Do you know how many times you can say, "Are we there yet?" during a 12-hour trip? The answer is 97, according to my calculations.

How can anyone know such a thing? The answer is simple — travel 800 miles in one day with four kids (my son and daughter, along with my mom and dad). That's right. It's hard to tell where the "Curious George" crowd ended and the "Weather Channel" section began in the van.

And while the trip was fun, it's time to announce to the world that I NEED SOME SPACE! At least more space than can be provided during a bathroom break in some redneck town in southern Virginia (OK, that's redundant).

I can tell you that we dined in style on the way home, though.

Four-course meals were the norm on the road. Beef jerky accented by mesquite barbeque potato chips warmed my palate, and a dessert made of Twinkie's and/or Ho Ho's was washed down with Cherry Coke. That's good eatin' no matter who you are, now, ain't it?

Sorry, some southern Virginia fancy talkin' stuck with me for a week or two. I reckon it'll go away near soon.

The front seat of the van looked more like Space Shuttle Endeavor destined for a mission into the great unknown, and in a strange way, we really were headed to where no man has gone before, at least no man in his right mind.

Our fuel gauge acted as a constant reminder of our budget, keeping close tabs on the mileage behind us and the estimated miles per gallon used during our ordeal, I mean holiday.

Sadly, it also kept tabs on how far we had to go as well. A steering wheel that conformed to my left-handed grip guided us steadily through the West Virginia mountains and the rolling hills of North Carolina.

Eventually, they led us to the sandy beaches and salt-laden air of South Carolina. Our sun visors acted like the shuttle Challenger's fire shield, protecting our eyes that were wearing the best $4 sunglasses Wal-Mart could offer.

"Are we there yet?" questioned mission control in the back seat.

"No Alex, we aren't," I responded. Only it wasn't my son asking. It was my dad. I couldn't tell if he was being a smart aleck or if he was serious, but his question had far-carrying implications.

"Yeah, are we there yet?" echoed my daughter the parrot.

"Are we there yet?" chimed in my mother, who is always eager to get the kids smiling. This was not good.

About 94 more times of the same question over a six-hour period finally ended when someone broke the silence.

"I need to go to the bathroom."

As the captain of the ship, it's my duty to ensure that all of my crew has comfortable surroundings, so I did what hundreds of brave navigators have done before me — I pulled over as quickly as I could, not questioning anyone's motives and how long the trip to the facilities might take. I didn't care. I needed out.

Relieved (figuratively and literally) to be back on the road, our trip finally ended a few hours later. But my wife, who thinks she's funny, had the courage to ask me a simple question on the way to the store yesterday. "Are we there yet?" she smirked while I grimaced.