We planned a seven-day trip.
That sentence is almost funny now.
What we casually called a seven-day trip actually began on two different timelines. Ken's week started before mine when he flew to Seattle on September 2. I met him at the Houston airport on September 4, and from there we continued a trip that would take us from Texas to Florida and—eventually, we assumed—back to Texas.
Yes, we drove.
According to the original plan, we would have arrived home on September 14.
We did not.
At this point, the whole trip feels a little like a bad joke where the setup keeps getting longer, but the punchline never quite arrives.
Then again, neither have we.
The Houston Airport Win
Before getting into the chaos, we need to talk about a couple of things.
Ken always drives when we go out of town. That is his role in our little adventures. So imagine my surprise when I learned that I would have to drive to Houston and meet him there.
But also, when faced with a challenge, let's do it.
I got this.
Soooo... no. I didn't “got this.”
Not because anything serious happened. I made it to Houston just fine. But the thing I learned on that drive is that apparently the ankle bone really is connected to the leg bone, and the leg bone is connected to the back bone.
By the time I reached Houston, my back was throbbing just from pressing the gas pedal.
The best part about the drive was the end.
Imagine that.
I booked the Houston Airport Marriott at George Bush Intercontinental, which is connected to the airport, and what a huge win that turned out to be. I didn't even realize how well it was going to work.
When Ken arrived, he was able to take the underground tram straight from the airport to the hotel.
BONUS: I didn't have to drive anywhere.
That rates an A++ for location in my book.
The Trip Delivered, Even When the Schedule Didn't
So now you know the trip schedule fell apart, but here's the thing: the trip itself delivered in almost every way.
You already heard about the Houston hotel. Our second hotel was just on the other side of Baton Rouge, and it delivered on both food and location.
We also ended up routing around Baton Rouge because, if you've ever driven I-10 toward BR, you know that bridge can be a nightmare.
Traffic was backed up for TWO HOURS.
Ummm... no thank you, sir.
Let's just try a different route.
And you know what? It worked really well. It did mean this was the first day we didn't quite make our intended driving goal, but I will happily take that over sitting in two hours of traffic staring at the same stretch of interstate.
Our Tallahassee hotel was next to everything we needed. DoorDash brought our food... but left half of it at the restaurant.
Fortunately, the restaurant was only about five minutes away, so Ken ran over and picked up everything they forgot.
I do love that man.
We pushed out of Tallahassee early the next morning.
And by “early,” I mean around 10 a.m.
I require a little grace here. We had just hit the time-zone change.
Even with our aggressively reasonable definition of early, we made it to the Airbnb with plenty of time to be there when Ken's parents arrived. We had their luggage with us so they wouldn't have to deal with checked bags while flying.
Later that night, we made a Walmart run for food and some other items.
We'll come back to the other items later.
For that night, though, we were done. The flight had been long for Ken's parents, we were tired from the drive—or, in Ken's case, the flight and the drive—so nobody needed another adventure.
We ordered some good food from DoorDash, chilled for the evening, and went to bed early.
Driving Through Family History
Our first real day in St. Pete, we drove around the old neighborhoods where Ken had lived as a toddler. We looked at the things that had changed and the things that somehow hadn't.
Then we stopped for lunch at The Chattaway, where Ken's parents used to eat more than 50 years ago.
A lot of history in a single meal.
The rest of the week passed pretty quickly. There was a day at the beach—in the same area Ken and his family used to go when he was little—a little more shopping, and plenty of time just hanging out together.
Ken and his parents were also able to go back to the Coast Guard station where his dad had been stationed more than 50 years ago. One of the vessels there was actually one his father had served aboard all those years ago, and they were able to tour a couple of the Coast Guard vessels.
I was not there.
I was sore.
And not a little sore. I mean really sore.
Between the driving, the beach, and everything else we had managed to cram into the trip, my body had officially submitted its resignation.
So I stayed at the Airbnb and rested while Ken went with his parents.
And honestly, I'm glad they went without me. They got to have that experience together, and I got a desperately needed day to do absolutely nothing.
Everybody won.
About Those “Other Items”
Remember those “other items” from our first Walmart trip?
They were chairs.
When we first went to Walmart, I grabbed two plastic Adirondack chairs because they were on clearance for $7. We're redoing our backyard, and I figured they'd be perfect for the littles.
Then we got to the register.
$1.50.
Well.
Two chairs very quickly became eight chairs.
There was just one small problem.
We were in Florida.
Our house is in Texas.
And we were traveling in a Jeep already carrying everything we needed for what was supposed to be a seven-day trip.
We had absolutely no room for eight Adirondack chairs.
And yet, somehow, we now owned eight Adirondack chairs.
Of course we took them with us.
I wasn't going to leave perfectly good $1.50 Adirondack chairs behind just because of a minor logistical issue like having absolutely nowhere to put them.
Dropping Ken's parents off at the airport may have been a little dicey.
The chairs had officially taken over every bit of extra space in the Jeep—and then some—which meant Ken's parents ended up riding to the airport with some of their luggage on their laps.
But everyone made it to the airport.
The luggage made it to the airport.
And, most importantly, all eight chairs remained safely in our possession.
Priorities.
A Birthday at Grumpy Gringo
The day Ken and I went to Grumpy Gringo was also his birthday.
There was no elaborate birthday itinerary—because this trip had already demonstrated what it thought of itineraries—but the Mexican food was amazing.
A relaxed birthday meal at a local St. Petersburg restaurant felt much more like us anyway.
When the Plan Changed
Friday night, I was in our room researching stops for the drive home when Ken walked in and told me we might not be going home after all.
Instead, it was looking like we would be driving to Colorado Springs so he could cover down on a couple of work events.
Someone else had originally been expected to handle them, but that had become impossible. Canceling at the last minute wasn't something Ken wanted to do, so just like that, the route I had been planning became completely useless.
The drive home from St. Petersburg, Florida, had suddenly become a drive to Colorado Springs.
That is how a trip from Texas to Florida and back gained an entirely new stretch of highway—and several more days.
So we packed everything back into the Jeep—eight Adirondack chairs and all—I pulled on my Comfrt hoodie, Ken queued up his appropriately named road-trip playlist, Windshield University, and off we went.
Home?
Nope.
Apparently, we were headed toward a whole new adventure.
At this point, “When will you be home?” is answered very carefully.
Saturday is the earliest, assuming nothing else changes.
Given how this trip has gone, saying “nothing else changes” out loud feels like tempting fate.
The Long Way to Colorado
The unexpected drive from St. Petersburg to Colorado Springs gave us a few more stops—and a few more memories.
We spent one night at a Marriott near the Nashville airport. On our way out of Nashville, we stopped at the Grand Ole Opry long enough to take pictures.
We didn't attend a show, but seeing such an iconic place in person was still a cool addition to a trip that kept rewriting itself.
Our next stop was Kansas City, where we met our daughter, her husband, and the boys for dinner at Texas Roadhouse.
The boys didn't know we were coming, so we got to surprise them. This was actually the second time we have managed to plan a surprise visit with them while traveling—and somehow we kept the secret both times.
Of course, somewhere during dinner, the conversation turned to just how packed our Jeep had become.
And naturally, I told our daughter about the chairs.
Her practical brain completely understood my position.
Then she said:
“Mom, you paid less for a chair than a bottle of soda.”
EXACTLY.
Finally, someone was focusing on the important part of this story.
Eight chairs.
Twelve dollars.
You do not leave $1.50 Adirondack chairs behind.
We stayed at the Kansas City Airport Marriott afterward, and they gave us a wonderfully comfortable room overlooking the water beside the airport.
After another long day in the car, having that peaceful view outside our window felt like a gift. The M Club was also excellent and made the stay even easier.
Kansas: A Brief Review
The next day was windy, and we drove across Kansas.
Do you know what they have in Kansas?
Nothing.
There is absolutely nothing in Kansas.
There is wind, road, more wind, more road, and enough uninterrupted space to reconsider every decision that led you there.
Occasionally, the scenery changes just enough to make you wonder whether you imagined it.
Our official Kansas travel review is therefore simple:
Very windy. Impressively empty. Successfully crossed.
And yes, the chairs successfully crossed Kansas too.
Mountains, a Peanuts Cup, and Eventually Laundry
Now we are in Colorado Springs, settled into a comfortable room with a beautiful view of the mountains—something we definitely do not get at home in Texas.
We are also tired.
We have no idea how the rest of the week will play out, and this trip has taught us not to make confident predictions.
For today, though, Ken bought me a Peanuts cup from Starbucks.
By the current trip-scoring system, I am winning.
Eventually, I will also be doing laundry.
Because when you leave home for a seven-day trip, you pack approximately seven days' worth of clothes.
You do not pack for Seattle, Houston, Florida, Nashville, Kansas City, Kansas, Colorado Springs, and whatever else the road might decide to add.
At some point, even the best-planned suitcase runs out of clean underwear.
Meanwhile, we now own eight Adirondack chairs that have traveled more than some members of our family.
When they finally make it home—and at this point, I'm careful about predicting when anything will make it home—they'll receive a place of honor somewhere on the deck Ken built before we left.
They've earned it.
Seven Days—Give or Take
Nothing truly terrible happened. This isn't a hotel horror story or a warning against traveling.
It is simply the story of how a perfectly reasonable seven-day trip looked at our itinerary, laughed, and kept going.
The plan changed. The route grew by roughly half a country. The car became our temporary permanent address.
But the trip also gave us good food, meaningful family memories, a birthday celebration, an unexpected visit with our daughter and her family, eight extremely well-traveled lawn chairs, and several places we would gladly recommend.
And it isn't over yet.
Maybe that is the difference between a vacation and a Road to Us trip:
A vacation follows the itinerary.
We apparently just follow the story.