Why We Slow-Travel

Wishing You Joy this Holiday Season!

Are you traveling this holiday season? If so, I hope you’re safe.

If you’re not traveling, I’m sure you’re doing some eating. I’m curious about the similarities between traveling and eating — how we can do either one fast or slow, with little thought or great deliberation. Each method has its purpose.

Sometimes we eat a meal quickly because we’re famished. Other times, especially when we’re celebrating, we eat with deliberation, savoring each bite. In between, which is most often, we eat because it’s time. So we have a sandwich.

Traveling is a similar mix. Some trips are a high-speed blur of hitting the highlights. This happens in a place we’ve never been before, or which we fear we may never see again. In our attempt to stave off FOMO, we’re likely to follow a packed itinerary of photo-worthy spots. It’s easy to get “stuffed” on that kind of trip.

At other times we travel with a specific purpose, or to some celebration — a wedding, or sporting event, or concert. Have you ever traveled very deliberately for some natural event that dictates careful timing? An eclipse, or peak Fall color, or the midnight mating of horseshoe crabs under a full moon. This travel might be either fast or slow, but it’s very purposeful. (Tell me about it in a comment!)

Still, most of the time we’re on the road it’s fairly routine. We are moving from Point A to Point B. This kind of ordinary travel is less a trip, and more a chore.

Doug and I live in a busy metro area near Washington DC where lots of people are always going lots of places. As we join four lanes of choked traffic on the beltway, the map on the phone turns red. At those moments we are unlikely to say, “Oh I wanted to slow-travel today!”

But when we climb into Big Blue, we enter a different sort of travel experience. It’s not about getting somewhere. It’s not about racking up the highway miles. As the tagline on this blog says: We travel slowly, on back roads, and talk to strangers.

On an average day we travel 150 miles or less — for no more than 3 hours, at a top speed of 50 mph. After two days of that kind of grueling schedule, we’re apt to take a day or two off. We look around to see what there is to see. Often it’s a public library, a diner, or a local attraction. I ask the librarian what people like to read here. I ask the waitress where she grew up. I read every word on the roadside signs. You’d be surprised what you can learn.

The best part of slow travel is the scenery, and the conversations.

I think of a woman I met at a thrift store in a town in northern Montana. As we drove past, I knew we should stop at this specific store, and asked Doug to circle back.

We were the only customers in the small store, which was crowded with inventory. I tried on a few tops in the store’s tiny restroom, peering into a mirror balanced on top of some rickety shelves. I plucked a pair of earrings from a rack. Then I noticed a yellow cable-knit sweater.

I said aloud, “You know, that might work for our daughter. She has chestnut hair.”

“How old is she?” the woman asked.

I told her and the woman replied “My daughter is 34 too.”

I asked where her daughter lives and she said “Across the street from me.”

“How nice,” I said. “How nice to have a daughter so close.”

Doug was paying for the purchases as we chatted.

She said “My daughter used to live up the road in [another town], but then she moved closer.”

I could sense there was more to the story so I didn’t say anything, I just looked into the woman’s eyes.

“Last year she was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer.”

My eyes filled with tears immediately, of course. I blinked them back and asked if she would like a hug.

She said “After five years of therapy I can say Yes.”

So I went behind the counter, in among the boxes she’d been unpacking, and wrapped my arms around her. I breathed aloud a prayer for her and her daughter.

Doug and I got back in the truck. As we drove away I got the idea to offer the woman a copy of my memoir, since I carry a few copies with me. So Doug drove back again. I brought her a book and autographed it. I wrote the same thing I always write in that book: “We are all more than what happens to us.”

The woman was too moved to speak when I gave it to her. Of course I was embarrassed. You’ve got to admit that it’s pretty weird to hand somebody a memoir about rape and say, “Here read this.” But there it is, that’s my real story and I own it. Maybe it helps somebody. Sh@t happens all the time, everywhere, and still, there are choices we get to make, choices that matter.

I could tell more stories from the road. They are the blessings of slow travel! The memories fill my heart, like a good meal.

Having safely returned to the theme of meals — I wish you all a wonderful and festive holiday. Enjoy some good meals!

May some part of this holiday be blessedly slow, and grant you a deep connection wherever you need one. Joy and Peace to you.