Once a month we throw our contributors for a loop with different question about their lives in the outdoors. Here are their responses to an inquiry about their worst road trip moments.
Being held at gunpoint by narco militias in Mexico’s Copper Canyons. Totally ruined the vibe.
JENNIFER PHARR DAVIS
The excitement and spray of projectile vomiting from a backseat toddler in five-minute interludes.
JOHN BRYANT BAKER
While driving cross-country, I noticed a tire pass me on the right. Looking in the rearview mirror, I saw a shower of sparks spraying out from my camper.
Since I hardly ever carry cash, anytime a toll road pops up, my journey instantly falls into the Worst Road Trip Ever Category. If you’ve never written a check for 45 cents, you ought to try it some time.
On a desolate stretch of highway, one of my rooftop kayaks spiraled into the night like a boomerang. I slammed on the brakes and slid into the median, then ran down the middle of the highway towards my kayak, staring down the headlights of a semi truck barreling towards me. I yanked my kayak out of the way, just as the truck flew past blaring its horn.
On a cross-country journey from Yellowstone, I stopped to refuel in Somewhere, Illinois and mistakenly assumed that all gas pumps had been outfitted with auto-stopping mechanisms. When I returned from my routine beef jerky run, I discovered a $50 puddle of 87 octane outlining my ‘97 Mitsubishi Galant.
Leaving my wallet on top of the car, driving away into the night on a near-empty tank, returning the next day to the same stretch of highway to search for the wallet, only to run out of gas and be left totally stranded without fuel or the money to buy it.