My wife took a trip to the mountains recently. We stayed at a lovely rental that my wife found on the internet. She is always in charge of making these reservations because she is very creative and discerning, and because she will never forget Mardi Gras 1994.
We were in college and decided to head to New Orleans to take part in the festivities. I assured her that I had taken care of accommodations.
When we arrived in the Big Easy, we headed into the crowd when I shared with her what our plans were – we would find one of my fraternity brothers who lives in New Orleans and see if we could stay with them.
So there were a few problems in my plan. First, I was going on the assumption that my fraternity brothers were also in town, and not back in Tuscaloosa, AL. Second, randomly bumping into someone you know at Mardi Gras is statistically a smidge of a challenge. If you have never been to Mardi Gras, let me describe the crowds to you. You know those photos you see from the 1950s of young folks trying to fit as many people in a phone booth as they can? Well imagine the phone booth in the City of New Orleans.
Needless to say, my wife was less than pleased with this decision. However, her ire only lasted for about an hour, as we ran into TWO different fraternity brothers, both of whom offered accommodations.
Looking back on this experience with the benefit of a bit of wisdom, I think of the thing I used to say to my kids when they did something less than advisable, but it still kinda worked out. “If I drive across town and run every red light and make it to my destination without wrecking, it doesn’t suddenly make it a good idea.”
Since that time, my wife has made our travel plans. And it works quite well, since she is exceptionally good at it. In fact, the one time I can think of where she didn’t handle it, it went not so well.
My son and I decided to spend a weekend in the mountains a few years ago. We were going to a place we’d been before, and I knew there was a hotel right at the base of the mountain. It was in the winter, so no doubt there would be plenty of vacancies.
And there were no vacancies. I called another hotel. And another. And another. After the fifth one told me they were full, I asked if there was some sort of festival going on or something. “Sir, it’s Valentine’s weekend. Everything books up around here.”
We eventually found a place at a sketchy joint an hour or so down the interstate. When I called my wife to explain to her the situation, she said, “Seems about right.”
I am sure that I could competently do it if I actually put my mind to it. But part of the problem is that I think somewhere in my subconscious is a part of me that likes to flirt with danger, but not actual real danger that could, you know, hurt. It’s the same reason I have left my office with an estimated 22 miles left on my gas tank for a 20-minute commute over two bridges that, if there is an accident, will definitely make me run out of gas. DANGER!
We have a few trips planned over the next few years, and I think I will try and provide my usual inputs on the best way to get there and the best small town diners along the way. That and looking for things that we can do that are dangerous. Only, again, not that dangerous.
Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. and now lives in Mount Pleasant, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com.