8 things every lower-middle-class family packed for road trips in the 80s and 90s

There was a certain ritual to family road trips in the 80s and 90s.

Before smartphones, before Spotify, before you could look up a gas station with a single tap, the whole experience hinged on what you packed.

And if you grew up in a lower-middle-class family, chances are your family packed the same stuff mine did. These weren’t luxury items or flashy gadgets. They were practical, comforting, and sometimes hilariously improvised.

Looking back, I realize that what we brought along said as much about who we were as where we were going.

Let’s dive into eight things families like ours never hit the road without.

1. The cooler full of sandwiches

Forget hitting McDonald’s every hundred miles—that wasn’t happening for most of us. A hard-sided cooler was as essential as the spare tire.

Inside? Sandwiches wrapped in foil or wax paper, oranges, maybe a couple cans of soda if you were lucky. My family leaned heavy on peanut butter and jelly. It traveled well and no one argued about whether it was still “good” after six hours in the car.

Some families got fancy with ham and cheese, but there was always the risk of mayo going bad in the heat. Parents had to weigh that risk like amateur food safety inspectors.

This wasn’t just about saving money, though that was part of it. It was about control. Parents knew exactly what the kids were eating, and it meant fewer meltdowns in the back seat. You don’t want a five-year-old howling for a Happy Meal in the middle of nowhere.

There’s a psychology to it, too. Food rituals anchor us. The moment someone cracked open the cooler, it signaled a break, a chance to reset. Those sandwiches weren’t glamorous, but they were steady. They meant you were taken care of.

2. A giant bag of chips

You’d think chips wouldn’t survive long in a car full of kids, but they always made the cut. Doritos, Ruffles, Funyuns—didn’t matter.

I can still picture my siblings reaching into the bag, elbowing each other for the “biggest chip.” Arguments would break out, crumbs everywhere, but in some weird way, it was bonding.

The psychology here is simple: communal snacking. Sharing from one bag reinforces the idea that you’re in it together, even if it’s just for greasy fingers and orange dust on your clothes.

And let’s be real, chips were cheap. A few bucks stretched far. Compared to feeding four people at a rest stop diner, this was the budget hack of the century.

3. The road atlas

This one feels almost ancient now, but every glove compartment had a worn Rand McNally road atlas or a stack of free maps from gas stations.

Parents would argue over the “best route” like amateur cartographers. My dad would fold the map awkwardly across the dashboard, squinting at lines and symbols while insisting he knew exactly where we were.

Getting lost wasn’t a glitch—it was part of the adventure. Sometimes we’d end up on back roads that added hours to the trip, but we’d discover weird roadside attractions we never would have seen otherwise.

Today, navigation is frictionless. GPS tells us the “fastest route” and we blindly follow. Back then, it was a family decision. Everyone was invested in finding the way, even if all you did was hold the map and pretend you understood the squiggles.

4. Pillows and blankets

Lower-middle-class families didn’t splurge on roadside motels unless absolutely necessary. That meant a lot of “car naps.”

A couple of old pillows and blankets were always packed, usually ones that had seen better days. Kids would curl up in the back seat, siblings elbowing each other for the good spot, while parents tried to push through another hundred miles.

There’s something oddly comforting about the smell of sun-warmed car upholstery mixed with the musty blanket that had been washed one too few times.

It wasn’t just about sleeping, though. Blankets gave kids a sense of territory. When you draped one across your lap, it was like staking out your space. In a cramped car, that mattered.

And if you grew up like me, you probably remember the unspoken competition of who could sleep the longest. Falling asleep made the endless drive disappear. You’d wake up hours later, a little disoriented, with the landscape completely changed.

5. A deck of cards or travel games

What did kids do before iPads? They played endless rounds of Go Fish, Crazy Eights, or Travel Bingo.

Even if the cards slid all over the seat, they were better than nothing. Some families had those magnetic travel games—Checkers with tiny red and black disks that disappeared under the seats within ten minutes.

The goal wasn’t just fun—it was distraction. Parents knew if the kids were focused on a game, they weren’t bickering.

Games also taught subtle lessons. Patience, losing gracefully, keeping yourself entertained with limited resources. All underrated life skills.

Sometimes, though, the games would dissolve into chaos. My sister once declared herself the “rule-maker” of Uno and refused to explain the new rules. That didn’t end well, but looking back, it’s hilarious how those fights now feel like part of the trip itself.

6. A bag of random tapes

Here’s where families showed their personality. Every trip had a mismatched collection of cassette tapes: Fleetwood Mac, Billy Joel, a little Motown, maybe a mix tape someone made off the radio.

And let’s be honest: those tapes got played over and over until everyone knew the words by heart. I still remember the click-clunk sound of the tape deck switching sides, followed by someone groaning, “Not this song again.”

But music does something powerful. Psychologists note that songs become “emotional time capsules.” They lock in memories. To this day, when I hear “Jack & Diane” or “Take On Me,” I’m instantly back in the back seat, watching telephone poles blur by.

That’s the thing about those road trip tapes—they weren’t just background noise. They stitched the trip together.

7. A first-aid kit that never got opened

Every parent packed one. Band-Aids, antiseptic wipes, maybe some aspirin. It lived in the glove box like an insurance policy.

Most of the time it went untouched. But the fact that it was there? That gave parents peace of mind.

Psychologists talk about the “illusion of control.” Packing things like a first-aid kit is less about actual emergencies and more about calming your brain with the thought, “We’re prepared.”

It’s the same reason some families brought along jumper cables or a gallon of water. Not because they expected disaster, but because being unprepared wasn’t an option.

And if you were the kid who scraped your knee at a rest stop, you got the special honor of being “patched up” by mom with a Band-Aid that had been waiting all trip for its moment.

8. A camera with limited film

Before smartphones, road trips were documented with a cheap point-and-shoot. And film was precious.

Parents rationed photos like currency. “Don’t waste it! We only have two rolls!” That meant every shot was carefully chosen: a landmark, a sibling making a goofy face, the family car parked by a scenic overlook.

Half the fun was waiting weeks to get the film developed and then flipping through prints where half the shots were blurry or someone’s thumb blocked the lens.

But here’s the twist—those imperfect photos feel more alive than the polished selfies we take now. They captured the reality: squinting in the sun, messy hair, and all.

As researcher Sherry Turkle has said, “Photography doesn’t just record our lives; it shapes the way we remember them.” Those film-limited road trip pictures shaped our memories in ways Instagram never could.

Wrapping up

Road trips in the 80s and 90s weren’t about luxury. They were about making do, stretching every dollar, and still finding joy in the journey.

The cooler sandwiches, the scratchy blankets, the dog-eared maps—they didn’t just get us from point A to point B. They taught us resilience, patience, and how to make fun with what we had.

And maybe that’s why those trips still stick in our memories long after the cassette tapes stopped playing.

Because the truth is, those items weren’t just “stuff.” They were symbols. Of resourcefulness. Of family dynamics. Of what it meant to grow up in an era when you couldn’t buy your way out of boredom or convenience.

So the next time you hear the whirr of an old tape deck or open a cooler on a hot day, maybe you’ll find yourself transported back too—to a simpler, messier, but strangely unforgettable way of traveling.