In praise of road trips for family vacations

When I’m flying somewhere, I’m a disciplined packer: Everything gets rolled up and stuffed into ziplock plastic bags to fit into the roller bag. I never take more than I can carry while running to make a connecting flight. I’ll jettison a cute dress and extend my wardrobe with a colorful scarf.

Road trips are a different matter. Anything and everything seems like a good idea to take along. Scooters — why not? Don’t forget the kite, or the beach umbrella, the beach toys and pool toys. While we’re at it, why don’t we throw in random bags of snacks, any nonperishables we turn up while pawing through the cupboards as we blow past our departure time by 10 minutes ... and then a half hour?

I suspect that I’m not alone in my intemperance when it comes to road trips, judging by the messy heaps visible through the rear and backseat windows in other cars.

For a recent weekend getaway in Humboldt County, I asked Didi and Gege to help pack. They each piled their suitcase with three of their favorite stuffed animals — six total — as well as large hardback books.

In our first hour or so of our road trips, we usually hold off from iPads, audiobooks and podcasts and instead talk about our destination. This time, though, we pretended we were flying an airplane.

“After we reach cruising altitude, you’ll be able to take out your electronics,” my husband said.

“This is the copilot,” I said. “If you’ll look out the left window, you’ll see the bay.”

“This is copilot II. We are driving under a bridge and then another bridge and then you’ll see some buildings on your right,” Didi said.

“This is copilot III,” Gege said. (Crowded cockpit!) “If you like bridges, you’re going to like being on this bridge.”

“As you can see, we are headed ... where are we headed?” Didi asked.

“North,” we told him. “The farther north you go, the later the sunsets,” I added.

The boys fell silent, mulling over this fact.

By that afternoon, in the Avenue of the Giants, we drove through a redwood tree, replicating a maneuver my family made decades ago. We clambered across a massive log that had fallen across a stream, its girth and its height and age stunning.

According to a telephone survey conducted by AAA, nearly 100 million Americans will take a family vacation this year, with about half planning road trips. I love coming and going as we please, our itineraries loose and capacious enough to allow for detours.

The next morning, my husband went shopping at the closest market open at that hour, to rustle up breakfast. It was a natural foods coop, the kind with the healthy knockoff versions of the sugar cereals that the boys are only allowed to indulge in on vacation.

“This is the local version of Froot Loops,” I said. “A ... special version.” Alas, they can read. “Sweetened toasted cereal made with beans” and “Made with BEANS!” the box proudly, redundantly proclaimed on the front.

Trying to hide the message, I flipped the box around, but on the back, its legumes were an even bigger selling point. In photos, wooden spoons brimmed with navy beans, lentils and garbanzos, beneath the headline, “Beans for Breakfast!”

My husband nibbled one. “Tastes like Froot Loops to me.”

“Can we get Froot Loops when we go back to America?” Gege asked.

We were in America, we explained, even if Eureka’s bohemian environs weren’t like the suburbs to which they are accustomed.

Later that morning, we set off for Fern Canyon in Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park, which has a haunting beauty, a place where you can imagine dinosaurs roaming. Water seeped and dripped from the canyon walls, thick with fivefingered ferns, dark green sword ferns and delicate lady ferns.

Nearby, we searched for Roosevelt elk, though I warned the boys that we had to keep our distance. Caution signs around the park signs depict an adult elk rearing up to protect its fawn, while a person cowers.

The elk weren’t in the first spot we tried, so we headed toward the visitor center, where we found them grazing at the edge of a field. After getting out of the car, I realized that Gege clutched a plastic baseball bat and Didi wielded a stick. In case they attack, they said. “They won’t if you leave them alone,” I said.

Even hundreds of yards away, behind a wooden fence, the elk were a marvel to behold. We didn’t linger, though, not with miles to go see, miles to go before our sleep.

I love coming and going as we please, our itineraries loose enough to allow for detours.