Travel Arrangements Can Kill You

By CHARLES M. GUTHRIE

of the editorial page staff

published by the StarTribune

June 25, 1960

   TRAVEL is a staunch ally of enlightenment--and enlightenment enriches living.  And yet I gravitate more and more to inertia.  This drift toward immobility is never more pronounced than during preparations for a vacation.  I find travel arrangements about as stimulating as Brussels sprouts or a letter from Uncle Ernest.

   It's not travel per se that's galling.  There's a thrill in heading for faraway places, shedding the familiar and becoming a vagabond.  It's implementing the venture that kills me--the details, the scheduling, the road maps and reservations, the writing to Joe and Vera that we're coming and isn't it wonderful!

   

   THE FULL impact of the labor involved in this annual flap hit me the other day when I came upon a "vacation checklist" in a trade magazine.  Its aim was to help but all I got out of the thing was frustration, rebellion and fatigue.  The whole awesome parade of preparation was therein contained--from putting a stop order on the milk to making out a will.

   What a fool I'd been to assume in past years that an oil change and grease job had readied the car for the test.  Sixteen checks should be made on the car, everything from tail-pipe to radiator.  I blushed in shame to recall having once transported my loved ones over 4,000 miles of vacation trail with questionable tires and no jack.  I found the jack in the garage on our return and was visibly shaken.

   BUT GETTING the car ready is only a starter.  There's the house to consider.  You can't simply lock it and leave it.  You must give some trustworthy neighbor a key and have him or her--usually her--take in the mail, water the plants, turn a light on at night to give the appearance of occupancy, and check for gas leaks and fires.

   If the neighbor is a real pushover she also will spray the roses and make her kids mow the lawn.  It's particularly important that the yard be cared for.  Returning to knee-high grass and sagging petunias reduces the thrill of homecoming and also your standing in the neighborhood.

   THE LONGER I studied this vacation treatise the more convinced I became that it was a committee job, with each member feeling compelled to make a contribution.  One suggestion, tossed out by a demon for detail, called for listing all items in each suitcase and fastening the list inside the lid.

   Such silliness would make our vacation a tragic farce.  It might reduce the risk of loss but would represent an expenditure of time and energy far too great for the picayune reward.  Better to leave your toothbrush in Tucson, I say, than drive yourself batty taking inventory.  When scheduled to be in Yellowstone ogling Old Faithful, my wife and I would be mired down in South Dakota pursuing a pair of socks.

   THERE IS a far easier way to prevent loss than this.  When you have everything rammed in the suitcases and are ready for the next leg of the journey, simply make a final inspection of your lodging.  If nothing is found under the bed, on or inside the dresser, in the clothes closet or bathroom, the only sane conclusion you can reach is that nothing's been forgotten.

   The plan isn't infallible.  You occasionally leave swimming suits hanging from trees or fishing rods leaning against cabins.  But you do get away early and frequently without loss of temper.

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