4 out of 5 stars. (Deducted one star because the Honda Fit’s cup holders are a crime against humanity. Added one star for the sheer joy of ordering a T-shirt that reads “I Survived the Big Butt Road Trip.”)
Spoiler alert: No. But we had a blast trying. It started as a complaint. My wife, Lisa, slid into the passenger seat of my 2018 Honda Fit and immediately yelped. “These bolsters are digging into my glutes like a pair of angry salad tongs.” big butt road trip
If you are planning a trip for those with ample behinds, do not listen to the “ergonomic” racing seat people. You want a flat bench, or a couch on wheels. We should have rented a 1970s Cadillac. Instead, we made it work with pillows. The Snack Situation (A Delicate Balance) A road trip requires snacks. But a big butt road trip requires strategy. You cannot eat a whole bag of Cheetos and a gas station hot dog without consequences. The consequence, in a cramped car, is that you become a human space heater. 4 out of 5 stars
She wasn’t wrong. We are a family of “comfortable dimensions.” We like cheese fries. We have sturdy Dutch ancestry. And we had a wedding to attend in Nashville, 1,000 miles away from our home in Philadelphia. But we had a blast trying
No, the “Big Butt Road Trip” is something far more relatable, far more American, and (literally) far more down-to-earth. It’s the epic journey my wife, my brother-in-law, and I took last summer to answer a single, burning question: Can three people with generous posteriors survive 2,000 miles in a subcompact hatchback without requiring chiropractic intervention?
There is something deeply bonding about sharing the specific, low-grade misery of not fitting into the world’s default dimensions. We complained. We adjusted. We ate too much. And somewhere around the 800-mile mark, we stopped thinking about our butts and started thinking about the sky, the music, and the asphalt rolling by.
