The Thrills of Renting Cars

This place felt like it was designed especially for me; lover of tie dye, antique enthusiast, frequent gas tank filler-upper, fan of Stetsons, blue jeans and roadside attractions. Pomeroy, Washington, 7/4/19.

Would you rather drive your own car on a cross-country road trip or a rental car?

I love the idea of driving my very own vehicle anywhere and everywhere, but there seem to be a lot more perks to renting cars for major road adventures. For example, if I accidentally bang one up, I can exchange it for a brand new one, lickety-split. Hardly any questions asked.

I love driving rental cars. I love how I pick them up with barely any miles on them and bring them back with thousands more. I love watching the mileage increase as I accelerate across state lines. I love seeing tumbleweed twigs poking out of the grill, and having to stop every so often to clean smeared bug guts off my windshield. I love it when the rental car keepers let me choose which one I'll borrow.

And I love the process of getting acquainted with a new car...finding a groove with the cup holders, seeing how low the AC will go, clipping my phone holder to a vent in the ideal GPS-viewing fashion, adjusting my mirrors, discovering that essential nook where my left foot can rest between the door and my seat when it gets tired of being planted firmly on the floor; it's all part of the fun of getting to know a new car.

Those first few minutes in the rental car garage are precious. I scoot in and start unpacking my essentials, making my cockpit as organized as it will be for the duration of the trip. Before the Goldfish and popcorn inevitably spill and smoosh into the upholstery. Before I track all sorts of sands, stones, and grasses into my tenacious transport. Before my passenger seat becomes a smorgasbord of snacks, receipts, wires, camera lenses, maybe a straw or two, lots of napkins, gum, mints, Tums, an iPod, a selfie stick, an America the Beautiful pass, and probably a souvenir or seven. Before one fold-up map is sprawled out on the dashboard while the one I'm looking for is half-folded the wrong way and trapped between my butt and the seat beneath it. Before one of my sneakers makes its way behind me and the other is found jammed under the seat to my right, still holding a sock. Yeah, those first few clean-as-a-whistle car moments are pretty precious.

Every single day, on each of my trips, I wear my black Puma flip flops with the fabric over-the-foot part. Doesn't matter if it's raining or if there's snow on the ground, I'll only change out of them if I'm going to do some serious hiking or rock climbing. Between my mom and I, we have two pairs (both now mine), and they've been to the Taj Mahal, the Pyramids of Egypt, the Yucatan Peninsula, the Eiffel Tower, and from sea to shining sea. They are the comfiest, most memorable shoes I plan to wear for the rest of my life, then, someday frame. Even though the time to retire them perhaps should've been before, I slipped down the soaking wet subway steps and knocked myself unconscious in them a few years ago. Because any trace of traction has completely dissipated, and their bottoms are now as smooth as printer paper. But I love them, and they're comfy, so I'll continue to wear them.

However, I recently learned that I can't always wear them to drive certain rental cars. I'm currently in possession of a beautiful, burly, wanna-keep-it-forever-and-never-let-anyone-else-drive it, Chevy Impala, but I can only operate it with either a pillow behind me, pushing me closer to the pedals or while wearing normal, closed-toe shoes; preferably riding boots. Because wearing only my scrappy sandals, my child-sized feet aren't long enough to switch from pedal to pedal with my heel resting comfortably on the floor. They're just too short, like the rest of me. But nevertheless, I made it work, and I've grown quite attached to this big-hunk-a American muscle I've been driving around for the past two weeks. Drove it up to Maine and back, got lost on Mount Desert Island with it, put its first 1,000+ miles on it. And when you go through some sh*t with a car, you really form a bond with it. My 2-year-old Subaru and I got really close less than a month into our relationship on a 5-hour commute home through a blizzard. We learned a lot about each other under those treacherous conditions.

I got pretty close with a handful of other cars over the past few years. Last year just so happened to be the year of automotive issues. On my Tornado Alley expedition, I went through three vehicles on one 11-day trip. I wrecked the first one backing up into a rogue mile marker on the Montana-Wyoming border, then quite literally muddied up the replacement a few days later by getting stuck in the mud the morning after tornadoes ravaged northwestern Kansas. Luckily, American Express had my back on the first one — $5,000 worth and not a penny out of my pocket, to be exact. And Enterprise was there, time and again to put me in a brand-new, unscathed rental car in the next nearby city.

Then, this year was the trip of technical difficulties. Technological failures led to navigational challenges that left me stranded without a map, phone, working GPS, Pokemon Go, or the slightest clue as to how to make my way from Washington to Oregon then through Oregon to Idaho. 'Course I found a way to make it though. I always do.

But now it's got me wondering what kind of challenges my next adventure will bring. I get giddy, just imagining the possibilities. Not that I want to struggle, but I know it's inevitable, and I know I'll get through it no matter what. And I know it'll also make a fun story that I can share and cherish forever. So I'll be picking up my next temporary car in less than three weeks for my Deep South road trip.

Rentalcars.com gave me the choice of either renting one of those frail, little "Fiats," or for a measly $30 more, I could drive around a beefy, hunky, strapping Chevy Camaro (or something similar) for nine days. Needless to say, I splurged for the Camaro. And since I've already had the car crisis trip and the technical difficulties trip, I predict that this next one will be the trip of legal challenges.

It just makes sense. Think about it: I'll be roaming all up and through the heart of the South, cruising the Carolinas, Tennessee, Georgia, Florida, Ala-beautiful-bama, in what I hope will be a midnight black Chevy Camaro — it just seems very fitting that some law enforcement obstacles could present themselves. If so, I imagine it'd probably just be a simple "Got pulled over" story, made juicier by having to explain with my New York accent what a little four-foot-ten Northerner is doing all the way down in Ala-yesplease-bama. Or maybe I'll get pulled over in multiple states! Maybe I'll learn that the cops down there have a sweet spot for Northern belles, and they'll ask for my Instagram handle so they can follow my adventures. That'd be cool.

What would be even cooler is if my Camaro could have obnoxious, Velveeta-cheese-yellow New York plates. Then I'd really be a cop magnet! Of course, it'll only actually be cool if I don't get a ticket. And nothing about it will feel cool in the moment. Similar to when I wrecked Nissan Altima #1 on the Montana-Wyoming border, then got Nissan Altima #2 stuck in the mud in rural Kansas. There was nothing fun or cool about being lost and scared and without a clue how to get where I was going in central Oregon that day. But it does feel pretty cool, and I do feel pretty proud of myself when I look back at the things I've accomplished, relying solely on my resourcefulness and ability to power through and survive.

I love cars, and I love driving. My honeymoon phase just never ended after drivers ed. Last week when I drove up to Maine after work one night, in the dark, for six stinkin' hours, I amazingly didn't feel the need to bolt out of the car immediately upon arrival. In fact, for a few minutes, I contemplated hauling up to Canada because I just wasn't ready to get off the open road.

I hope someday we really do build that highway from Alaska to Russia. How 'bout another from Canada to Greenland? Hell, let's build highways from Australia to the Indonesian Islands and the Falkland Islands to Antarctica! I'd be the happiest driver alive if I could be the one steering the Chevy all over the world. Never a passenger, always the sole operator of those beautiful, borrowed beasts.