February 9, 2006
Roadtripping Together to Nashville
Jill Brooks, INtake columnist

It’s like I always say: one person’s acid is another person’s alkaline, so the perfect litmus test for any relationship comes in traveling together. This is especially important while on the learning curve of love.

A love interests’ quirks and eccentricities, not to mention a possible dark side, are not easily discovered when you’re simply flirting over lunch, emailing rambunctiously, or lounging around together on the couch all weekend.

You need to add stress—lots of it—somewhere outside the boundaries of creature comforts and your respective neighborhoods: you need a getaway.

Traveling often brings out the worst in people; from getting lost to not knowing the language, traveling will unmask the undetectable facets of personalities.

Remember how annoying Cindy Brady got while lost in the Grand Canyon? Alice wasn’t there to fix things, so she freaked.

I have traveled with a good many people, and I have learned that sharing a like-minded travel philosophy is as necessary as flossing.

Being a travel-Nazi and navigating every minute of a vacation may seem fun to some people, but it doesn’t really work for me.

Being an ugly American; stealing all the pillows; and professing to know more than the plane’s crew, all while synchronizing your Blackberry on the flight, seems normal, right?

I’m sorry, but the seat next to me is taken.

Road trips are the best way to weed out psychosis. I once had a boyfriend who never let me put my socked-feet on the dashboard; another one brushed his teeth with every fill-up. These were universal truths confirming that we could not be life-partners.

The best travel companion is the type who lets you be in charge of the music. If you can find this rare soul, hold on for dear life.

My new love interest and I took our first road trip together. He was late picking me up but brought chocolate, so those things canceled each other out.

We drove to Nashville, Tennessee; he steered with one hand and held my hand with the other. We talked for hours. He’d racked up all his weekend points before we ever hit Louisville.

He didn’t mind all the water I’d drunk before we left, nor did he mind hearing, “You won’t believe this, but we need to stop again.”

He let me blame mapquest.com for my bad directions (a keeper!), and let me drag him around the city explaining the history of absolutely everything.

No fights, no fussing, no line dancing or karaoke. This could really work out.