Like all families who choose to test the strength of their relationship
in this manner, we always faced the classic "stuff" problem: where do we
put all our stuff? Sue always displayed an incredible knowledge of
spatial relationships and quantum physics as she packed our Aerostar
with sleeping bags, tent, ice chest, lantern, camp stove, luggage,
cookware, toiletries, junk food, and, space permitting, dependents.
It was the kids, Ben and Sam, in their formative years, that presented
an ever-increasing problem from year to year. In spite of my efforts to
encourage their use of tobacco, caffeine, and other growth-stunting
substances, they continued to get progressively larger.
While planning for this particular trip, we knew we had finally
surpassed the maximum cargo-to-passenger ratio. There was no way
we were going to load in our supplies without having the two boys stick
soda straws out the windows for air. It was time to adopt an
Alternate Storage Strategy, a plan whose acronym I should have
considered more carefully.
As soon as we accepted the fact that a portion of our cargo would have
to go someplace other than the inside of our vehicle, the solution
seemed obvious. But after examining the cost, we abandoned the
idea of FedExing our supplies to each successive campsite.
Instead, we went to Plan B: rooftop storage.
At first I was discouraged. Although there was plenty of room on
the rooftop luggage rack for the the kids, it was nearly impossible to
keep them still long enough to strap them down. My neighbor,
seeing my difficulty, suggested I forego the straps, but I pointed out
that only the most irresponsible of parents would let their children
ride up top without some sort of safety restraints. That's when he
pointed out that some of the less-progressive states might restrict
children to the inside of a moving vehicle. I thought I was
defeated until Sue came outside and, after regaining consciousness,
suggested the next-best scenario: putting our supplies up top.
I thought it would be easy; just throw the tent, sleeping bags, and
luggage up on the rack and secure them with bungee cords (I have a vast
arsenal of bungee cords and I'm not afraid to use them). However,
as I began to do precisely that, Sue was prompted to share with me, for
the first time in two decades of marriage, that she harbors an
unreasoning fear deep down in her bosom. Clinically, it is known
as Bloomers Visibility Denial Syndrome (BVDS)... a profound fear of
exposing one's laundry to the elements. This condition has spawned
an entire automatic dryer industry, which continues to profit from the
misery of BVDS sufferers.
To Sue, it was unthinkable to strap our unprotected luggage on top of
our van. The risk, no matter how unlikely, of an insidious air
current unfastening our bags and distributing her undergarments along
the interstate and against strange windshields...well, "cold sweat"
doesn't begin to describe her reaction to the possibility.
I had tossed the boys back onto the luggage rack before she made it
clear that the alternative she had in mind was a rooftop carrier.
All material copyright 2009 Chuck Thornton