This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2016, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.
Upon being informed that we would be attending this year's reunion of my wife's family, I admit to becoming a little emotional. The reunion will take place in my fourth-favorite country in the entire world: Canada.
The United States is first. Second is Spain. Third is Kirbistonia, an imaginary country I pretend to live in during horrible moments in this one. Like, oh, whenever Donald Trump opens his mouth.
Note: The U.S. does not have an extradition treaty with Kirbistonia, a matter that should be of some concern to all current presidential candidates.
I didn't have a problem with the reunion itself. There are but two members of my wife's family upon whom I gladly would perform gallbladder surgery with a shovel. The rest are no more annoying than my own flesh and blood. And therein lies the problem.
The entire U.S. extension of the Jones family — four vehicles, 18 people — will convoy 900 miles for the reunion. It won't be pretty. Our ages range from mid-60s to 2-year-old Ada Grace, who believes she's in charge.
Road tripping with friends is OK. You can hate each other at the end of it and not be any the worse for wear. Bammer once punched me in the head (while I was driving) in the middle of Nebraska. We were over it by the time we reached North Platte.
The same thing isn't true with family. It's considered more than just bad form to drive away from a rest stop and leave your self-centered teenage daughter or son in the restroom. Likewise, pouring a soft drink in the lap of your wife or husband because they chewed with their mouth open for the last 200 miles causes lasting problems.
It gets worse. A convoy road trip is problematic from the beginning. Convoying automatically eliminates the benefits of road tripping in the first place — which is to escape the aggravations of normal life. That's impossible if you intentionally bring them along.
Convoy road-tripping once required an inhuman level of patience and negotiation. This was before earbuds, iTunes, iPads, cellphones, Xanax, and industrial-grade shrink wrap.
Given that our family reunion convoy hell begins next week, we've already started making arrangements.
Our preferences in food, music, motels and thermostat settings are diverse. Some prefer music by the likes of Kanye West. Since I'd rather listen to a live cow being pulled inside-out, they won't be riding in my car.
Presumably by the time we reach the Utah-Idaho border, our mob will have shaken out into vehicles featuring similar preferences.
That still leaves us with the problem of pit stops. These occur more frequently when traveling long distances with women and children. Guys have workarounds that would shock the more refined sensibilities.
I once steered a car from the passenger seat while Boone peed in a milk carton so we wouldn't have to stop. Provided he didn't get any on me, it was considered nothing out of the ordinary for road weary guys.
Next week will be our first family convoy road trip to cross an international border. By the time we arrive at Sweet Grass, Mont., everyone will be homicidally uncooperative. We've already come up with a workaround for that.
Anyone in the family who is detained at the border — regardless of age, finances, or special need — gets left.
Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com or facebook.com/stillnotpatbagley