Figuring It Out

When I was fifteen, we went on a family vacation – a road trip to the Midwest. We had gotten out to the middle of nowhere in California and it was pretty hot. My younger brother and I were just enjoying the ride and goofing around, occasionally arguing, par for the course for a teenager and a nine year old. My father called me up front. I climbed up from the rearmost seat of our fairly new 1976 VW van and knelt between the two front seats. The conversation went something like this:

“Hey Dad.”
“Hey Mark, take this map.”
“What’s this?”
“The Rand-McNally map of the U.S.”
“Pretty big book. Okay.”
“We need to get to Flagstaff, Arizona.”
“Okay.”
“Get us there.”
“Huh? How do I do that?”
“You have the map. Figure it out.”
              I looked at him with a blank stare that said all at once “You can’t be serious!” and “Why do I have to do this?” He glanced back at me with a look that said “Yes I am,” and “Get busy.” I took the book of maps to the back of the van, sat down and flipped through it. A map of every state in the Union was there in great detail. Flagstaff, Arizona, I thought. Where’s Flagstaff? I opened the map to the index and found the pages that contained Arizona. More questions arose, so I hollered up to the front of the van.

“Where are we?”

“Road sign coming up,” was the only answer I got.

              I looked out the window and read the passing road sign in earnest (for the first time that trip). It said: “Barstow – 17 mi.” So I asked, “Where’s Barstow?” There was no answer – just a look through the rearview mirror that said “You have the map,” and quiet unintelligible conversation between Mom and Dad. So I figured Barstow is either in California or it is in Arizona. I went back to the index for both states and eventually found Barstow listed in California. I sourced its grid location on the map, sitting at the junction of three highways. I wondered to myself, which of these highways are we on, headed to Barstow? I looked for more road signs, saw one in the distance coming up. Highway 58 – that’s the road we’re on. Barstow was ahead of us. I looked outside. It was about noon, so I could not determine which way was east, but we had to be heading east because Barstow was coming up and we were headed to Arizona. I was pretty sure that for whatever reason, neither parent was going to help. Therefore there was no sense in asking more questions.
              Another sign was coming up. Barstow – 12 mi., Needles – 151 mi. I found Needles on the map, which confirmed we were headed east. I felt a bit better about this. With a little confidence, I announced to the family, “Okay, we’re headed east on Highway 58. Barstow is 12 miles away and Needles is 151 miles away…” – I stated the obvious and continued. “It looks like between Barstow and Needles is the Mojave desert, so I am guessing you better top off the tank in Barstow, Dad and we should probably eat, because it is almost one and I’m hungry.”
              We pulled into town and did just that. Dad filled up. We got a bite to eat. As we exited town east, a sign announced the road was now Interstate 40. Off we went. It got even hotter. The heat brought the chatter in the van to a minimum. We all sat there and sweated (the van had no air conditioning). We raided the ice chest for cold sodas and ice. I read the signs and estimated our time of arrival in Needles based on our speed and the distance markers along the highway. It grew hot beyond description.
              We went through Needles and on to Kingman, where I-40 also became Highway 93. After a short bit, Dad yelled back from up front, “93/40 split coming up – which way to Flagstaff?” I got caught off guard. I asked for the highway numbers again and checked the map. “93!” I yelled back. “Are you sure?” came the reply. “Yes!” So my father turned onto Highway 93. As the afternoon dragged on I noticed that the sun began to get lower in the sky to my right. Something did not feel right. I pulled the map back out. We were heading south, had to be because of our direction relative to the sun’s descent into the west. I checked the upcoming highway sign, which simply had the symbol for Highway 93. I carefully traced 93 back to where it broke off from I-40 and with my finger traced I-40 east across the page over to my feared mistake and our destination: Flagstaff.
“Uh, Dad?” I called out tentatively.
“Yes son,” was the reply.
“I made a mistake. We have to turn around,” I said, wincing inside, staring carefully at the rearview mirror for the response.
“You sure, son?” came the reply. I listened carefully and could only hear calm patience in his voice.
“Yeah. I’m sorry. I messed up. We should have stuck on I-40. We need to go back.”
“Is there a faster way from where we are at?”
“No Dad. I already checked. They’re all a lot longer than just turning around and getting on 40. I’m sorry.”
“No problem, son. You’re learning.”
My little brother complained vigorously about the mistake and the heat and the wasted time. Neither parent offered a word of criticism. From that point forward through the rest of the trip, I carefully navigated without mistake. I quickly learned to determine route, distance by scale, estimated time of arrival, rate of fuel consumption and maximum possible distance to travel to the next town before nightfall. During that whole trip I navigated the family through thirteen states and over 3,000 miles, without anyone’s help. I figured it out, because I had to. I thank my Dad for that lesson.
To this day, I have tremendous confidence in my ability to figure many things out. I trace much of it back to that vacation trip. The most critical things for that road trip then are still the most critical things for navigating through to goals and destinations in life today: Where is the map? Where am I on the map? Where is my destination? What road am I on? What direction am I headed on that road? Which way is north? Then beyond that, how far on which roads must I travel to arrive at my desired destination? It is surprising what you can figure out if you must and if you have a good map.


Thanks for playing.
=^|