Traveling was always a privilege that I loved having. Not only was I fortunate that a parent of mine was from a very scenic part of the United States in which relatives resided, I have also lived in areas that were popular tourist destinations my entire life. If I wanted to, I could keep busy every weekend where I reside now, because area attractions are mere miles from my doorstep.

In my early twenties, traveling was a breathless affair. Always traveling with a former partner at that time to visit his relatives on the west coast, to places like Monterey, San Francisco, Seattle and Vancouver, I gained an even deeper appreciation of seeing different places. When that relationship ended, I went on a very short trip to see a grandparent and cousins and killed my car coming back home. After that, visiting other places became a dream shoved behind survival and everyday affairs.

At the age of 25, I had my first child and very soon became a struggling single parent. Vacations and travel were now distant memories that pained me to visit in my mind. In between juggling meager-paying jobs, suffering from diagnosed major depression and raising my son, little time was spared even daydreaming of my aforementioned trips, and wistful thoughts of future excursions were fleeting.

During this tough time in life, both my son and I would be invited to accompany my parent to their childhood home on long weekends. Always the wanderer, mountainous western North Carolina was a refuge, enough to satisfy for a time my desire to visit beautiful locales. Travel was always an extended family affair, to a specific destination that never changed, provided generously by my parent while I mostly came along for the ride. For a long stretch of time, I had not the means nor the transportation to go very far.

In the meantime, as my son got older, we would make it a regular thing to rotate all of the local attractions any weekend I was able. Busch Gardens. Colonial Williamsburg. Downtown Norfolk, the Virginia Beach oceanfront. From Fort Story to Historic Jamestown, I did little staycations where I didn’t have to spend much money. Thanks to seasons passes, close proximity and being able to go home every time, my son and I covered a lot of ground and got to be tourists in our own hometown.

My son and I would have the great privilege to accompany my parents on epic, three week roadtrip to visit Yellowstone National Park and other famous places out west. Until that vacation took place, I had never had an experience like that. The concept of driving somewhere of significant distance and stopping at other places of interest along the way was not a consideration as I pictured my travels. My life forever changed, I rediscovered my love for visiting distant places, while also developing a profound appreciation for discoveries made along the way before reaching a particular destination.

From how I understood road trips to be, a destination wasn’t always the point. One does not always need structure when participating in these kinds of getaways. Compared to flying where one could quickly reach their intended stop, one could save both money on expensive plane tickets while also seeing interesting sites that otherwise would be missed. The flip side, however, was having sufficient time. I would not often, if at all, have weeks at a time to meader through places. Furthermore, how far I could drive out would be dependent on where I resided. This, in turn, likely meant travels would be limited to the eastern half of the United States. With those matters understood, road trips were something that I felt were within my reach.

However, I did have more personal hurdles and circumstances unique to my situation that I would have to take under consideration.

I had to overcome natural apprehension as well as pre-conceived notions about who gets to take road trips. I always pictured this very American pasttime as being for young, responsibility-free college students, or affluent, nuclear and white families. I was in neither category. Furthermore, a reoccurring theme in conjuring up the image of road trips overwhelmingly featured the adult male. In the case of the families, two people were always on hand to care for children. A strong male was always present, either to protect the family or ward off lurking dangers. It is a well-known reality that grown men were not as much of a target for crime as female and children are.

Weighing the pros and cons of a road trip, especially when young children are involved, caused some conflict for me. Single parents, notably when they are mothers, face certain challenges taking their children alone on road trips. I had immediate concerns about safety and security. If I were to deploy my kids and I out on the open road, additional precautions would be necessary. Self-doubt plagued me on whether I could handle car problems, remember important documents, have enough money or pack what we needed. I worried about what my parents would think and the concerns they would raise on whether it was wise to be by myself traveling with kids. I even wondered if I had the common sense to take care of us in an unfamiliar place. Save one short solo trip in my early twenties, I was not in the habit of going on a vacation without other adults.

As the lure of the road called out to me, I did my best to reassure myself of both my capabilities and what I had available to make a driving vacation successful. After all...I was a single mother. I knew all about taking on challenges. I was well-aquinted with being the only one taking full responsibility for a little human. I had a somewhat reliable car that I could easily drive 350 miles on a single tank. I could stay within my home state, but branch out much farther than Williamsburg. A slow burn of longing spread through my daily thoughts about how I could make a road trip work.

My child was getting more independent by the day and long past the days of diapers and breastmilk. I realized I didn’t have to be young or flush with money. I didn’t have to wait for a significant other to travel with. I didn’t have to set travel aside for what could be a far-off retirement. I could stick to a limited budget, with the thought of I can save on accomodations to have more money so my son and I could have more experiences. I could take the wheel, literally, and steer us both to places I had always wanted to see.

So when my son was ten, I tentatively started out on our first road trip with me as the only adult, the single parent. It was the summer of 2015 when we set off on our journey, with a VW Rabbit that sipped gas. I had carefully packed items like children’s medicine, extra shoes and electronics to keep my son busy. Otherwise, it was a mostly impromptu getaway that I had only loosely planned. With a general area I had in mind for us to explore, we headed north and west, to spend time in the Blue Ridge Mountains, its namesake parkway, and the fertile Shenandoah Valley region.

We easily cruised I-81 corridor, a picturesque interstate with its longest part stretching along north and western Virginia, this interstate is lush with rolling pastures and the lovely backdrop of the mountains framing the scene. Literally my own backyard, but so different from my home in the coastal plains and pine lands of southeastern Virginia. Easily accessible off I-81, our first destination was Natural Bridge State Park and its adjacent caverns.

My son, at the time, was into collecting rocks and other outdoor treasures. We meandered under the eponymous Natural Bridge and its karst landscape. We strolled under the canopy of the tree - lined Cedar Creek Trail where we later were rewarded with Lace Falls, a pretty little waterfall. He got to play in the creek the trail is named for. Together, we learned about the original inhabitants of the area, the Monacan tribe, in the recreated village. My son got to both enjoy the uncomplicated virtues of nature and learn about the history of the area that long pre-dated George Washington‘s survey of the area. A win-win from any parent’s perspective.

At the time, the site hosted a nightly light show called the “Drama of Creation” (the show no longer is running due to COVID-19 restraints). We took that in with joy. The Caverns at Natural Bridge is not 1000 feet away and offered us a descent more than 300 feet below the earth’s surface.

We love caves, and Interstate I-81 offers numerous opportunities to visit public caverns, including the famous Luray Caverns (which we also visited later on this trip together). A family-friendly destination that boasts about having the first air-conditioned home in the United States (thanks air pumped from the caverns to help a person with a case of tuberculosis) are worth the visit. Being into trains at the time, my son was absolutely thrilled with the next-door Toy Town Junction and its fully-operational model train village.

We did not get a chance to visit other attractions associated with Luray, such as the maze or village but the beckoning of the nearby moutains called us back. So off we went, later cruising down the Blue Ridge Parkway. Content to be a passenger looking out the window, my son marveled at the winding path hugging the mountains as I too enjoyed their almost mythical elements.

The elements of close driving proximity, natural wonders, and the ability to spend one-on-one time with my precious boy made this first road trip as a single parent with a young child a resounding success. My confidence grew in my ability and my ability alone to get my child and I somewhere worthwhile, purely for the joy and bonding experiences a family vacation would bring. Road trips would become our escape from the ordinary and our mutual discoveries of the extraordinary, one destination at a time.

Our next road trip the following summer would admittedly happen under a shadow and on the cusp of two life-changing experiences: the firing from a job and a surprise pregnancy.

Afraid I was already spiraling into one of my deep depressive episodes, overwhelmed with the events taking our lives in an unknown direction, I made a split-second decision to take my boy to Niagara Falls, the New York side, a nearly 10-hour, 600 mile trek by car. As soon as I got the last of my money from my former job, I packed up my son into my by now well-worn VW the following day, at sunrise.

It was a surprise to him, looking back, both leaving so abruptly on this road trip and learning of our eventual destination. I told him at first it was to a nearby attraction, which he only realized we had passed it by about two hours after the fact. Once he understood that we would be away from the home I would soon have to move us out of, we took in the roadrip in equally preoccupied yet different ways.

While he was being the child he deserved to be looking out the window in wonder at the changing northeastern scenery, I was doing difficult internal processing of recent traumatic events and seismic shifts as I drove along turbulent I-85. Even with the unsurprising traffic circus that is the DC metro area, I welcomed both the focus of doing something positive for my child and using the time to talk to him about what adventures could be had at Niagara Falls. Maryland slid into Pennsylvania, as we then made our way through the long state on first the turnpike, next up I-79 until finally Erie, PA and I-90. We stayed at a roadside hotel until dawn, where we then saw the ocean-like Great Lake that is Lake Erie, marvelling at both its sheer size and glass-like appearance. Continuing north, we made it up to the gothic-looking Buffalo.

Fatefully, I would grab my phone and instruct Siri to take us to Niagara Falls. We ended up at Peace Bridge, where my son inquired about the activity further ahead. It was only when we pulled over, then went into the duty-free store when I realized Siri had taken us to the U.S. - Canadian border, and we could not turn around.

I did not possess passports for either one of us at the time.

As we made our way to U.S. Customs, I was panicked. My son has only known the world post-9/11. I recall a time while crossing the border in Blaine, Washington so many years in the Before. The world, of course had forever changed in the After. I seriously doubted my driver’s licence would be sufficient. I also had my child’s birth certificate, but again, I figured we would be made to turn around.I worried and was certain I about to disappoint my son, who was beyond excited at the thought of visiting a totally different country shortly. I worried that the border patrol agents would grill me about why I dared to make such a mistake, why was I trying to get into Canada...nerves wracked my body, already dealing with the nausea of early pregnancy.

As we watched people ahead scanning their passports and easily crossing the border, the agent pulled us over. As he grilled me with questions like why I was there? How do I support myself? The agent then ushered me aside to the holding area while my car was searched.

Ironically, we waited with a couple also from Virginia who were trying to get to their daughter in Toronto. Here my son and I were, on a questionable road trip as he hoped for adventure while, in the moment, I just hoped Customs didn‘t detain me. I committed the ultimate cardinal sin while traveling which I’ve not done since: I told no one where we were. Always, always tell people where you are going, I would later tell my son.

After some length of time passed, the agent came back to get us. As we got into the car, he handed me a Post-It note I keep as a memento to this day:

Lundy‘s Lane / Clifton Hill

He went on to welcome us into Canada and wished us well. As it hit me with what had just happened, my son proclaimed, ”Hello, Canada!” And with that, we drove into Ontario, going to the place the agent wrote on the Post-It.

I can say with certainty and with absolute love for my home country...that the Canadian side of Niagara Falls is much more spectacular. Furthermore, introducing my son to another nation was an unexpected, yet fortunate, turn of events. The moment we shared in that car ride driving around the Canadian countryside as a family first was unforgettable. Road trips open up the spontaneous, adventurous side of those who seek to quench their wanderlust. For my son to share that memory with his own children one day was worth the discomfort and unease that plagued on our road trip, at least on my end.

The family-friendly playground that is Clifton Hill, my son and I only got a brief taste of. We both marveled at the two-story Burger King, the casual availability of Cuban cigars, and the carnival-like atmosphere of the strip. What I really wanted the two of us to experience was, of course, nature. The falls. Specifically, Horseshoe Falls, where nearly 90% of all water that flows down Niagara Falls goes. We both loved the Journey Behind the Falls tour. The sheer power of nature awed the both of us as we made great memories with one another.

No touristy journey to Niagara would be complete without a Voyage to the Falls Boat Tour, where getting up close and personal to the falls on the boat, names the Hornblower, made me a bit nervous but my son exhilarated. I soon had his perspective, however, as we saw not only the word-famous Horseshoe Falls, but the American Falls and Bridal Veil Falls that make up Niagara. Very wet, but with each of us grinning ear-to-ear, my child and I bonded over the roar of the falls.

The White Water Walk was awe-inspiring. One of the few places on earth where Class 6 white water rapids can be seen up close and where no , and as we saw, terrifying. Together, we marveled at nature’s unparalleled force as we hiked the gorge. Nervously, I kept my son very close as we walked parallel along the Niagara River, viewed the impossibly dangerous Whirpool Rapids. I forgot all about my first trimester discomforts clutching my child as we took in the violent, yet beautiful, site of blue-green waves higher than I am tall churned down river.

All packed into one day, I knew that my son would fondly recall in later years the marvel that is Niagara Falls. Too uneasy about staying too long outside of the U.S. and worried about money, I did later have regrets of us not staying for the nightly light show of the falls. Our memorable day in Canada were moments that I will always treasure.

Passing through western New York at the start of the trek back home, I decided that we should stop by the place of my birth, Jamestown. What a dilapidated, past its prime place. A collection of abandoned buildings long deserted; cars rusted under their bumpers that told the story of hard winters and lake-effect snow without a word; and dirty alley ways with hypodermic needles lying out openly in sidewalk crevices. Jamestown was a typical northeastern town of decay, living up to the nickname for the region, not affectionally known as, “the rust belt”.

Bringing my child to my hometown, and growing within me another child had me somber, contemplating the suitability of this world they are too good for. The flip side of the travel coin is witnessing the seedier, grittier reality of life. Though I later concluded that seeing the unseemly part of places only helped my son realize that life comes in all kinds of scenarios not always geared towards entertainment, I still rushed him through the tour and then took a different route back home to avoid the dreaded DC Metro area.

The easy banter that I had with my boy from time to time made Pennsylvania somehow a less painful stretch. Later on in the return towards home, we both agreed that Interstate 68 connecting West Virginia to Maryland was one of the most mountainous and scenic routes we had ever seen. His sweet little boy observations and reminiscing of our most recent trip helped me process some of the emotional hits I had taken recently.

The open road creates, at times, a silent dialogue that with every mile driven has one learning new things about themselves. Self-discovery, on who I was as a mother, who I was in other important roles, have often been made while driving on these extended driving-based trips. That journey of realization does not end until one is dead. Those points of self-awareness are not always surprises.

At the start of 2016, another precious human would enter the family fold with the arrival of my daughter. At 36, a new phase of motherhood, raising two children alone almost a dozen years apart in age presented new challenges and triumphs. A different era of family travel would be further defined and reshaped. Within three years, I was toting along my toddler and now-teenager son (and, at times, his friends as well) along on our excursions.

Taking a toddler on road trips is a whole different ball game. I did wait to take such excursions again until she was potty-trained, and when I could fund them again. The former happened a bit of time before the latter with a promising start at a new job.

My adorable youngest child was herself a seasoned traveler by the time she was three. At four months old, we and extended family went to DisneyWorld for a week. I frankly would never recommend trying to have fun in the humid, miserable heat that is a Florida summer. In a moment I will always treasure, she traveled to my parent’s childhood home 400 miles away from where we live. A picture of my grandparent holding their great-grandchild. My daughter and extended family would make the trek back and forth from home to western North Carolina several times until my grandparent passed away when she was two.

Due to unusual circumstances that were determined by a judge in a child visitation hearing, I would have a major opportunity to travel with just my daughter. This time, a different form of transportation would be used and this was not a fun-based adventure.

Together, we would would board a plane, her first, to southern California to see her father. My nerves were on edge, and my worries soared probably as high as the planes did. A totally different ballgame, flying forced me not only to give up the control I possessed driving a car, but also had none of the leisurely contemplation a road trip provided. Adding a typical toddler to airline travel was equal parts dread and a forced calm I did not feel to help me focus. Worry of keeping my precious daughter safe and keeping her occupied for the next twelve hours occupied my every thought.

Our first layover, she saw snowy New Jersey. The New York City skyline across the river was impossible to miss, even during the white-out. It was our first time gazing out onto the iconic city before being whisked away to the equally dazzling, but worlds apart, SoCal.

Miraculously, she was only a little cranky on the five-hour flight, sleeping a little of the way. After landing in rainy L.A., I got our rental and started a road trip of a different kind: one with a definitive destination planned and one where she would be leaving me for a little while on my own at the end of it. Exhausted by our cross-country trip, she slept most of the way as I followed the complicated directions from Los Angeles to Riverside, more than an hour’s drive away.

Normally at ease with driving, I was anything but as I mentally prepared for being without my baby nearly four days. I also valued greatly this precious time I would spend with her. Catching glimpses of her quiet, angelic face in the rear view mirror had me marvel about the unpredictable, often strange twists and turns life takes. Taking in the arid, yet starkly beautiful landcape void of grass and with the views of San Bernardino Mountains, bald-faced yet snow-capped, I wondered tensely about the meeting later with her father.

Thankfully, those days went well for my daughter. I got to stay relatively close by getting opportunity to see her with her dad. In the meantime, I did solo travel throughout the desert, had lunch with a friend native to the area and wandered aimlessly around Riverside. I missed my girl the entire time as well as my son who was more than 3,000 miles away. Sheer relief upon getting her back on our last day, we headed back to L.A. to catch our flight.

Arriving in the city hours before our red-eye flight, I decided to keep the rental car a little longer and take my daughter out to see the Pacific Ocean.

I did this deliberately, planning a small driving trip. I was glad to relinquish some control again for a little while over where we went and looked forward to how we could make special moments together as mother and daughter.

It was nighttime, and late part of fall, so I knew we could view it despite the obvious drawbacks. It had been close to two decades since I had seen the Pacific, and I wanted to share that with my daughter who had never seen it before. I knew that she likely wouldn’t have any memory at all of visiting the edges of the west coast, but I wanted to capture the milestone with photos anyhow. We drove to Bruce’s Beach, almost deserted as I suspected, smelling the heady salty air first. Then, we heard it, the roar of crashing waves. As I gathered my daughter close, we then finally saw the ocean. Blending in with the beach, dark brown with flashes of gray sheen, almost menacing, we stared down the Pacific.

It was an emotional moment for me. My girl wanted to touch it, as its raw power pounded the sand before washing deceptively calm along the shoreline. Even with the limitations of night, I could look up and down the coast, seeing endless mountains, cliffs and twinkling lights. The ocean and sky itself was almost indistinguishable, but its impact on us both was not.

Courage is a helpful trait to possess when taking on all of the unknowns a road trip can entail. A certain edginess is required when one repeatedly takes on the challenge of the open road. Endurance of the mind and, to a certain extent, the body, is part of the game. A pragmatism that the adventure one seeks can go to either extreme on the good vs. bad spectrum, the road warrior had to be prepared for the unexpected. Perhaps the most crucial part of a personality to have is an unceasing, relentless wanderlust. I realized in those moments my child and I took sure steps off the boardwalk, all of those facets were woven deep into my psyche, and they each have only grown more as time marched on.

As I stood on the California coast holding my daughter’s hand, the clarity of why I sought adventures in this fashion was to honor those parts of myself I once fought hard to suppress. A mother is how I first and always define myself as being. However, I now could admit to myself the other large part of who I was at my core: a wanderer. Finding out both identities could coexist together was a relief. I didn’t have to tamp down one part of me to be the other. Not only that, but my children could get both aspects and benefit greatly from the immeasurable gifts family trips bring.

As I get older and became more comfortable with hitting the road more, I know I’m happiest traveling with my children. I know that besides my children, travel is what I live for. I enjoy the autonomy of getting to decide at my own pace, my own leisure and discrection where we go, what we do. I revel in the freedom of choosing our next destination, how we as an atypical family spend our time. Though I have often lamented about single parenthood, I have appreciated often not having to account to a partner weighing when deciding the kids and I were going to go somewhere. In the tough, at times harrowing, world of single parenthood, to have an outlet that benefits everyone in the family is valued beyond measure.

When I’ve shared these road trips with both my son and daughter, these revelations made as our vehicle glides smoothly through the various places we’ve now visited, the open road always calls out to me to discover more. The thousands of miles of ground I’ve covered shuttling my family around has us all learning facets of ourselves, tightening our bonds with one another. Arriving at places now familiar favorites for my family while also making time to explore new locales waiting for us to discover empowers me. As a single mother, giving the gift of travel to my children reminds all of us in the family that destinations are bonuses compared to the actual journey taken. A gift that knows no limits, travel in those formative years pays dividends not only for my children but their future travel companions and descendants.

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WINFRED KWAO

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