way. We ate pizza. We had each other.

For a solo dad just trying to create a few good memories, that was more than enough.