It’s a Long Drive After All

Illustration by Elly Walton

I f you’ve compiled a bucket list of car trips you hope to take someday, and one line specifies “A December trip from Cincinnati to Walt Disney World in Florida,” crumple up the list right now. Better yet, set it on fire. If the line includes “with small children,” just set your whole car on fire. You’ll thank me.

I’ve done it so you don’t have to: Cruising I-75 all the way down to Orlando’s Magic Kingdom, then all the way back up. Our time spent inside Disney World itself will get scant attention here, because we all know what really matters in this life is the journey—the endless, monotonous, fast-food-injected, vomit-ejected, engine-infected, 912-mile journey. Why did we do it? Because we were invited to spend three days at Disney World for free, all on Walt Disney’s dime. Would you refuse that?

This gift came courtesy of Tom Brinkmoeller, former TV/radio columnist for The Cincinnati Enquirer. In the late 1980s, he landed a new gig as “media liaison” for Disney. His job now was to invite media guys like me (a DJ on WEBN, then Cincinnati’s No. 1 radio station, ahem) so I could report back about our visit. An additional perk for my FM rock world was that Ron Wood, lead guitarist for the Rolling Stones, would be there for a promotional event and we’d get to meet him.

Obviously I said yes, whereupon it was quickly decided that the family would drive instead of fly. This was not as foolhardy as it may seem. The Wife, the Boy, the Girl, and I had already taken some fairly long car trips together, and we enjoyed them. This trip would also happen during the week before Christmas, when attendance at Disney World trends downward, so shorter lines! We’d head home on Christmas morning: empty highways! Hakuna Matata: no worries! We’re going to Didney Wude!

T he Girl had been calling it Didney Wude in that way small kids do. She’d also been excited the previous summer about going to Kings Island, because she thought we were going to meet the mighty King Ziland. Small children are cute, but they add danger to a long car trip. Not to worry; the Wife and I were prepared.

In addition to the bare necessities, we armed the kids with as many distractions as our pre-iPad world would allow. The Boy was handed a 13-episode audio dramatization of Star Wars , along with a cassette player that was roughly the size and weight of a Triscuits box filled with nails. The Girl, two years younger, got her own cassettes with her own Triscuits box of nails. Between the kids sat 1,000 batteries. This strategy—partnered with some books, travel versions of board games, and plans to sing lots of songs very loudly—would work. What could go wrong?

Plenty, as it turned out. Early on was the obligatory inside-the-car barf, requiring a change of clothing on the side of the highway in late December weather. I handled it; the cold never bothered me anyway. The first true crisis happened as we approached Perry, Georgia, a cute little town we would have zipped right past had not the car’s temperature meter started rising and rising. But the locals were friendly, pointing us to a repair shop where we lost only a few hours (and more than a few dollars). We stayed overnight in Perry instead of the place we’d planned, then hit the highway at dawn. To Gainesville and beyond!

There’s no need here to describe our three-day experience at Disney World. It was exactly the same as yours, except that the lines were shorter and we got to spend about 12 seconds with Ron Wood. The Boy had a vague sense of who Wood was; I suspect the Girl may have thought she was finally meeting King Ziland. On our final day, Christmas morning, we simply got up, checked out of our room, and went to see the first hour or so of the Disney Parks Christmas Day Parade. It was vastly superior to watching it on TV, because we never once saw any of the on-air hosts. My, oh my, what a wonderful day.

Then came the time—the perfect time—to slip away and leave for Cincinnati, guaranteeing at least one day of non-crowded highways. We glided effortlessly past Wildwood, Gainesville, and Atlanta to our Chattanooga motel, where the kids discovered the only ride more exciting than any at Disney World: a vibrating bed!

T he next day’s highway drive was also problem-free, until we hit Knoxville and stopped cold. We had collided with one of those damn-we-might-as-well-shut-off-the-engine standstills, lasting at least an hour. Oh, well, the Wife theorized, it’s the day after Christmas and everybody’s returning their Chia Pets and horrid clothes, right?

We’ve since learned that the junction of I-75 and I-40 has been Knoxville’s eternal traffic nightmare—tale as old as time—and something we should have anticipated. I couldn’t afford any more delays like this, because I absolutely had to be back in Cincinnati the next day to appear in a shoot for a TV commercial. I’m a local media guy, remember? An entire production team was expecting me to show up. The drive had to be nonstop from here on.

As all massive, civilization-paralyzing snowstorms do, ours started slowly. We were somewhere in Kentucky when the sky grew prematurely dark. A light snowfall became steady and ugly. (Do I want to build a snowman? No, thanks.) Increasingly larger snowflakes zoomed past the windshield, inspiring the Boy to announce, ever in Star Wars mode: “Look, it’s hyperspace!” If only it were; we’d have gotten home sooner. The traffic slowed, everyone’s headlights came on, and a noticeable number of cars bailed at the next exit. Not me. I had to keep going.

Things got serious, and dangerous. Giving up is for rookies, but I finally agreed to get off at the next exit. Only one motel had the smarts to turn its lights on in the mid-afternoon darkness, and we got their last remaining room. Sorry, no vibrating bed. After settling in, I phoned the TV team in Cincinnati to tell them I’d be late the next day. (If you remember motel long-distance rates, you know that our car repairs may have cost less.)

Later, the topic of food inevitably arose, and I went out into the merciless void to hunt and gather dinner. Most eateries had sent their employees home. Good news: I eventually found one that was open. Bad news: It was Long John Silver’s. Not sure I deserved that.

Morning came, and thankfully so had the snowplows. This time we made it all the way. Cincinnatians all know the warm feeling of riding over that Kentucky hillside and seeing our downtown skyline, but this time it was extra sweet. Cincinnati, I look at you and I’m home. At our actual home, though, I instantly abandoned the Wife, the Boy, and the Girl as well as our car full of crap and frantically went to the TV shoot.

My sincere thanks go to Walt, Tom, Perry, Ron, and even Long John. Our kids have brought their own kids (by air) to Didney Wude. You probably have, too, because it’s a small world, after all.

While time has dulled the jagged edges of our family’s tumultuous car trip, one memory still stings: We gave Walgreen’s nine rolls of film from our adventures, and they lost one. I’m still waiting, and wishing, and hoping. Someday my prints will come.

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