15 Ways Kids Survived Long Road Trips Before Tablets And Wi-Fi Existed
Remember those epic family road trips before Wi-Fi, tablets, and streaming playlists took over the backseat? As a 90s kid, I spent what felt like entire summers wedged between my siblings in our trusty station wagon, armed with nothing more than a portable cassette player (if the batteries lasted) and a wild imagination.
The car radio was our soundtrack, flipping between static and whatever local station we could tune into, while we played endless rounds of “I Spy,” argued over invisible armrests, and tried to avoid the dreaded “he’s on my side” drama.
There were no screens to keep us quiet—just window views, snack stops, and the occasional license plate game to pass the time. Sure, we got bored. But that boredom sparked creativity, inside jokes, and the kind of spontaneous fun you just don’t get when everyone’s plugged in.
The backseat wasn’t just a seat—it was our stage, our battlefield, our kingdom.
1. License Plate Bingo
My family turned boring highway stretches into competitive hunting grounds with license plate bingo. We’d each get homemade cards featuring different states, and the race was on to spot them all!
The thrill of spotting an elusive Alaska or Hawaii plate could send us into victory dances in our seats. Parents loved this game because it kept us quiet and alert for hours. Plus, it sneakily taught us geography.
The best part? Dad would sometimes take detours through truck stops where the license plate diversity was like hitting the jackpot. Years later, I still catch myself plate-watching on highways – old habits die hard!
2. Mixtape Magic
Nothing beat the anticipation of creating the perfect road trip mixtape before departure day. I’d spend hours recording songs from the radio, carefully timing the pause button to avoid DJ chatter. Each cassette became a prized possession, labeled with colorful markers and packed with singalong hits.
When Dad finally popped one into the car stereo, our whole family transformed into an off-key concert hall. We knew every word to Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin'” and would dramatically air-guitar during instrumental breaks.
The real magic happened when we hit shuffle on our Walkmans, creating a private soundtrack for staring dreamily out windows. Those mixtapes preserved our childhood summers better than any photo album.
3. Travel Journal Chronicles
Armed with a spiral notebook and a rainbow of gel pens, I transformed into a backseat journalist documenting our family adventures. Mom would slip me a disposable camera, making me the official trip historian.
Each gas station receipt, restaurant napkin, and tourist brochure became treasured artifacts taped into my pages. I’d sketch roadside oddities like the World’s Largest Ball of Twine or write dramatic accounts of sibling squabbles that now read like comedy gold.
These journals became time capsules of childhood perspectives – where a motel with an indoor pool was the height of luxury and eating breakfast for dinner at a roadside diner felt rebellious. Twenty years later, these dog-eared notebooks still make my family howl with laughter.
4. The Alphabet Game
“A is for Arby’s!” I’d shout, launching our family into another round of the alphabet game. The rules were simple but the competition fierce – spot something outside the car window starting with each letter, moving from A to Z.
X always caused panic. We’d crane our necks searching for Xavier’s Pizza Shop or an Xtra Gas station sign. My brother claimed he could see xylophones in music store windows at 65 mph – the little cheater!
Mom kept unofficial tallies of who won each round, though mysteriously, we all seemed to win equally by vacation’s end. This game taught me to observe my surroundings and appreciate quirky roadside America. Decades later, I still silently play when stuck in traffic.
5. Backseat Fort Architects
Blankets smuggled from home became architectural wonders in our family sedan. My sister and I would transform the backseat into elaborate fortresses using headrests as support beams and window handles as anchor points.
These textile castles served multiple purposes – they created privacy borders when siblings were annoying, darkened spaces for impromptu naps, and secret clubhouses where whispered plans were hatched. Parents tolerated our construction projects since they kept us occupied for hours.
The ultimate achievement was creating a fort stable enough to withstand Dad’s sudden braking or sharp turns. We’d emerge from our cocoons at rest stops, blinking in the sunlight like moles, before reluctantly dismantling our masterpieces. No fancy RV could compare to our blanket ingenuity!
6. Mad Libs Madness
The sound of uncontrollable giggles erupting from the backseat meant only one thing – Mad Libs time! These fill-in-the-blank stories became road trip gold, especially when we convinced Grandma to supply words without knowing the context.
We’d collect ridiculous nouns, adjectives, and verbs from everyone in the car, carefully recording each contribution. The resulting stories featured everything from “smelly underwear mountains” to “dancing pickle monsters.” Even Dad would snort-laugh at particularly absurd combinations.
The real challenge was explaining to my 7-year-old brother what an adverb actually was. “It’s how you do something,” I’d explain patiently, only to receive “explodingly” as his enthusiastic response. Those dog-eared Mad Libs books still live in my parents’ glove compartment, waiting for the next generation.
7. Window Art Gallery
Rainy day drives transformed car windows into temporary canvases for our finger-drawn masterpieces. The condensation became magical fog where monsters, flowers, and elaborate tic-tac-toe tournaments materialized.
My brother specialized in creating cartoon characters that seemed to race alongside passing cars. I preferred writing secret messages that only appeared when someone breathed on the glass. Mom pretended not to notice when our artwork expanded to every available window.
Later, travel stores started selling those suction-cup window toys and colorful gel clings, upgrading our mobile art installations. But nothing beat the satisfaction of a perfectly executed smiley face on a fogged-up window, even if it disappeared minutes later. These temporary galleries taught us that sometimes the most delightful art is ephemeral.
8. Magnetic Board Games
The inventor of magnetic travel games deserves a special place in the Road Trip Hall of Fame! Those tiny metal pieces clinging to miniature game boards saved my sanity during our annual cross-country treks to Grandma’s house.
Chess, checkers, and tic-tac-toe became possible even on the bumpiest mountain roads. I’d challenge my sister to marathon tournaments that lasted hundreds of miles, keeping careful score on the back of gas station receipts.
The real drama came when pieces inevitably went missing, sliding under seats during sharp turns. Dad would threaten to “pull this car over” if we unbuckled to search for that crucial lost battleship piece. Years later, when my parents sold that old station wagon, they found seventeen magnetic game pieces lodged in the seat cracks!
9. Punch Buggy Bruises
“Punch buggy blue, no punch backs!” WHACK! That familiar phrase was both a battle cry and a warning system during our family road trips. Spotting Volkswagen Beetles became a competitive sport that left us with sore shoulders and eagle-eye vision.
My older brother always seemed to spot them first, his knuckles connecting with my arm seconds before I even saw the car. Mom eventually instituted the “two-finger tap” rule after I developed a permanent bruise during our drive through beetle-heavy California.
We expanded the game with our own family rules – extra points for convertibles, vintage models, or unusual colors. To this day, I still instinctively tense up when a VW Beetle appears in traffic, my arm muscles remembering those long-ago sibling battles better than my conscious mind.
10. Audiobook Adventures
Before smartphones streamed content, we huddled around the car’s cassette player listening to audiobooks that transported us far beyond the highway. The whole car fell silent when Dad slid in another tape of “The Chronicles of Narnia” or “Harry Potter.”
The narrator’s voice became our trusted companion across state lines. We’d beg to stay in the car even after reaching rest stops – “Just five more minutes to finish this chapter!” Sometimes Mom would strike deals: bathroom breaks earned us another hour of listening time.
On particularly engaging stories, even Dad would drive slower to hear more before reaching our destination. Those shared listening experiences created a special bond – we’d quote favorite lines for years afterward. Somehow, those cassette-narrated worlds felt more vivid than any movie adaptation that came later.
11. Restaurant Placemat Olympics
Those paper placemats at roadside diners became our competitive arenas during meal stops. Armed with the restaurant’s crayons, we’d race through mazes, word searches, and connect-the-dots while waiting for our pancakes to arrive.
I perfected the art of tic-tac-toe strategy against my dad, who mysteriously started losing more often as I got older. My sister created elaborate backstories for the cartoon characters printed on kids’ menus, turning simple coloring activities into dramatic narratives.
The best restaurants offered those impossible-to-solve triangle peg games that kept us occupied long after our burgers were gone. Parents loved these placemat distractions – they could actually finish conversations while we transformed paper into masterpieces. Even now, I can’t resist completing a word search before ordering my coffee at Cracker Barrel.
12. Backseat Bartering System
An intricate economy flourished in the backseat of our family car, with snacks as the primary currency. I’d trade half my Pringles for my brother’s Fruit Roll-Up, negotiating terms like a tiny Wall Street broker: “Two red Skittles are worth one purple!”
Mom packed individual snack bags, unwittingly creating a complex trading system that occupied hours of drive time. Strategic alliances formed and dissolved over who controlled the coveted middle seat cup holder. The truly desperate might offer tomorrow’s dessert choices for immediate snack satisfaction.
We developed elaborate contracts: “I’ll let you use my pillow if you give me your next three turns choosing the radio station.” These negotiations taught us compromise, value assessment, and the bitter taste of regret when trading away something too cheaply. No economics class ever felt as practical!
13. Counting Cows (and Casualties)
“My side has seventeen cows!” I’d announce triumphantly, only to have my victory crushed when my brother spotted a cemetery out his window. “Graveyard! All your cows are dead!” The cow counting game had brutal rules in our family car.
Each side of the car competed to tally the most livestock spotted along the highway. The strategy involved scanning distant fields for any hint of moving dots while simultaneously watching for cemeteries that could wipe out your opponent’s herd. Tunnels were sacred – any cows spotted inside meant automatic bonus points.
This seemingly simple game became surprisingly intense during farm country drives. Dad would occasionally slow down when passing particularly cow-heavy fields, giving both sides equal counting opportunities. Years later, I still unconsciously count cows on country drives.
14. Roadside Attraction Treasures
Before TripAdvisor ratings existed, we’d beg to stop at every bizarre roadside attraction beckoning from hand-painted billboards. “World’s Largest Ball of Twine? We HAVE to see it!” Our family vacation photos feature me posing beside giant concrete dinosaurs, mysterious gravity-defying shacks, and countless oddly-specific museums.
These quirky stops broke up monotonous drives and supplied us with the strangest souvenir collection imaginable. My prized possession was a snow globe from the Corn Palace that contained actual kernels of corn floating among the glitter.
Mom allowed each child to select one truly terrible souvenir per trip – mine was usually a pencil with my name misspelled or a rock with googly eyes glued on. Those tacky treasures became more valuable than gold, representing freedom of choice and the delightful weirdness of American highways.
15. Twenty Questions Marathon
“I’m thinking of something…” Those four words launched epic rounds of Twenty Questions that could stretch across entire states. The beauty of this game was its simplicity – no equipment needed beyond our increasingly creative minds.
Dad excelled at choosing obscure items that had us burning through questions quickly: “Is it bigger than a breadbox?” “Is it alive?” After discovering his chosen item was a platypus or a carburetor, we’d groan dramatically while secretly admiring his cleverness.
The game evolved as we grew older, with categories becoming more specific and challenging. My sister once stumped us all with “the concept of infinity” – technically not against the rules but definitely pushing boundaries! During particularly long stretches of highway, we’d sometimes reach question fifty before finally solving the mystery.