Once we decided we were doing the trip, I began thinking of the best way to accomplish it. I thought about renting a vehicle, driving it one-way, and then flying home.

The $3,000 rental van price tag – plus airfare home – made that option a deterrent.

Then I figured, well hell, I could take the family van, drive to the west coast and then turn around and drive home after dropping Kirsti off at her friend’s in Ukiah.

After 22 days and 5,000 miles, I was saddle sore and road weary and I’m glad I didn’t pursue that option.

Then it came to me; Tania had been wanting a new vehicle. The van was 12 years old, with still pretty low mileage, but aging for sure. Why don’t I drive it to the west coast, sell it on Craigslist and fly home? Piece of cake, right?

So, now the plan is to drive about three-quarters of the way there and start advertising it on Craigslist. Here is the ad I posted, I think when we were still in Santa Fe:

2006 Toyota Sienna LE – $4700 (Ukiah area)condition: good
Fuel: gas
Title status: clean
Transmission: automatic
Type: mini-van

Mini-van is in great mechanical shape and is being driven across the country with my daughter. It will have about 90,000 miles on it when we arrive. Its flaws include dent/rust spot above driver’s side door (wife tried to tailgate past the mechanical arm at work and lost) minor cosmetic cracking on dash above glovebox and sliding door on passenger side is no longer automatic but opens and closes manually just fine. That’s it. I’ll be arriving in Ukiah area on June 15, flying home 18th. Plan to sell van on day I leave or day before. $4,700 or best offer. There’s a lot of life left in this van! New front tires before we left.

I’m pretty sure my wife didn’t know I threw her under the bus about the mechanical arm incident, but I thought it added to the already kind of crazy attempt to sell this thing more than 3,000 miles from home.

I stressed about it a bit as we drove, and the stress got a little more heightened while driving across Texas when a rock flew up from a  truck in front of us and nailed the driver’s side edge of the windshield where it meets the frame.

I heard it hit and it was loud. But I breathed a sigh of relief to not see a crack.

Then cool rains started falling in the scorching heat and Kirsti said, “Is that a crack in the windshield?”

“No, that’s just water,” I said confidently.

Then she pointed out that the water was essentially moving sideways – umm, like the growing windshield crack that it was.

If you know me, you know that little things like that drive me insane. I fixate. In this case I’m immediately thinking, ‘Great, now it’s worth less!’

I called Tania and learned that we had full glass coverage and began the process with our insurance agent to get it fixed – and that is a bizarre story of its own.

We had made it to Albuquerque by this time, in another Airbnb that Kirsti booked (see moths in the Airbnb chapter…) and the phone call to our agent in Glens Falls was going great. I told him we were in Albuquerque, New Mexico and would be in Santa Fe the next day for two days. We agreed that would be the logical place to get it repaired.

He told me he’d get a representative from the glass company they contract with on the phone to set it up.

The conversation that followed would leave both me and my agent bewildered, and a little pissed to be honest.

The glass representative was informed by my agent that I was driving across country and would be in Santa Fe the next day and could he find a shop to replace the windshield.

After checking on my account information, the man said he could set something up in two or three days – in New York!

It’s like he didn’t listen to anything my agent said.

My agent politely explained again that I was in New Mexico headed to Santa Fe and that’swhere the appointment needed to be made.

“Can he get an appointment for tomorrow,” my agent said.

The glass representative then came back with a comment that riled us both. He essentially made it sound like the request was crazy – because I was in Mexico!

That’s when my agent lost it a bit on the phone, as I was silently becoming even more unglued in an Albuquerque Airbnb.   

“NO HE’S IN NEW MEXICO! IT’S A STATE IN THE UNITED STATES,” he said, his voice rising and far less pleasant at this point after being on the call for probably 15 minutes. The man put us on hold to do whatever checking he needed to do, but I could still talk to my agent – and I had about had it at that point.

“That guy should not be working for you,” I blurted out in frustration.

“He doesn’t actually work for us,” my agent said, probably a little irritated with me at this point too. “They are contracted.”

“Well, he shouldn’t be working for anyone,” I said, in my annoyed, stressed state.

But minutes later, the marathon call was over and I was told I had an appointment the next day – in Santa Fe. The appointment was real, the windshield was put in quickly, and the van was whole again.

On our second day in Santa Fe, we hiked in the nearby mountainous Dale Ball Trails system and I took pictures of the van to post on Craigslist.

The hits came almost immediately, some from the Ukiah area and others from neighboring regions. But Alex, from the Oakland area, was particularly aggressive.

And if he ended up wanting it, I thought, it could be perfect because I could drop it off on the way to the San Francisco airport to head home.

He became my target buyer, and also the one to inform me that in order for him to buy the van, it needs a California “Smog Test.”

I had no idea about any smog test!

I thought New York and California emission standards were the same and therefore I could simply sell it.

But noooo! Smog test needed.

We researched places that do the testing near our El Sobrante Airbnb and Alex was going to meet me there to see the van for the first time and learn whether it passed the smog test.

But before I could watch it be pulled into the bay to be hooked up to the machine, Alex was crawling under it looking for any problems.

And he found one.

A leaky power steering rack boot. I didn’t know it was leaking, but I saw it was. He seemed disappointed and frustrated and was probably wondering whether I knew. I too wasdisappointed! Would this kill the deal? Would I have to start over? Root for me, damn it!

But he kept checking it out, then took it for a spin. When he came back, he seemed more enthused about it. It then went into the bay and passed the old smog test with flying colors.

He was still interested, but said he wanted to check out how much fixing the power steering rack was going to cost and he’d get back to me. I drove back to the Airbnb excited that the smog test was over, but bummed that there was an issue. I started preparing to reach out to other buyers.

He notified me not long after, and said it would cost about $1,000 to fix. He said he’s still interested, but for $3,600 – not the $4,700 I was seeking. He had told me the van was for his wife and that they had a baby. I liked the thought of them having it. Maybe this old van that generated lots of memories for my family, memorialized by my daughter’s college entrance essay, could generate really cool memories for his young family.

Plus, I thought, the stress would be over!

I agreed to $3,600.

Now came the logistics of the transfer. I still needed the van to travel to Ukiah to see Kirsti’s friend Zach, and then drive it back in three days to meet him and somehow get to the airport from Alameda where he lives.

I think it was me who raised the possibility of him driving me to a train station to get to the airport after the transfer, and he agreed, thankfully.

The van stress that I thought was gone after we agreed to the deal wasn’t over, though. My fate and its fate was still in the hands of this man I didn’t know. I had to set the alarm super early, drive in the dark to Alameda, meet this man at his home and hope for the best.

The drive down was uneventful. I pulled in front of his home and he came out. He immediately jumped under the van to look again and was immediately disgusted because something else was leaking.

NOOOOOOO!

STRESS!

He then realized it was just air conditioning condensation.

Stress release.

He agreed to finalize the deal, I pulled the plates, threw my luggage into the back of his pickup and headed to the station. We chatted about each other. I learned he grew up in Oakland, didn’t have a lot of money and worked hard to build a life and move to Alameda. I told him a little about me, but was more interested in him. He spoke about how Oakland was tough, and how a lot of his peers didn’t fare so well.

He dropped me off at the station, I thanked him and wished him well. He drove off, I bought my ticket, walked up to the platform and hopped on the waiting train with $3,600 in cash in my hand.

A year after the sale, I nervously reached out to him to see how the van was doing. I was nervous because I’d feel terrible if it conked out days after he bought it, but I had to know.    

I never heard back, but I sure hope he got to make some cool memories in that van with his family like I had, culminating with this crazy trip.

And here’s the essay about the van that Kirsti wrote as part of the admittance process at the University of Vermont. I treasure it.

Our seats were determined long ago, now so worn in, so ideally matched to each of ourselves that it would seem absurd to alter the order.

My dad navigates the highway masterfully, peppering the rest of us with sarcastic jabs, then filling the car with his hearty laughter.

My mom shoots him a warning glance, never quite able to take a joke and slings back a retort that has little to do with the original comment.

My sister insists that we begin a road game, proceeding to be the first to call it quits, singing loudly and mildly off key to whatever outdated CD currently occupies the player.

I’m the storyteller, constantly fielding flashes of memory and recounting it to my family, to their universal good-naturedness.

To me, and us, it’s never been about the destination.

For our family, the travel period preceding the point of interest is one of the few times we’re truly together, with no escape route of sports or school or work or friends. For this reason, despite my plaguing car sickness, it’s one of the few places I feel entirely content.

Regardless of the circumstances, in our laughably stereotypical minivan, our family forms a united front, whether we’re bounding happily to an airport toward our flight to California, or blinking back tears on the way to my grandmother’s funeral.

I guess that, more than anything, being in such a private setting with people I adore most gives me an excuse to revere them, and to relish in the luck I’ve been granted.

I know that nothing will ever be ideal, and I know there will be far more obstacles in the future than I’ve encountered as of now. I also know some day I will have to face these alone. But I guess that for now, I can pull my knees up and strain against my seatbelt and look at the brilliant people around me, and know that as long as they’re around, life will be a bit sweeter. And I guess that’s enough.

Mrs. Bates, her high school Advanced Placement Literature teacher, wrote the following about her piece: “I love this!! It’s unusual, but very creative and I think it works!’

I thought so too and it was kind of fitting that we took this trip in that van, and perhaps fitting I sold it there, perhaps signifying a new chapter in all our lives with her having graduated college and moving into real adulthood.

And fast forward three years since the trip, we’re now driving a Honda CRV and boy do I miss that van. I miss the space. I miss the comfort and I miss the ability to haul around seven people.

We might just be in the market for another van…