Embracing Freedom on the Road: A Solo Journey as a Hard-of-Hearing Traveler

I hesitated for a moment, my finger poised over the keyboard, before I hit “enter.” My message appeared in my chat with my sister: “I’ll be back home tomorrow.” I noticed, but did not hear, the notification as my sister responded with a thumbs-up emoji. It was 2022, and my deaf grandmother had just been hospitalized with a severe case of pneumonia. So, I packed my car and hurried from Florida back to my hometown in North Carolina. Compared to cross-country adventures, this road trip through the southern East Coast was not monumental. However, the 12-hour drive each way transformed my life and empowered me to embrace travel as someone with hearing loss.

Debunking the Myths Surrounding Deaf Driving

As a child, dealing with chronic ear infections, I never anticipated that I would face lifelong hearing loss. In 2020, my doctor discovered my damaged eardrums and tinnitus. By 2022, I received a diagnosis of biotinidase deficiency. My doctors cautioned me about the heightened risk of becoming deaf as I aged. They also informed me that biotinidase deficiency often skips generations, as seen with me and my grandmother.

The hearing condition I likely inherited from her didn’t deter me from being there for her in her time of need, but I was terrified to drive back home. In 2022, while I still owned my car, I had restricted my driving to familiar routes around my college town. When friends and colleagues questioned my preference for bus rides or grocery delivery, I would joke about “avoiding Florida drivers.” But that wasn’t the whole truth.

Many individuals—even those with hearing loss—wrongly believe that deaf or hard-of-hearing drivers are unsafe on the roads. I used to think that not being able to hear a honking horn or a siren made me more prone to accidents. However, research and public policy have dispelled these ableist myths regarding driving safety. A 2010 study from the University of Sheffield suggests that young adults with hearing loss often develop excellent peripheral vision and quick reflexes in response to visual cues. In 2013, the National Association for the Deaf successfully urged the Department of Transportation to remove the ban on deaf and hard-of-hearing individuals operating commercial motor vehicles.

I drove from Florida up to the Blue Ridge Mountains without any problems. After my grandmother was discharged from the hospital and was safely recovering at home, I planned a more deliberate road trip back to Florida. As I mapped out this solo journey, I rediscovered the wanderlust I had suppressed for two years.

The thrill of the open road

Being back on the road made me realize that I deserve to experience the world around me, even if I often face challenges with hearing. Many individuals with hearing loss often feel lonely and isolated; difficulties in communication can discourage these individuals from meeting new people or exploring new places. Preparing for a short road trip gave me a renewed sense of optimism about how I could navigate life happily and safely despite my hearing loss.

How did I get ready for my road trip that was friendly for hard-of-hearing travelers? I decided to start driving at dawn. Like many other drivers who have hearing loss, I primarily depend on visual cues: landmarks, the behavior of other drivers, flashing lights, and road signs. I chose to travel during daylight hours to maximize my visibility on the road. I knew I would face communication hurdles along rural routes with poor cell service, but I couldn’t predict when or where those challenges would arise. I prepared by printing detailed driving directions and downloading audiobooks and podcasts that I could play at high volume. Driving gave me a sense of independence that I could never experience in an airport. I didn’t worry about missing directions or alerts, because I had control over the volume of my GPS and music. I found excitement once more in the quiet rush of the slipstream and the gentle vibration of the engine.

On this leg of my road trip, I made it a point to soak in the stunning visuals unfolding before me. The morning frost adorned the chicory flowers as I navigated the western North Carolina mountains along the Blue Ridge Parkway. While listening to Madeline Miller’s Circe, I admired the sunrise over the mountains. Miller painted a vivid picture of the Hellenistic witch protagonist foraging for herbs. I picked a couple of chicory leaves, only to spit them out due to their bitterness. I realized I didn't need any herbs to add magic to my journey. As the sun climbed higher, I crossed into South Carolina and felt a thrill at the sight of trees transitioning from evergreen pines to oaks draped in Spanish moss.

I've come to understand that I'm not alone in my love for accessible road trips. Many deaf families consider road trips their primary mode of travel. YouTubers Pearl and Darrel Utley share videos of their adventures driving their children across the country in a 1985 Volkswagen pop-up camper van. In one clip, Pearl signs, “Why do I travel? To experience, listen to, and create our own stories.” Darrel adds, “I don’t want to remain isolated at home. I want to explore and discover new places.”

As a hard-of-hearing driver, I discovered that being behind the wheel gave me greater freedom to act spontaneously. For instance, I stopped along the road to buy a bag of boiled peanuts from a gentleman wearing a sunhat. This direct interaction felt far less intimidating than ordering a snack at an airport café and hoping to hear the cashier call my order number when it was ready. A few miles later, did I trade my salty-slimy peanuts for a bag of chips? Absolutely. But I had the freedom to choose my own route and pit stops.

That liberation from my usual routine was invigorating and refreshing for my physical well-being. When my tinnitus flared up while driving through Georgia, I switched off the speaker. When the ringing continued, I pulled over at a rest stop and took a quiet stroll away from the noise of traffic. Before long, the ringing subsided, and I was comfortably back on the road. This level of sensory control would be difficult to achieve on an airplane, even with noise-canceling headphones.

Preparing for my next journey

My road trip was a transformative experience as it compelled me to step out of my comfort zone during a time when I had been avoiding travel. Just days before embarking on my drive to Florida in 2022, I had canceled a trip to New Orleans due to concerns about missing flight announcements—I often struggled to hear intercom messages during previous airport visits. The isolation I felt in inaccessible airports deterred me from flying back then, but I am now looking forward to a road trip to the French Quarter for Hanukkah at the end of this year.

As I prepare for my upcoming solo journey, I've reached out to my local North Carolina DMV about adding the International Symbol of Access for Hearing Loss when I renew my driver’s license. In North Carolina, I can include this symbol on my license as long as I pay the fee for a new license (which is necessary anyway since my current license is about to expire). I also have the option to add the symbol to my license plates, but that would require a customization fee, as the state’s Disability License Plate application guidelines do not cover hearing loss or auditory processing disorders as of 2023. Having this hearing loss access symbol on my driver’s license will provide me with peace of mind, knowing that first responders will be aware of my communication needs in case of an emergency.

I eagerly anticipate engaging all my senses both on the road and beyond. I’ll feel the vibrations of my car and savor the rhythms of live jazz music. Plus, I’m sure I’ll find beignets far more delightful than boiled peanuts.