For every American, an epic road trip is a citizenship requirement

The amazing Vermilion Cliffs of Arizona. At 70 mph from the highway. Shot with an iPhone.

The quintessential American experience is the epic road trip. It's as simple as the fact that we are Americans. So we go places and do things, often on an epic scale. I would suggest that you are un-American if you don't. The epic road trip is in our blood. Our collective American DNA is that we are a nation of explorers. The New World. Jamestown. John Smith. The Mayflower. Lewis & Clark. The Oregon Trail. Apollo 11. (Going to the moon constitutes a most epic road trip. It would be hard to top that one.)

The epic road trip is a distinctly American rite of passage. It is a continuation of the historical narrative that establishes us as a people of varying backgrounds but who singularly refuse to be hemmed in by lines on a map, or distance, or barriers -- be they mountains, valleys, oceans, rivers, deserts or thin air, including the really, really thin air and rather expansive and even foreboding distances of outer space.

We all are descended from people who arrived here from somewhere else. Our ancestors were explorers and fortune hunters. They were the restless, the visionaries, the determined and the undaunted. If they determined a better life was to be found elsewhere, whether it was across an ocean, or a continent, or simply somewhere else, why they packed up and went.

I like to pack up and went. I always have, from the time I was a little shaver and summers and Christmas vacation were typically reserved for road trips. In the grand scheme of things, my roots are traced back to people of European stock who at some point packed up and went on a road trip -- ocean trip? -- to America. I have no desire as they did to leave the homeland. Rather, I long to see the homeland. As much of it as I can.

What triggered all this musing about the great American experience of the epic road trip is a song. I happened upon it the other day and a memory flooded back in my mind of one of the many epic road trips I have had the privilege of taking. The song is by U2, titled "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For." It was released in 1987, the year I graduated from Bend High School.

The summer following my graduation, my good friend, Chris Hamilton, asked if I'd take a little road trip with him. Chris was a talented bicyclist and my memory is that he was going to compete in a bike race in Mammoth Lakes, Calif. I think it was late June, maybe early July, when we road tripped in epic fashion. Chris, our mutual friend Dean Dilday, another bicyclist who was a couple or few years younger than us, and I set out from Bend, Ore., to  drive 570 miles or so to Mammoth Lakes. I believe we were driving Chris' Toyota pickup that had a canopy on it. Now mind you, this is approaching 30 years ago so I may be fuzzy on a few things. But not everything.

We listened to a lot of U2 on that trip. The Joshua Tree, which I still consider the quintessential U2 album, was released that year and by the time the summer rolled around I had the songs memorized. Those songs are indelibly impressed in my mind. As is the road trip.

One thing I'll never forget is stepping out the door for my first run in Mammoth Lakes. At the time I was a couple of months away from heading to the University of Portland on a track scholarship. In Bend, I trained at an altitude approaching 4,000 feet, where the thin air deprived my lungs of oxygen but helped give me a competitive advantage when I raced at lower altitudes. I was fast and fit. Or so I thought.

I was wholly unprepared for what I was to encounter in Mammoth Lakes. Sitting near 8,000 feet of elevation where the air is so thin that simply getting out of bed gets you winded, when I was on that inaugural run I sincerely believed my lungs had somehow caught fire. Surely I was self-combusting, which meant death by oxygen-deprivation was imminent. Yet I somehow cheated death that day, probably because I slowed way down. But the epicness of any American road trip is directly proportional to how close you came to some sort of permanent and premature demise. The fact that I nearly died of oxygen deprivation on a mountain in California that sits not all that far from Death Valley counts for max points in the epic road trip scoring chart.

Yet there are two things from that road trip that I am forever grateful to have experienced. A premature death due to oxygen deprivation not being one of them. They both occurred on the trip home. We left Mammoth Lakes after the racing and bolted for Bend. Somewhere along the way, whether it was still in northeastern California or southeastern Oregon I can't recall, we stopped at a turnout or rest area amid the sagebrush and occasional juniper tree of the American West's Great Basin. It's a place that I like to say is a chlorophyll-free zone, emptied of most anything of a green, leafy nature and populated by the muted tones of plants and trees that have mastered the art of surviving in forbidding climates where water is often merely a mirage.

Exhausted, we bedded down for the night in the cool, open air. Above us, unfolding across the unfettered horizon, was the Milky Way in all of its astounding glory. The stars at home in their extraterrestrial glory spilled across the inky sky, lighting it up. I have never forgotten the glory of it all.

The second thing I have not forgotten occurred the next day. As we made a beeline for home across the emptied out landscape, we made a spur of the moment decision. The "spur of the moment decision" is an absolute requirement of any epic road trip. An epic road trip that lacks the suspended judgment and inadvisability of a "spur of the moment decision" is simply a road trip. It's just going from Point A to Point B. There's nothing too epic about that.

We stopped at Fort Rock, an extraordinary natural feature that juts 200 feet above the barren, foreboding Oregon High Desert. It's like a mirage, an ancient fort with rocky palisades stretching high above landscape. It was well out of our way, but well worth the stop. We killed an afternoon there, three teenage boys who, for at least this one time, were wise beyond their years. We climbed over the rocky walls -- Dean pretty much won the climbing competition as he shinnied up the walls -- and gawked at the views. It is a place very few have seen and experienced, which makes it all the better. On the epic road trip point scale, we scored a big, fat cha-ching. Link: Fort Rock

As the memories of my epic summer of 1987 road trip flooded back to me, spurred by the chords and lyrics of that iconic U2 anthem, I thought how fitting it all remains. I haven't found everything. I haven't seen everything. I'm not done making epic road trips. I'm an American after all.

My 4-year-old had my iPhone for 5 minutes. This is what happened.

First shot pulling out of the county offices parking lot. Everything is in focus!

On Saturday I had a rendezvous in the Gloucester County Parks & Rec offices to pick up my team roster of the 9-11 year olds I will be coaching this season. I took Judah (age 4) and Seth (age 3) with me since it looks like they will be my assistant coaches this spring. I think I will have them do some scouting and put them in charge of snacks. (Goldfish for everyone!)

Somehow after I had strapped them into their car seats in our stylishly luxurious 15-passenger van, my iPhone got in the hands of Judah. His seat is on the driver's side, right behind me. Right behind Judah in the next bench is Seth. They can't see each other but they can definitely hear each other and I will hear them comparing notes of what they see in the great big world flying by.

Judah (as we're passing houses): "Hey Seth, do you see that house?"
Seth: "I see it Judah!"
Judah: "Hey Seth, I see the moon! It's following us!"
Seth: "Where Judah? I don't see it."
Judah (pointing out the window): "It's up there!"
Seth: "I see it Judah!"

An inspection of my phone after retrieving it from him in the Walmart parking lot revealed that Judah is a very accomplished photographer. In terms of volume at least. In the course of five minutes he fired off 84 photos.

I think this is a shot on panorama mode that he kind of got artsy with. Shows Judah's creativity!

Basically our whole trip was documented by Judah. From leaving the parking lot to our arrival at Walmart we had a photographic journey. It was really cool to relive the whole journey. I'm guessing it was around three miles and now I know exactly how things look from the car seat right behind me. And now you do too!

Judah really captured the atmosphere of me driving. My razor sharp focus, my concentration, my attention to every driving detail...

After reviewing the photos, it made me wonder what goes through a 4-year-old's mind when the iPhone comes into his possession. What made Judah decide he wanted to go crazy with photos? Was he just bored? Was he exercising some creative juices? Does he aspire to be an Ansel Adams with an iPhone? Whatever it may be I definitely think the kid's got talent, though I may be biased. Of course, if you take 84 digital photographs in five minutes I sure hope at least a few of them are decent.

Capturing the essence of Seth. While pointing the camera behind him and shooting `blind.' Impressive, if you ask me.

Judah caught all the little details of our trip. His own feet. His little brother sitting behind him. His dad driving expertly with great skill and ability in front of him. The passing landscape. Even the most dangerous part of the journey -- the dreaded "Walmart roundabout" where dozens, perhaps tens of thousands, of motorists daily remain utterly baffled, confused and otherwise totally bumfuzzled by its elaborately mysterious and arcane rules. (Yield to the traffic in the roundabout, in case you are wondering about all those `elaborately mysterious and arcane rules' ... )

The obligatory shot of feet that you see people post on Instagram when they are traveling. Judah may just be going to Walmart, but quite obviously this is Instagram worthy material.

As I reviewed the photos, I was able to relive every single moment our journey. It was, um, captivating. It made me think that all the little things in life we miss. Or could miss. Unless we arm our 4-year-olds with smartphones and let them fire away in photo mode. I mean, I totally never get to see his feet pressed up against my seat. Sure I feel them, but I never actually get to witness it. Until now. I saw the four photos of his feet pressed up against my seat and exclaimed, "That's what it looks like!"

Buckle up! We're heading into the "Walmart roundabout" ... we're living dangerously!

As I surveyed the sheer volume of photos and how aggressively Judah fired away with that digital camera at his disposal, I thought two things:
1) I'm going to have to get a bag of ice at Walmart for his finger so he can ice it down.
and
2) I'm really, really glad he didn't have my iPhone in his crafty little hands on our trip to Oregon because at the pace he shot on our trip to Walmart that would have been 250,000 photos. Not good.

The final shot in the Walmart parking lot: #84

What I Learned Traveling The Roads In Africa

There's an opening. Do you see it?

Inside our little red four-door Toyota, it felt like either an unwanted trip to the sauna or what life is like for the Thanksgiving turkey inside the oven. I couldn't be sure which was the more precise analogy. Either way, I was getting baked to a crisp. Relief was not in sight.

I was with another missionary and a lovely Nigerian educator who was supposed to be taking us to a boarding school for children of Christian pastors and missionaries, many of whom have been left orphaned by Boko Haram terrorists. We were in Jos, Nigeria, a hot, smoky, dusty city teeming with an amazing collection of people, all manner of motorized vehicles, soldiers armed with AK-47s and a wide variety of animals both alive and slaughtered. It was mid-afternoon and we were ensnared in your run of the mill Jos traffic jam. Think NASCAR meets a demolition derby meets Los Angeles freeway parking lot at rush hour and that's about what it's like. 

I was riding in the back seat, trying to remember how much life insurance I had and whether I would perish first of dehydration or in a car wreck. It seemed either scenario was inevitable. My traveling partner was a savvy American missionary who had spent 15 years living among Muslim Bedouins in Niger and was well-acquainted with the inherent dangers of African dangers. I had the distinct impression he was enjoying this because he kept looking back and smiling at me and making small talk about survival tactics on African roads.

We survived that trip to the boarding school and when we arrived I may or may not have kissed the ground upon exiting the car. But that trip and others I took on my journeys across the highways and byways of Nigeria taught me a few important things. 

1) Focus on the things in front of you. My missionary friend shared this with me after asking if I knew the one thing that mattered when driving in Africa. You see, there is chaos all around you on the roads in Africa and it's easy to get distracted by all the crazy things. There's cars, trucks, buses, three-wheeled taxis, motorbikes -- all with horns blaring and all crammed full of humans and cargo -- and people, animals and obstacles like vehicle-swallowing potholes or assault rifle-toting soldiers at checkpoints.

It would be easy to get lost in the mayhem. It can be overwhelming and fearful thinking of everything that could go wrong on the road. But your main concern is always moving forward -- sometimes inch by inch, sometimes at great speed --  eyes with a laser focus on what's in front of you. Distractions can be costly. Same for indecision. Decisiveness and aggressiveness are rewarded. So is fearlessness, for that matter.

So what is the Lord calling you to do that's in front of you? What leap of faith? The world needs followers of Jesus whose desire is to fulfill the Great Commission. That plays out in our families by modeling a faith to our kids that's centered around a love of Jesus, with hearts of grace, mercy and compassion and a firm commitment to please God with our lives. It plays out in hearts to reach the lost, comfort the afflicted and share our faith. "Most assuredly, I say to you, he who believes in Me, the works that I do he will do also; and greater works than these he will do, because I go to My Father." (John 14:12 NKJV)

2) It's a race for the space. The faint of heart are left behind, literally, on the roads in Africa. There's no room for the tentative and hesitant. As you're focused on what's right in front of you, you will see periodically among the jam of traffic a glimmer of light. It's an opening. The first to that tiny crack in the circus of vehicles wins. It's that simple.

Every day there's a race for the space in our hearts. The world or Jesus? I contend that this race starts first thing in the morning when we make the choice to either get in the Word or find another way to spend our time. Commitment to Jesus starts early in the day continues all day. Our focus should be continually on Him. It's the life Jesus modeled: "Now in the morning, having risen a long while before daylight, He went out and departed to a solitary place; and there He prayed." (Mark 1:35 NKJV)

3) Know you're going to have to improvise and adapt on the fly. On one trip across hundreds of miles of Africa we had to plan our trip to avoid Muslims leaving Friday afternoon prayers because there's a heightened danger of being an American traveling through certain areas. Even then, however, you never know what could go wrong or what you might face. The occasional goat streaking across the "highway" or maybe a herd of oncoming bulls. Seriously. 

As near as I can tell, there are no rules, or guidelines or even suggestions about driving protocol in Africa, other than generally keep to the right. Speed, lane usage, when to pass, the use of turn signals, driving a car in general operable condition that's safe for the roads, the number of suitable passengers -- human and animal -- cargo limits and other vehicular type rules are all highly subjective. Since that's the case, just know that something will go wrong on your trip and then deal with it.

On one trip I was with some men who actually made a repair on the fly with a shoelace and wire until we could get the vehicle to a suitable "garage." When we got stuck behind dozens of parading Muslim horsemen in the town of Bauchi that created a horrific traffic jam it meant our tight traveling schedule got thrown out the window and we would soon be driving the last leg of our journey at night. Let me just say that you don't want to drive at night in Nigeria. It is tempting misfortune at the highest level. We made the best of it however, and overcame potential disaster. And lived to write about it.

There are plenty of things that are going to "go wrong" in our lives. There are things that are going to require improvisation and adaptation. But here's the deal. Either we believe God is in control and there's a purpose in the things he's taking us through or we don't. It's that simple. "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and of good courage; do not be afraid, nor be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go." (Joshua 1:9 NKJV)

One other thing. It's a funny thing, too, as I think back about careening around Nigeria and the adventures and travails I experienced on the roads. It's like nothing else I've experienced. I miss it.

Our Secret To Driving Long Distances With Kids

These kids are stoked to drive 400 miles without stopping

On Saturday morning, Team Sabo featuring a 9-kid lineup piled into our Chevy Express 15-passenger van, minus the back bench seat for additional cargo space, and left Myrtle Beach, S.C. After 400 miles of driving we arrived home here in the sprawling metropolis of Gloucester Point/Hayes/Wicomico in just under 6 hours. We did not stop once.

I posted this trip recap as a status on Facebook and sensed some doubts among some folks. I sensed some people were asking things or responding along the lines of:
--Was he actually serious?
--Did he really drive that far without stopping?
--Did he really have a van full of 9 kids? Or were they photoshopped in?
--What kind of drugs did he use on those kids? Where can I get those for my kids?
--Were they all wearing diapers, including him?

Yes, it's true. Um, not about the diapers part, though. Only Seth, age 2, was reppin the Huggies. What is true is that we had nine kids in the van between the ages of 2 and 16 and drove 400 miles in six hours without stopping. No potty breaks, no stops for fast food, no accidents, no relieving oneself via artificial means such as peeing into an empty milk jug or other device.

So what's our secret? Well, let me ask you something if you are a parent of children and every car trip threatens to leave you, your children and your spouse mentally unhinged and the inside of your car looking like a cross between the scene of a food fight and the gnarly insides of a restaurant dumpster.
How much are you willing to pay for this secret? Because for just $14.99 we have a limited-time offer through Amazon.com where you can get my New York Times-bestselling book, "We Drove Across The U.S. Four Times With 10 Kids -- And Survived." Plus, for just $10.99 more you can get our bestselling DVD called "Driving With Kids 101" with live footage and handy action sequence tips that is a must-have for every parent. Act now and we will throw in for free our special limited edition of "Sabo Silly Songs" CD that makes the miles pass effortlessly.

Just kidding. No book, no DVD, no silly songs. Sorry to disappoint you because I know you had that wallet out and were on Amazon.com frantically searching. In fact, to be completely, totally and perfectly honest with you, we have no secret. I asked MerriGrace, our 16-year-old featured prominently in the photo above about our "secret" to van traveling with kids. She was pretty much stumped and said that basically when she gets in the van she gets calm because it's something we've always done. We've always driven long distances and it's just something they're used to. Yes, she said when she gets in the van she gets calm. That's your experience with your kids, right?

Now don't get me wrong. Portable DVD players have been a game changer. Showing "Frozen" at 77 miles per hour down a North Carolina freeway has some sort of soothing, or maybe embalming, effect on the nature of our wee lads and lasses. Our "Frozen" DVD actually broke just before we left for South Carolina and we made an emergency pit stop at a Wal-Mart on some South Carolina highway to get a new one to take the edge off of our 2-year-old's traveling angst. Or else we were all going to die because he was so out of sorts. Seriously.

We packed coolers and I believe Julie made sandwiches for a stretch of around 23 miles. We disposed of one box of Cheez-Its, a package of cookies, six bananas, a bag or two of Sour Patch Kids (affectionately called "Sour Cratch Kids" by our youngest verbalists), a couple of apples and assorted other edible items. We watched "Frozen" twice and our family has the unique ability of being to quote the movie verbatim from beginning to end. I'm not sure if that's a good thing.

Here's the big thing, though. The one thing that made a difference between us stopping or not.

I had no pop. Or soda. Or Coke, Pepsi, soda pop, whatever you call it.

I confess. The reason we usually stop is because Dad has to go. I'm the weak link in the bunch. On this trip I manned up though.

My next goal is 500 miles without stopping.

My Nigerian Experience

Things I won’t miss about Nigeria:

--Hearing the muezzin or whatever he was blaring from a nearby mosque in the pre-dawn hours. I can deal with the roosters, the car horns and anything else of a noise variety. That one alarms me, though, and the first time I heard it I thought a terrorist attack was imminent;

--Rice. Whether it’s white, or jollof, with red sauce, with beans, or in some other form, I’m ready to explore other culinary dishes;

--Driving. As near as I can tell, there are no rules to driving in Nigeria. Nor are there even guidelines, let alone suggestions. I don’t know what it takes to get a traffic ticket here, but let’s just say road cops in the USA with a monthly quota of traffic tickets to fill could get ‘er done in about an hour here. I’ve been on divided highways with a raised median and if traffic is stopped in one direction, why they just hop the curb and start driving against traffic in the oncoming lanes. Right by cops. Why is this okay? And passing is always an option, even going uphill, past a tractor-trailer on a blind corner. I feel like I cheated death on the roads for two weeks;

--Showers. Picture a faucet, a small bucket and cold water. You’re feeling my pain. Like any spoiled American, I like my showers long and hot. The struggle is real, man;

--Electricity that constantly fluctuates. It’s worse than being in a relationship with Taylor Swift – the power is on again, off again. On again, off again. On, off. It makes it really hard to recharge my cell phone. Oh, the horror of it!

--Vivid dreams. I suspect it’s the anti-malarial meds I’m taking, but man have I had some vivid dreams. They’re the kinds often that make you wake up with a start and you can’t get back to sleep … then the muezzin fires up. Last night I had a dream I inherited some very valuable books in a very finely crafted wood bureau and had to get them from New York to Boston without anyone knowing it or else something really bad was going to happen to my family.  Oops … now everyone knows it;

Things I will miss in Nigeria:

--The weather. Hot, dry days in the 80s and cool nights in the 50s. It’s like summer in Central Oregon. Perfect;

--An Arabic shawarma from Jam’s, a little hole-in-the-wall eatery over by one of the other missionary compounds. Chicken, garlic, pickles, salad and a couple of other things wrapped inside a tortilla-like thing. Oh, the joys of a Jam’s shawarma!

--The sights. Every day you see something that blows your mind. Take, for example, the cargo on a motorbike, to include masses of humanity, livestock, goods such as firewood, or all of the above. Just when you thought it was not humanly possible to pack more onto a motorbike, you see more;

--The people. So friendly. I made many friends here and made them quite easily. One of the things that tickles me is how often they say, “Welcome, sir.” I’ll meet someone and greet them and they’ll reply, “Welcome, sir. Thank you, sir. Welcome, sir.”

--The children. Universally polite and friendly, if not somewhat surprised and curious at times to see a white guy. I will never forget the look on the kids’ faces when I took their photo and turned the camera around and showed them the digital copy. Priceless. I believe for many of them it was the first time they had seen their own picture. Their faces were a thousand words;

--The faith of my fellow Christians. You can hear it in the prayers. It’s a deep, profound trust and love of God that I imagine comes in part in a place where life is truly fragile. In the course of five days earlier on my trip I was with three people while they received word that someone close to them had died unexpectedly. There are no guarantees here and life is hard, very hard. The one thing you can trust is God’s love and the hope we have in His son, Jesus Christ. I have a great love and admiration for the people I’ve met here. God bless you all. I’ll miss you and look forward to seeing you again.

Driving Through A Traffic Circle Is Easy. Or Not.

You probably didn't know this, but Gloucester is home to one of the great mysteries of the universe. No, it doesn't involve the 17th century grave site of America's original revolutionary, Nathaniel Bacon, which has mysteriously eluded discovery for more than 300 years. Neither does it involve the origins of the native residents of Guinea down in Gloucester's swampy southeastern peninsula, a legend of multiple explanations that includes vague references to descendants of Revolutionary War-era mercenaries hired by the British who stuck around by hiding out in Gloucester after the 1781 surrender at Yorktown. Rather, the great cosmic mystery in Gloucester is something that confounds hundreds, possibly thousands of people each and every day.

It's negotiating the traffic circle, or roundabout ,at the "Wal-Mart intersection."

Say you want to live on the edge and literally gulp down adrenalin by the bucketful. Why, you would be wise to try and traverse the roundabout several times. You would cheat death. You would have to have your car insurance agent on speed dial. You would wonder how something seemingly so simple flummoxes motorists who apparently either can't read a "Yield" sign or just plain don't care.

Let's review the rules and regulations of traffic roundabout etiquette. Surely it must be a manual on the order of "War and Peace." Right? I mean these things are complicated, right?

Um, no. The operative word is "yield." Apparently people don't know what the word means because everybody I know has a "Wal-Mart roundabout" horror story. Or two. Or a million.

One time I was meandering through the roundabout when a young kid in a jacked up pickup barreled in, nearly making my old Volvo four-door sedan a hatchback. I laid on the horn, rather liberally I might add. We were both heading the same way coming out of the roundabout and he stopped in the middle of the road's right-hand lane in front of Chick-fil-A and gestured to me. I pulled up next to him and with the passenger's window down and politely informed him that he was supposed to yield to the vehicle in the roundabout. Which would be me in my Volvo.

He informed me in rather colorful terms that I was supposed to yield to him. I hesitated before replying that the "Yield" sign was directed at the vehicles entering the roundabout, which he clearly was. For example, if you approach an intersection and there is a stop sign that you can clearly read on the side of the road to your right, I'm pretty sure that means you are supposed to stop. It would not be a stop sign for the cross traffic, in other words. In this case, the "Yield" sign is facing traffic approaching the roundabout -- not the traffic in the roundabout -- and is on the right hand side in clear, even plain view. Which motorists should take to mean that they better yield.

Except for the young buck in the pickup who, in even more colorful terms, disagreed with my sign-reading suggestion and thought it would be a good idea for us to pull in the Chick-fil-A parking lot to settle things. Needless to say I proceeded on to Wal-Mart while he simmered in his road rage over a chicken sandwich.

So here's the deal Gloucester drivers and motorists who wander in and have nearly hit me from locales far and wide, such as Maryland or North Carolina: If someone is in the roundabout, they have the right-of-way. It's that simple! As you approach the roundabout, from any direction, slow down, observe the traffic that may be in the roundabout and then proceed into it when you have an opening of appropriate length. Traversing the roundabout shouldn't be the equivalent of a shark circling its prey, because that's how it feels sometimes when you are in the roundabout.

For a glimpse of a street-view of our famed roundabout, here's a link: Roundabout o' death