There is something about a road trip that changes your perspective. Maybe it is the endless hours staring through a windshield, maybe it is seeing parts of the country that you only ever fly over, or maybe it is simply being forced to slow down and appreciate the journey instead of constantly focusing on the destination.

For us, this year’s adventure was just over two weeks, covering more than 5,000 miles across America. It started in Virginia, headed west through the Midwest, across the Great Plains, into Wyoming, on to Idaho for my son’s graduation from BYU-Idaho, down into Utah for a few days with family and friends, and then three long days towing a U-Haul all the way back home.

  • It was exhausting.
  • I probably need a vacation after the vacation.

And I would do it all again tomorrow.

The Journey Was the Vacation

The original reason for the trip was simple enough. My son was graduating from BYU-Idaho in Rexburg, Idaho. That was the milestone. Everything else became an excuse to turn the drive into an adventure.

Rather than jumping on a plane, we packed the truck and headed west.

  • Five days.
  • Ten to twelve hours of driving every day.
  • Hundreds of miles that sometimes felt like thousands.

Instead of rushing there, we decided to make the drive part of the experience. That meant stopping wherever something looked interesting, regardless of whether it was famous or wonderfully ridiculous.

Some of the highlights included:

  • Iowa 80 Truckstop, because you simply cannot drive across America and ignore the world’s largest truck stop.
  • Firehenge, which somehow manages to combine classic American roadside art with Stonehenge.
  • The World’s Largest Popcorn Ball, because apparently someone looked at popcorn and thought, “Let’s make one the size of a small car.”
  • Wall Drug: What started as a small roadside pharmacy has become one of America’s most famous roadside attractions, complete with quirky shops, western-themed displays, homemade donuts, and enough signs along the interstate to make stopping almost inevitable.
  • The Corn Palace is a truly unique landmark in Mitchell, South Dakota, where the exterior is decorated each year with intricate murals made entirely from naturally colored corn, grains, and grasses, celebrating the region’s agricultural heritage with a healthy dose of small-town charm.
  • Dignity of Earth and Sky, A 50-foot stainless steel sculpture overlooking the Missouri River, honoring the cultures and contributions of the Indigenous peoples of the Northern Plains while offering one of the most peaceful and inspiring viewpoints along Interstate 90.
  • Badlands National Park, an almost surreal landscape of towering rock formations, deep canyons, and colorful layers that look more like another planet than South Dakota.
  • Mount Rushmore, One of America’s most recognizable landmarks, made even more impressive when it suddenly appears through the trees after miles of winding mountain roads.
  • Needles Highway, A spectacular drive through the Black Hills, weaving between granite spires, narrow tunnels, and some of the best mountain scenery in the region.
  • Devils Tower, Rising dramatically from the Wyoming prairie, this massive rock formation is unlike anything else along the journey and feels almost out of place against the surrounding landscape.
  • Grand Teton National Park: Snow-capped peaks that seem to rise straight out of the valley floor, creating one of the most breathtaking mountain vistas anywhere in the United States.

Some stops lasted twenty minutes. Others lasted half a day. Every single one gave us another reason to stretch our legs, take another photo, and appreciate just how incredibly different this country becomes every few hundred miles.

America Changes Faster Than You Think

One of the things that struck me most was just how dramatically the landscape changes. You leave Virginia surrounded by rolling hills and forests.

Then Ohio, Indiana, Illinois and Iowa seem to become one incredibly long stretch of farmland.

Don’t get me wrong—there is something oddly relaxing about those endless fields—but after several hundred miles you begin wondering if every state secretly agreed to use exactly the same scenery.

  • Corn.
  • More corn.
  • Occasionally soybeans.
  • Then even more corn.

Hours pass where the horizon never seems to get any closer. The road disappears into the distance so perfectly that it almost feels like someone copied and pasted the same section of highway over and over again. Then, almost without warning, everything changes. The Badlands appear.

One minute you are driving through open prairie and the next you are surrounded by jagged rock formations that look like they belong on another planet. It almost doesn’t make sense. It is as though someone accidentally dropped a piece of Mars into South Dakota.

Later, after miles of open country again, trees suddenly return as you approach the Black Hills.

  • The air changes.
  • The temperature changes.
  • The scenery changes.

Then, between the trees, you catch your first glimpse of Mount Rushmore. That moment is worth every mile.

Wyoming Is Bigger Than Your Brain Thinks It Is

I knew Wyoming was large. I knew Nebraska was large. I just don’t think my brain fully appreciated how large until I drove across them.

You can drive for what feels like forever and the road ahead never changes. The horizon remains exactly where it was an hour ago. You begin questioning whether you’ve actually moved.

When towing a U-Haul on the return journey, those miles somehow became even longer.

There is something strangely hypnotic about driving twelve hours while watching nothing but rolling plains, distant mountains and the occasional freight train that somehow seems just as long as the interstate itself.

Wyoming especially has a feeling of openness that is difficult to describe unless you’ve experienced it.

  • It is quiet.
  • It is empty.
  • It is beautiful.
  • It is also incredibly windy.

I have a whole new appreciation for truck drivers.

National Parks Restore Your Faith in Humanity

I spend a lot of my professional life talking about technology.

  • Artificial intelligence.
  • Cloud computing.
  • Security.
  • Digital transformation.

It is very easy to believe that everyone spends every waking moment staring at a screen. Then you visit places like Badlands National Park or Grand Teton National Park.

  • Thousands of people.
  • Families.
  • Children.
  • Grandparents.
  • Friends.
  • People from all over the world.

Almost nobody is looking down at a phone.

  • They’re looking up.
  • They’re talking.
  • They’re laughing.
  • They’re hiking.
  • They’re pointing at wildlife.
  • They’re helping each other take photographs.
  • They’re simply enjoying where they are.

It reminded me that perhaps the internet isn’t actually the best representation of humanity after all. There are still millions of people choosing experiences over notifications. That was surprisingly refreshing.

Apparently I’m Becoming My Dad

One realization caught me completely by surprise.

  • I talk to everyone.
  • Absolutely everyone.
  • People at fuel pumps.
  • People in hotel elevators.
  • People waiting in line for coffee.
  • Other travelers at scenic overlooks.
  • Families visiting national parks.

Before long we’d be swapping stories about where we’d come from, where we were headed, what we’d seen, and where we should stop next. Some conversations lasted thirty seconds. Others lasted fifteen minutes. At some point during the trip I caught myself thinking…

“Oh no…I’ve become my Dad.”

Growing up, he could strike up a conversation with literally anyone.

As a kid I never understood it. Now I’m doing exactly the same thing. And honestly, it made the trip even better.

Cross-country travel has a funny way of reminding you that most people are genuinely kind.

Family Was Always the Real Destination

Eventually we reached Rexburg. Watching my son graduate from BYU-Idaho made every mile worthwhile. That was why we’d made the journey. After graduation we packed up the U-Haul, loaded years of university life into the trailer, and headed to Utah. Those few days slowed everything down.

  • Temple Square.
  • Family photographs.
  • Hiking around Ogden.
  • Driving through Big and Little Cottonwood Canyons.
  • Walking around Silver Lake.
  • Meeting up with friends.
  • Catching up with family.

Sometimes vacations aren’t really about seeing new places. They’re about spending uninterrupted time with the people you care about.

  • No schedules.
  • No meetings.
  • No rushing from one thing to the next.

Just conversations that somehow last hours without anyone checking the time.

A New Game Called Crokinole

Every family seems to have that one game everyone knows except the newcomer. For me, that was Crokinole. I had never even heard of it before. Within a surprisingly short amount of time I was completely invested, convinced every shot was going to be the winning one.

It’s one of those games that’s incredibly simple to understand, yet somehow impossible to master.

I’m fairly certain I’ll be buying one. I’m also fairly certain everyone else already knows this.

Home Again

Three days later we were back on the road. Ten to twelve hours behind the wheel. The U-Haul faithfully following behind. The miles slowly disappearing beneath us. By the time we pulled back into Virginia, I was tired in a way that only a road trip can make you. But it was the good kind of tired.

The kind that comes from doing something memorable instead of simply relaxing. The kind that leaves you with thousands of photographs, countless stories and a phone full of places you’d like to visit again.

Most importantly, it reminded me of something that is easy to forget.

  • People are generally good.
  • Families still make time for each other.
  • Friends still open their homes.
  • Children still get excited by wildlife.
  • Adults still stand in awe of mountains they’ve seen a hundred times in photographs.

Sometimes all it takes is putting down the phone, getting in the truck and driving across the country to remember that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I need another vacation… preferably one that doesn’t involve towing a U-Haul for three thousand miles.