The Reality: From Revolutionary Roads to Questionable Restrooms

The adventure began with the classic transatlantic flight to Boston. Spirits were high, despite the time zone confusion and a plane breakfast that could double as packing foam. Boston welcomed us with cobblestone streets, revolutionary charm — and traffic that gave new meaning to the word “gridlock.”

After 36 hours of tea at Quincy Market, a Paul Revere walking tour where we lost interest exactly three lanterns in, and a parking ticket that appeared before the engine was even off, we escaped the city and headed for Cape Cod.

Cape Cod was supposed to be the relaxing chapter. Beaches, lighthouses, fresh lobster. Instead, it became an impromptu lesson in how not to reverse parallel park on a hill, and how long a car battery lasts when you accidentally leave the headlights on while hiking a dune trail. (Answer: not very long.)

From there, we headed inland toward Lake Champlain for a scenic boat tour. The lake was stunning, the captain enthusiastic, and the wind so aggressive it blew off dad’s cap—and with it, most of his good mood. A nearby seagull seemed to enjoy the spectacle.

Lake Placid brought mountain air and Olympic nostalgia. Unfortunately, our motel room brought a heating unit with the soothing nighttime soundtrack of a jackhammer. One of us tried the ski jump simulator. It did not end well.

Buffalo greeted us with Buffalo wings and the majestic Niagara Falls — truly awe-inspiring. Though less so when seen from a plastic poncho while trying not to drop your phone in the mist. We nearly lost a shoe. We definitely lost a sense of direction.

Next stop: Pittsburgh. Or as we now call it, “that place with the bridge detour that added two hours to our drive.” Still, great sandwiches.

Washington, D.C. offered culture and class — until we attempted the Museum Marathon. One Smithsonian after another until we reached the Air and Space Museum, where exhaustion hit and someone may have briefly napped under a replica of the Apollo 11 lander. The Library of Congress was magnificent, though one family member loudly asked if books are "still a thing."

The journey continued through Philadelphia, home of the Liberty Bell and the best soft pretzel we’ve ever eaten (though we might have been delirious at that point). Finally, New York City. Skyscrapers. Parks. Endless walking. Subway confusion. Pizza at midnight. A broken umbrella. Times Square at 2 a.m. It was magical and maddening in equal parts.

We ended the journey where we started: in an airport, this time with heavier bags, lighter wallets, and approximately 1,200 photos of buildings, sandwiches, and blurry road signs.

It wasn’t perfect. It was exhausting. But it was unforgettable.

America: vast, varied, and only occasionally navigable.