“The Loud Ones Don’t Stink” – and other lies from the road

*** While currently my wife is my primary travel partner she obligated me to mention that not all of these circumstances are in reference to her, and this article draws from a long history of road trips both with and without her in tow.***

Spending days to weeks on end, three feet away from someone, while sealed into a small metal box with wheels, in any other situation would be a recipe for disaster.  Without the trappings of a kick-ass road trip, surely there would be catastrophic outcomes.  National Parks would be riddled with road rage and roadsides lined by flannel clad bodies found with granola bars tucked inside of skinny jean pockets and a single Danner boot dangling off of a foot by its tattered red lace.  Definitely killing the stoke.

Even with the perfect travel partner there will be trying times for sure.  One, two, or nine thousand miles will wear on anyone.  Well-seasoned travelers understand how the road manages to magnify eccentricities and illuminate even the most well hidden peculiarities of a travel partner.

Well intentioned travel buddies will try to combat this stoke stealing phenomenon, at least initially, by downplaying or even fabricating false truths to smooth over uncomfortable situations. While some of these lies are harmless and most likely encouraged – “Your B.O. isn’t that bad” –  others can be more disdainful.

“I like ALL kinds of music!”

For the audiophiles out there like myself this is music to your ears.  I spend hours curating the perfect road tripping playlist.  Accounting for the season, goals of the trip, and terrain crossed. Each song is carefully selected and, likely when a bit over-hyped for the trip, placed in perfect order.  A sonic representation of the hope and expectations for the unknown adventures ahead.

The perfect playlist gets your head bobbing as you speed down the long asphalt ribbon, accelerating the passage of time. Converting hours and days into moments memories.  Germinating a hybrid vibe of peaceful reverence and sheer expectant excitement for what lies over the next bluff.

All of this comes to a screeching halt with a flick of a finger.  NEXT!

“Woah, really?! That was the Broken Bells man!” “Sorry, I just didn’t like that one.” You tell yourself – Okay, okay.  Its only one song.  Get over yourself and just go with the flow. 

Three songs later…Daylight comes on and SKIP! “Dude, are you serious?  Thats like the perfect song!” “Yeah, I just wasn’t feeling it. I like just about anything else though.” Doubtful.  Lets see how he handles this next set of songs though.  Everyone likes some good folksy singer-songwriter tunes when cruising through the mountains.

NEXT, NEXT, NEXT. “Holy $#!+, thats Gregory Alan Isakov! He is hands down the best lyricist of our generation!  Are you deaf?!  Oh, and he’s a Colorado guy making him even more perfect for this drive!”  “I don’t know what to tell you man.  That sucked.  Im not really a lyrics guy though.” “Alright.  Fine.  Lets put on some of your stuff.” This cant be that bad.  After all everything else is going so well, Im sure his taste isn’t that bad.  

What proceeds is a sequence of Keane and Cake, with some OK GO and Something Corporate mixed in.

“Oh Dear Lord!” How bad would it hurt if I jumped out at this speed?

“Im not tired at all!”

In the spring of 2011, four of us hopped into two small cars and headed west from Lexington, KY en route to Durango, CO to ride in the Ironhorse Bicycle Classic, a 50 mile road bike ride cresting two mountain passes along the way.  The plan was simple.  Bust our butts out there.  Ride 50 miles at altitude the next day, then explore the San Juan mountains for a few days before meandering back east.  We would split ways in Colorado Springs, as one car headed up to Denver and the other back to Lexington.

Surprisingly the outbound trip went shockingly smooth (even with an 8 week old Rhodesian Ridgeback puking in the front seat.  Long story). Things got interesting on the return leg however.

We parted ways after loading up on the amazing burritos and margaritas at The Loop in Manitou Springs, CO (If you have not been there it is a must!). Having some foresight I opted to only eat half of my ridiculously huge burrito and save the rest for the 17.5 hr car ride home that I was about to undertake with my buddy Dustin.  Snagging some gas on the way out of town we also decided to pick up some snacks fortified with plenty of processed sugars and caffeine.

As with most red-eye drive-through-the-night plans, we set up a simple 4 hour shift system with promises to wake the other person up if either driver became unsafe.  I took the first shift.

Overall I felt pretty good, but with the increasingly flat terrain a deeper sort of tired began to creep in.  Apparently the whirlwind tour of the southwest with its dry heat and thin air had taken a greater toll than I accounted for.  Thank goodness my shift was over shortly after crossing the Kansas boarder and Dustin took the wheel having snoozed a good three and a half hours.

Topping off with gas he backed out of the station, and as I positioned my pillow perfectly between the headrest and passenger side window I asked, “You feeling alright man?” “Oh yeah! I’m not tired at all,” he chirped.  Chipper as always.  Reassured, I glanced at the clock, 10:27p.m. and drifted into dreamland.

“Dude Im dying here!  You gotta take over!” – I snap awake.

“What?  You ok man?”  “Yeah, just super tired.  I did everything I could to stay awake.”  Noting the cool air blasting in the drivers side window, 2 empty Mountain Dew bottles, and an empty bag of Fritos stashed in the console I reply, “No worries Dustin.  Im feeling pretty good.  Lets switch out at this next exit.”  “Okay.  Thanks man.  Im really sorry.”  “Dustin, don’t be sorry bud.  Im just glad you woke me up.”  “No.  I didn’t mean that.  Look in the back.” Not knowing what to expect I peered into the back seat to find he had eaten BOTH of our leftovers from The Loop in his attempts to stay awake.

-For those of you counting that is 2 Sodas, 1 full bag of Fritos, and the equivalent of 1 enormous and delicious burrito-

Veering off the next intersection we quickly swap sides and I buckle in for another 4 hour shift.  Taking a swig of some coffee flavored energy drink I slowly creep back onto the highway, glancing at the clock as I merge: 12:22 a.m.

“The loud ones don’t stink!”

Brraaapp! – Both front seats vibrate.

Farts are funny until they aren’t.

250mi is the cut off for me.  Nose-hair-stinging stenches, in the initial four hours of a long venture out on the road, can be met with tolerance and possibly even giggles given the right tone to vibration ratio.  Past that point we begin to have problems.

Brraaapp! “Serious?!? Again?” You shriek, exasperated. “What?” they giggle, “The loud ones don’t stink.”

Cautionary measures are taken, windows rolled down and you scoot another inch or two away from center, hoping the extra air space will diffuse whatever poison is floating your way.

Sniff, Sniff. – Nothing – Hmm, maybe they are right?  You begin questioning everything you learned in middle school gym class and from your crazy Uncle Ralph.  A few miles down the road it happens again.  More giggles, more prophylaxis, no stink.

I cant believe this!  How could I have gone 28 years and have never figured this out?  You begin to soften the disgusted snarl plastered on your face and begin to find the humor in your companions colonic complications.

Miles go by and the road winds up hill towards pristine powdered peaks of a high mountain pass.  The temperature steadily drops into subfreezing.

Brraaapp! – Giggles, no rolling down of windows.

Sniff, Sniff – “Ugh, pull over I think Im going to vomit!  That was so rank!”

Call for comments: Have any funny road stories?  Share below!

Written by: Stephen Stockhausen