Best Road Trip Snacks, Ranked by Someone Who Drives Too Much

I drive too much. I know this about myself the way some people know they drink too much coffee or watch too much reality TV -- with full awareness and zero intention of changing. In the last three years, I've driven from Chicago to Denver, Denver to San Diego, Atlanta to Key West, and the entire length of the Blue Ridge Parkway twice because the first time I forgot to stop at the good overlook.

The point is, I have spent a clinically significant number of hours in a car, and during those hours I have eaten an equally significant amount of snacks. Good snacks. Bad snacks. Snacks that seemed good in the gas station but revealed themselves to be catastrophic errors within fifteen minutes. I once ate an entire bag of Cool Ranch Doritos between Nashville and Knoxville and then had to pull over because my fingers were so blue I thought I was having a circulatory event.

I've made mistakes so you don't have to. Here are the road trip snack rankings, organized by tier, reflecting years of empirical research conducted at highway speeds.

S Tier: The Untouchables

Trail mix (the good kind). I'm not talking about the sad trail mix from the grocery store that's 80% peanuts and raisins with three token chocolate chips rationing themselves across the entire bag. I'm talking about the good stuff from Trader Joe's or the bulk bins -- cashews, almonds, dark chocolate chips, dried cranberries, maybe some coconut flakes if you're feeling tropical. Trail mix is the perfect road trip food because it's endlessly snackable, doesn't make a mess, won't melt in a hot car, and provides actual sustained energy instead of a sugar spike followed by a crash that makes you want to pull over and nap in a Cracker Barrel parking lot.

Beef jerky. The king. The absolute monarch of road trip snacks. Portable, protein-dense, doesn't require refrigeration, and the chewing gives you something to do during the boring stretch of I-70 through Kansas where the scenery is just... more Kansas. The only downside is that good jerky costs approximately the same per ounce as precious metals. I once paid $12 for a bag of jerky at a gas station in Wyoming that contained maybe seven pieces. That's almost two dollars a chew. Still worth it.

Apples. I know. An apple on a road trip snack list feels like your mom packed your lunch. But hear me out. After three hours of eating salty, processed snacks, biting into a cold, crisp apple is genuinely revelatory. It hydrates you. It wakes up your mouth. It makes you feel briefly like a person who takes care of themselves, which is a nice illusion to maintain while you're simultaneously on hour six of driving and your car smells like beef jerky. Keep them in the cooler so they're cold. A warm apple is sad. A cold apple is a reset button.

Peanut butter crackers. The ones that come in the little orange packages from Lance or Austin. Six crackers, peanut butter in between, roughly 200 calories of pure road trip fuel. They don't crumble everywhere. They don't melt. They taste exactly the same whether you're in Florida or Montana. They're the Honda Civic of snacks -- not exciting, incredibly reliable, and you're always happy to have one.

A Tier: Excellent Choices

String cheese. Requires a cooler, which puts it at a slight logistical disadvantage, but string cheese on a road trip is a tier above string cheese at home. I don't know why. Maybe it's the novelty of peeling food while doing 75 on the interstate. Maybe it's that protein hits different when you've been driving for four hours. Either way, it belongs here.

Sunflower seeds. Controversial because of the spitting situation (more on that later), but as a pure snacking experience, sunflower seeds are unmatched. They're the road trip snack equivalent of a fidget toy -- the cracking, the eating, the spitting into a cup, the whole ritual of it. They keep you awake, they keep your hands busy, and a $2 bag lasts roughly 200 miles. The economics are unbeatable. Just bring a designated spit cup and make sure it's clearly different from your drink cup. I should not have to explain why.

Clementines. Easy to peel, not messy, hydrating, and they make your car smell amazing. A bag of clementines in the passenger seat is a genuine luxury. The only risk is that you'll eat seven of them because they're tiny and your brain thinks tiny food has no calories, and then your stomach stages a citrus-based rebellion around hour three.

Pretzels. The most inoffensive snack in existence. Pretzels have never ruined anyone's day. They don't melt. They don't stain. They provide a satisfying crunch. They go with literally everything. Pretzels are the utility player of the snack world -- never the star, always solid, and you'd miss them if they weren't there. I'm partial to the nugget-style ones because they're easier to eat one-handed while driving.

B Tier: Solid but Flawed

Gummy bears. Delicious. Fun. A bag of Haribo Gold Bears is a joyful experience. They're also basically pure sugar, which means you'll feel amazing for twenty minutes and then experience an energy crash so severe you'll think you have narcolepsy. Best consumed in small quantities alongside something with protein. Do not, under any circumstances, eat the entire bag. I have done this. It does not end well.

Granola bars. Fine. Perfectly fine. The diplomatic middle ground between "I want something healthy" and "I want a candy bar." Nature Valley bars are classic but create a crumb explosion that will haunt your car for months. Kind bars are better in every way -- less crumby, more interesting flavors, and they look like something an adult would eat. Clif bars are good if you need actual calories and are okay eating something with the density of a small brick.

Chips (specific varieties only). Pringles are S-tier road trip chips because the can prevents crushing, your hand stays mostly clean, and you can close the lid and save them for later. Regular bagged chips are B-tier at best because they get crushed in the bag, they make your hands greasy, and the bag takes up way more space than the chip-to-air ratio justifies. Kettle chips are acceptable. Anything with powder coating (Doritos, Cheetos) drops to C-tier. I'll explain why shortly.

Mixed nuts. Like trail mix's more serious older brother. All the protein and healthy fat, none of the fun. You eat mixed nuts because you're an adult and you know they're good for you. Nobody has ever gotten excited about mixed nuts. Nobody has ever said "ooh, mixed nuts!" at a gas station. But they do the job, and they do it well. Respectable. Boring. Your accountant would approve.

C Tier: Proceed with Caution

Doritos and Cheetos. I love both of these. I love them in my house, at my desk, during a football game. I do not love them in a car. The powder. The dust. It gets on your steering wheel. It gets on your phone. It gets on the gear shift. It gets on your pants. Two hours after eating Doritos in a car, you look like you were fingerprinted at a booking desk that uses nacho cheese instead of ink. If you absolutely must eat Doritos in a car, you need wet wipes, a designated eating hand (non-steering), and the acceptance that your car's interior will never fully recover.

Candy bars. Chocolate melts. I shouldn't have to elaborate, but I will, because I once left a Snickers bar on my dashboard during a road trip through Arizona and came back to what looked like a crime scene in a candy factory. Even if you keep them cool, candy bars are a one-and-done snack -- you eat it in three bites and it's gone. The ratio of satisfaction to how long it lasts is terrible for road trips. You want snacks that stretch. Candy bars do not stretch.

Gas station hot dogs. Are they a snack? Are they a meal? Are they a dare? The gas station hot dog exists in a moral gray area. I've eaten them. Sometimes they're fine. Sometimes you spend the next hundred miles wondering if you've made a terrible mistake. The risk-reward calculus is sketchy at best. If you're going to eat one, at least go to a busy gas station where the hot dogs are turning on the rollers at a steady pace. A busy roller grill means fresh dogs. An empty roller grill means those hot dogs have been on a slow journey to leather since dawn.

D Tier: Just Don't

Anything that requires two hands. Burritos, burgers, sandwiches that are dripping with sauce. You're driving. You have one hand available, maybe. Save the two-handed foods for when you actually stop somewhere. I watched my friend try to eat a Chipotle burrito at 70 mph on I-95 and he got guacamole on his seatbelt, his shirt, the center console, and somehow the back seat. He was the only person in the car.

Yogurt. Who is eating yogurt on a road trip? It requires a spoon. It requires refrigeration. It requires a flat surface, which a car does not have. If you bring yogurt on a road trip, you have fundamentally misunderstood the assignment.

Anything with a strong smell. Tuna. Hard-boiled eggs. That weird cheese your friend likes that smells like a gym sock. You're in an enclosed space. A car is not a ventilated kitchen. Strong smells in a car become the only smell in a car, and they linger for days. I made the hard-boiled egg mistake once -- just once -- and my car smelled like sulfur for a week. My date that weekend asked if something had died in there. I said yes, my dignity.

The Strategy Section

A few tactical notes from someone who's spent too many hours optimizing this.

Pack a cooler. Even a cheap soft-sided one. It opens up your options enormously (string cheese, fruit, drinks that aren't gas station temperature). A $15 cooler bag and a couple of freezer packs elevate your road trip from "survivalist" to "actually pleasant."

Diversify your snack portfolio. You want salty and sweet. Crunchy and chewy. Protein and carbs. If everything in your snack bag is salty and crunchy, you'll be desperate for something different by hour two. I usually pack trail mix (salty, sweet, protein), fruit (fresh, sweet), jerky (salty, chewy, protein), and pretzels (salty, crunchy, neutral). That covers all the bases.

Pre-portion everything. Pour trail mix into a Ziploc. Put jerky in a bag you can reach easily. The worst version of road trip snacking is digging around in a full grocery bag in the back seat while trying to maintain lane discipline. Everything should be within arm's reach and openable with one hand.

For more road trip wisdom -- actual route planning, not just snack logistics -- check out my guide to planning an epic drive across America and the list of driving roads worth planning a trip around. But honestly, if your snacks are sorted, you're already 80% of the way to a great road trip. The scenery is secondary. The snacks are the show.