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# Day Trip
- URL: https://dianaludwick.com/day-trip/
- Published: 2026-04-01T22:21:10.000Z
- Updated: 2026-10-24T20:10:04.000Z
- Description: “Day Trip,” written April 01, poem 091 in a series of 365 poems written by Diana Ludwick in 2026. Photo, "Cathedral ceiling, Luray Caverns," by Diana Ludwick (c) 2026.
- Author: Diana Ludwick
- Tags: 2026 Poetry Challenge, Dry Humor, Generational, Humor, Long form musings, Poems, April, Car Travel, Day Trip, Kids, parenting, relationships, Spring, Spring Break, Tourism, #Migrated-1792872215677, #wp, #wp-post, #Import 2026-10-24 20:03

A day trip adventure awaits us.  
Locate last season's sunscreen,   
shake two mostly-empty cans.   
Phew! Enough for three pale people.  
  
Find our spring-weight sweaters   
and ball caps   
and polarized shades  
and good walking shoes.  
  
Chunk ice into each Yeti bottle;   
fill cool water to the brim.  
Requisition mandarins, popcorn,   
electrolytes, almonds, stealth cookies.  
  
Load up the car, yell for passengers;   
buckle up, back out,   
close garage, haul out of the hood.  
And we're off!   
  
Stop for a morning treat   
on the way out of town,   
that nice French cafe   
she likes and always asks to visit.  
  
She wants a tuna sandwich   
with sweet herb tea and   
a walnut brownie;   
fine okay!  
  
I want lamb meatball shakshuka   
and a pistachio latte,   
and he takes morning air  
while we wait for our order.  
  
We hit the highway,   
carryout in tow,   
Southwest to   
the Shenandoah Valley.  
  
Brilliant sun illuminates  
our dash and windows.  
Puffy clouds sail through  
egg-blue skies; Spring Break vibes.  
  
Crawl our way around the city,   
past the sprawl, into the country.   
High rises transition to treelines  
which grow into mountain ranges.   
  
Budding April trees and new blooms   
chortle in color from hillsides   
and the shoulders of roadways:  
  
Blurs of cotton candy pink,   
Peep yellow of goldenrods,  
Eastern Redbud magenta and  
Key lime foliage drown our views.  
  
Red barns, siloes, historical lodges  
and hay bales dot the scenery.  
Black cows sit in shallow ponds.  
Song birds flutter, vultures circle.  
  
A couple hours from D.C. and we  
already feel a million light years away.  
  
We turn off the main road into   
a complex, teased for miles as:  
'the largest cavern in the East!'  
We don outer layers, head inside.  
  
We pass through two sets   
of containment doors and then,   
there we are, in Luray Caverns!  
Stalactites and stalagmites abound.  
  
It's damp, the ground is slick.  
The air smells sulphurous:   
"Did someone fart?!"   
She asks with a disgusted thrill.  
  
The narrow path is crowded  
it's Spring Break for many others, too.  
Our trio navigates the slippery path   
through the bowels of the Earth.  
  
We bump into other humans   
(but not the walls, never the cave walls).  
In petty thoughts, I deem those  
travelers' banter — and gaits —  
to be self-unaware.   
  
One father figure tells his brood:   
"Here kids, touch this, it feels weird!"   
(No please don't, really)  
  
A woman in jeans and sick kicks says:  
"So, now, girls, lean on this formation  
so I can snap a pic!"  
"Okay, mom!" they respond in unison.  
  
A man in a Gulf of America tee orders:  
"Boys, drop this dollar in the pool.   
It's supposed to be good luck!"  
  
Meanwhile, my own family   
has sprung racing legs, they weave  
in and out of tottering crowds, each  
on a quest for a personal best lap time.  
  
Left to my own devices,   
I sigh and make the best of it.  
I attempt to capture a video pan   
of a mirror-like lake, a moment of calm.  
  
My brief zen is quickly shattered  
by a herd of elementary-aged boys  
shouting and pointing at the water:   
  
**"That's AI!"**   
**"That's AI!"** 
**"THAT IS AI!!!"**   
**"Bruh!!!! AI!!!!!!"**  
  
All, of course, at top volumes.  
  
Two women ahead of me:  
"Shelly says she's claustrophobic  
but she *loves* this place.  
I can't imagine!"  
The second one nods:   
"Right? It's so dark and cramped in here!"   
  
(I had felt fine until then —.)  
  
I do that suburban white lady thing:  
"Ope! 'scuse me,   
I'm gonna scoot right by you!"   
And then I continue threading   
my six-foot frame through the throngs  
until I catch up with my speedy duo.  
  
After our sprint through the caverns  
we find ourselves fending off   
the souvenir photo stand sales people:  
"No thanks!" he and I say in tandem.  
  
The irony is, it was a great pic of us, rare.  
I whisper inwardly a mantra to stay firm:  
*Swedish Death Cleaning. Spark joy.* 
*Leave No Burden Behind!*  
  
This place has truly  
maximized its   
captive audience   
monetization strategies.   
  
We wend our way through:  
an enormous gift shop  
a toy museum attached to a cafe  
a car museum attached to   
yet another sundries and doodads market  
and terminate in a fudge store.  
(He falls for it; she gets him to  
buy four sickly-sweet slices).  
  
Back outside, we regain our defenses.   
We pass by the zip line  
and ropes course.   
We ignore the hedge maze.  
  
We look beyond the   
"primitive outbuilding settlement"   
(whatever that is, we won't find out)  
to retrieve our "free gem stone"  
from a historical museum  
of Early American daily life.  
  
At the gem shoppe, we are   
repeatedly prodded to   
"Buy a gem sack for a dollar off!"   
Which we decline, thrice.  
  
Free gem in hand,   
we make our way back to the car  
as sweat beads form, right before  
a gentle breeze wick them away.  
  
We make a mid-point stop for lunch  
followed by a re-fuel and a slurpee run.  
After a few Tom Petty songs we are  
back on familiar roads:  
tall buildings and malls of the DMV.   
  
We teleported to subterranean caves;  
now we're in the air conditioned burbs.   
The immense stimuli in between?  
It's all in the magic of a Day Trip.