Road Trip: Are We There Yet?

Some adventures begin with a plan. This one did.

Jo and Max had the route mapped. Wanderlust was packed. There was food, water, supplies, and enough snacks strapped to the roof to survive either a road trip or the collapse of civilization.

Jo looked at Wanderlust. “Everybody ready?”

“Ready!” Rabbit said.

Crow looked at the roof. “Define ready.”

Charlene climbed aboard carrying her cashews. Broom wedged herself into a safe spot. Plate Spinner was still managing several things nobody had asked her to manage. Wolf got in. Monty prepared to document the experience.

Jo pointed toward the seats. “Everybody put your seat belts on.”

Rabbit looked out the window. “Are we there yet?”

Max looked at Jo. Jo looked at Max.

They had not left the driveway.

They finally pulled away from the House of Words. For a while, everything went exactly according to plan.

Which should have made everyone suspicious.

Then Lucy spoke.

“Recalculating.”

Jo glanced at the screen. “Why are you recalculating?”

“Recalculating.”

Max looked at the route. “She could be right this time.”

Crow leaned forward. “Based on what evidence?”

Lucy continued as if Crow had not spoken. “Proceed to the highlighted route.”

Rabbit pointed at the screen. “LUCY LIER!”

“LUCY LIER!” Plate Spinner joined in, and soon everybody was chanting.

“LUCY LIER! LUCY LIER!”

Max turned around. “Lack of information.”

The chanting stopped.

Rabbit blinked. “What?”

“Lack of information. Being wrong doesn’t necessarily mean she’s lying.”

Lucy interrupted. “Recalculating.”

The crew erupted again. “LUCY LIER! LUCY LIER!”

Max gave up.

A few miles later, a weathered sign appeared beside the road.

GAS → NEXT RIGHT

Jo looked at Max. Max looked at Jo. They had planned the trip.

They had not planned this.

Jo turned.

Rabbit leaned forward. “Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“How much longer?”

“We’re getting gas.”

“Is gas there?”

“Yes.”

“So we’re almost there.”

“No.”

Rabbit sat back. “Seems unnecessarily complicated.”

The gas station was small. The parking lot was smaller.

Wanderlust was not.

Jo pulled forward. Then backward. Then forward. Then backward.

Crow flew overhead. “Three feet left!”

Jo turned the wheel.

“Your other left!”

Max looked up. “Do not start.”

Broom’s bristles pressed against the side of the van.

“Max.”

“What?”

“Don’t touch my bristles.”

“I wasn’t touching your bristles.”

“You were bristle-adjacent.”

Forward. Backward. Forward. Backward.

Rabbit looked out the window. “Are we there yet?”

“We’re HERE!” Jo said.

“Is this where we’re going?”

“No.”

Rabbit considered this.

“Then we’re not there yet.”

Crow circled above Wanderlust. “Keep coming! Keep coming!”

Jo stopped.

Crow looked down. “That’s probably good.”

“PROBABLY?”

Eventually Wanderlust escaped the gas station.

Nobody applauded.

Mostly because everybody was still putting themselves back where they belonged.

They returned to the road. The plan had officially changed.

Nobody had died. Nothing had exploded. The snacks were still on the roof.

Jo considered that a successful detour.

Then Rabbit screamed.

“CHICKEN!”

Everybody moved toward Jo’s window at once.

“Chicken?”

“GIANT CHICKEN!”

“Where?”

“MOVE!”

“I can’t see!”

“Your ears are in my face!”

“Those are supposed to be there!”

“Jo!”

“What?”

“LOOK!”

Jo looked. Max looked. Then everybody looked.

Sitting beside the road was an enormous, weathered chicken.

The kind of roadside chicken that could only have been built by someone who had once said:

“You know what this place needs?”

And nobody had stopped them.

There was silence.

Then:

“Pleaaaaase?”

“No.”

“PLEAAAAASE?”

Jo kept driving.

Rabbit pressed both paws together. “Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease?”

Plate Spinner joined in. Broom leaned toward the window. Even Wolf looked interested.

Max looked at Jo. Jo looked at Max.

Jo sighed. “Short break.”

The van erupted.

“YES!”

Jo pulled over.

“Everybody out. Stretch your whatever.”

Nobody asked what that meant.

After lunch, everybody wandered around.

The building was old. The signs were faded. The windows were dusty.

Nobody seemed particularly interested in leaving.

This was supposed to have been a quick stop.

It wasn’t.

And then Monty noticed something.

Inside one of the old windows, attached to a kitchen wall, was a weathered recipe card.

Monty moved closer.

Rabbit appeared beside him. “What is it?”

Monty studied the card. “A recipe.”

Crow landed nearby. “For what?”

Rabbit pressed her face toward the glass.

“CHICKEN!”

Wolf walked over. Plate Spinner followed. Then Charlene. Then Broom.

Within seconds, the entire crew was staring through the window.

Rabbit read the ingredients.

Her eyes widened.

“WAIT.”

Crow leaned closer.

Rabbit turned around.

“They had the recipe FIRST!”

Plate Spinner gasped.

“They could have been rich!”

Charlene forgot about the cashews.

“Somebody stole it!”

Wolf groaned. “We do not know that.”

“But LOOK!”

Max came over.

“What do we actually know?”

Everybody started talking.

“They had the recipe!”

“It was stolen!”

“They invented it!”

“They could have been millionaires!”

“Chicken conspiracy!”

Max held up a hand.

“What do we actually know?”

Silence.

Monty began documenting.

“There’s an old recipe card,” Max said.

Monty recorded it.

“The ingredients look familiar.”

Monty recorded that too.

“Do we know who wrote it?”

“No.”

“When?”

“No.”

“Where the recipe came from?”

“No.”

Rabbit raised one paw.

“But they could have been rich!”

Max nodded.

“They also could have made terrible chicken.”

Wolf looked at him.

“Thank you.”

Monty finished writing.

Rabbit leaned over Monty’s note.

“Still suspicious.”

Max shrugged.

“Suspicious is allowed.”

Monty added one final line.

“It simply isn’t evidence.”

Rabbit stared through the window again.

“Still suspicious.”

Eventually Jo announced they really did have to leave.

There was immediate opposition.

They needed one more thing first.

A group picture.

Jo set the timer.

“Everybody get over there.”

Chaos followed.

“Rabbit, move.”

“I AM moving.”

“Crow, you’re blocking Max.”

“I’m providing composition.”

“Plate Spinner, put the plates down.”

“I have them under control.”

“Charlene, where are the cashews?”

Charlene said nothing.

“Broom, move closer.”

“Don’t touch my bristles.”

“Nobody is touching your bristles!”

Wolf sat down.

Monty attempted to organize everyone.

Jo ran toward the group.

“READY?”

“No!”

“Wait!”

“Where do I look?”

“Rabbit!”

“Crow!”

“Jo!”

“MAX!”

CLICK.

Silence.

Jo looked at the picture.

Max looked over her shoulder.

Nobody was ready.

It was perfect.

Eventually everybody climbed back into Wanderlust.

Seat belts clicked.

The Giant Chicken disappeared behind them.

Lucy returned.

“Proceed to the route.”

The crew stirred.

“LUCY LIER...”

Max didn’t even turn around.

“Lack of information.”

Rabbit looked out the window.

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

A few miles passed.

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

More road.

“Are we there yet?”

“Rabbit.”

“Just checking.”

The sun began dropping behind the trees.

The van grew quieter.

Plate Spinner stopped spinning. Crow tucked his head down. Wolf stretched out. Charlene curled up beside what remained of her cashews. Rabbit’s glasses slipped slightly down her nose. Monty rested nearby. Broom leaned against the side of the van.

Soon there was nothing behind Jo and Max but the gentle bouncing of Wanderlust and the sound of sleeping travelers.

Then, from somewhere behind them:

“Don’t touch my bristles...”

snorrrrrrrre.

Max looked at Jo.

Jo looked at Max.

Neither said anything.

They had planned the route. They had packed the food. They had prepared for the trip.

And then the road changed.

They found a gas station.

Survived a 500-point turn.

Had a picnic.

Found a giant chicken.

Nearly uncovered an international chicken conspiracy.

And took one very bad photograph.

Jo smiled.

New memories.

Rabbit, without opening her eyes:

“Are we there yet?”

END