Queen of the Road

Viscape was excited to sit down and talk with Doreen Orion, who just happens to be an award-winning author and also an expert cross country traveler. Random House Books just published her humorous travel memoir, QUEEN OF THE ROAD.  It is the true tale of 47 states, 22,000 miles, 200 shoes, 2 cats, 1 poodle, a husband, and a bus with a will of its own.

The Tour Bus…

Viscape learned that Doreen’s trip was life-changing and in the spirit of “Live It- Love It- Share It” she has agreed to share some of the most important road rules.

1) Be suspicious of a navigation aid with a sexy voice. Driving a 40 foot vehicle, towing a Jeep, we Map Quested every route, but we also turned to our GPS, for help. Big mistake. I had programmed her myself with a male voice, but somewhere along the way, she got a sex-change, and I wasn’t the one who performed the procedure. Tim (my husband) finally fessed up, saying, “It just feels more natural to have a woman telling me what to do.”

2) When entering a nudist RV park, don’t ask if you can wear shoes. You can. Even the maintenance guy wears them – along with his tool belt.

3) When traveling with your 60 pound Standard Poodle and trying to find accommodations for the night, many motels, hotels and RV parks restrict dog size. Therefore, get your husband to check in so when asked what breed of dog you have, he can roll his eyes and say, “Oh, it’s just my wife’s poodle.”

4) While we’re on the topic of accommodations, don’t expect truth in advertising:  The idyllic sounding “Whispering Pines Motel” is more likely to consist of five diseased conifers as the only barrier between you and the local rail yard. At “Vista View Resort,” the vista is probably of the town dump, and as for the resort part, let’s just say the amenities include a mossy swimming hole and a Tuff Shed with an air hockey table.

5) Beware of organized tours. In Denali, Alaska, we made the mistake of taking one given by the Park Service in an aging school bus. The problem started with the very first animal sighting, a caribou. An older woman let out a bloodcurdling scream. I thought perhaps the poor animal was being eaten by a bear. Since there was little I could do to help poor Rudolph anyway, I craned my neck in its direction. But, no. He of the mega-antler bling (someone should tell those poor, misguided creatures there is such a thing as over-accessorizing) was placidly grazing. It didn’t even flinch when the woman let loose with the Tourist Rallying Cry: “WALTER! GET THE CAMERA!” Needless to say, it was a very long trip.

With signs like these, wouldn’t you rather stay in a vacation home?